The Tycoon's Exclusive Movement

I never imagined I'd see Kris Murphy again under these circumstances.

At the charity gala in the San Francisco Museum of Art, crystal chandeliers sparkled brilliantly overhead while champagne bubbles danced in glasses. I gripped my wine glass tightly, feeling like a lost lamb among wolves, desperately wishing I could find a hole to crawl into.

"This is a great networking opportunity—you have to go!" My boss's words still echoed in my ears, but I was already regretting it so much I wanted to flee immediately.

Just as I was about to sneak toward the restroom, a familiar laugh rang out from behind me—that sickeningly sweet, fake laugh.

"Oh my God, Ainsley Powell! My eyes aren't deceiving me, are they?"

My blood turned to ice.

I slowly turned around to see the two faces I least wanted to encounter—Vivian Rodriguez and Kris Murphy.

My ex-boyfriend and his new flame.

Vivian was wearing a blood-red backless gown tonight, her sultry figure on full display, holding two champagne flutes. My modest black cocktail dress looked like a nun's habit next to her.

"Look who it is! Our piano goddess actually crawled out of the practice room!" Vivian's voice was sharp and grating. "What, came alone?"

I opened my mouth but couldn't make a sound. My social anxiety was acting up again.

"Of course she came alone!" Vivian laughed dramatically, covering her mouth. "Besides those eighty-eight black and white keys, who else would want to talk to our piano princess?"

Kris stood beside her, looking at me with that half-smile: "Ainsley, I never expected you'd attend this kind of high-society gathering."

His words carried that familiar mockery, cutting into my heart like a knife.

"Oh, by the way, Ainsley," Vivian suddenly leaned closer, lowering her voice but making sure Kris could hear, "I heard that to win back our Kris, you gave him the down payment your parents saved for your house? Fifty thousand dollars! What a grand gesture!"

My face went ashen.

"Too bad," she continued, her eyes glittering with malice, "you spent the money, but he still left. Now Kris's company is still losing money, but at least he doesn't have to look at your miserable face anymore. Right, baby?"

Kris didn't deny it; he even chuckled softly: "Fifty thousand for some peace and quiet—definitely worth it."

My hands began trembling uncontrollably.

That fifty thousand was money my parents had worked hard to save for my future house and wedding. When Kris said his company was in trouble and needed cash flow, I didn't hesitate to give it to him.

I thought it was proof of our love.

Three days later, I walked in on him and Vivian in a passionate embrace in his office.

"Oh dear, Ainsley, you look terrible," Vivian said with fake concern. "Are you remembering something unpleasant? Don't worry, since you can't do anything besides play piano, just find some rich old man to marry."

"The question is whether anyone would want her," Kris added, his voice dripping with contempt. "After all, besides that face, everything else is like a block of wood. In bed too."

His words hit me like a bucket of ice water.

People around us began noticing the commotion, whispers reaching my ears. I wanted to disappear right then and there.

"Oh, by the way," Vivian suddenly had a bright idea, raising her voice, "tonight's theme is 'Technology Meets Art,' and I heard even that mysterious CEO of Harrington Tech will be here! Ainsley, you're not thinking of trying your luck, are you?"

"I'm not..." my voice was barely above a whisper.

"Hahahaha!" Vivian burst into exaggerated laughter that echoed throughout the hall. "A socially anxious girl trying to seduce a tech mogul? Please, do you know what kind of status he has? You think he'd be interested in a piano teacher who can barely string a sentence together?"

Just then, a deep, magnetic male voice came from near the Monet painting:

"Excuse me, could you tell me what year this 'Water Lilies' was painted?"

We all turned to see a tall man standing before the artwork, apparently having been quietly admiring it.

He was at least six-foot-three, wearing a perfectly tailored dark suit that emphasized his broad shoulders and narrow waist. Most striking were his deep, oceanic eyes and that innate aristocratic bearing.

"Um... I'm not sure," I replied softly.

"It's from 1919," he said gently, then looked at me. "You seem very interested in art?"

His voice was pleasant, carrying a reassuring warmth.

Vivian and Kris's expressions changed instantly—from shock to curiosity to jealousy, faster than a magician's trick.

"And you are, sir?" Kris immediately put on a fawning smile. "I'm Kris Murphy, founder of Murphy PR."

The man merely nodded politely without introducing himself, continuing to speak with me instead: "I heard someone discussing music earlier. Are you a pianist?"

"That's just how she is," Vivian interjected smugly. "Social anxiety disorder—she can't do anything except play piano. Usually can't even speak a complete sentence."

The man frowned slightly, looking at Vivian with a hint of coldness: "Speaking about a friend that way seems rather inappropriate."

Vivian's face changed, but she quickly recovered her smile: "But we're old friends! Right, Ainsley?"

She suddenly raised one of the champagne flutes in her hands, offering it to me: "Come on, let's drink some champagne to celebrate our reunion! This is Dom Pérignon I specially got for you!"

I looked at the champagne, sensing something wasn't right. Vivian was never this "nice" to me.

Just as I hesitated, the mysterious man suddenly spoke:

"Wait."

He reached out to stop me from taking the glass, his gaze sharp as he looked at Vivian: "In formal occasions like this, a lady should choose her own drinks from the bar, not accept pre-prepared beverages from others. That's basic social etiquette and common safety sense."

Vivian's face turned livid: "What are you implying?"

"Nothing at all," the man said coolly. "Just a polite reminder. Since this is such good wine prepared for a friend, I don't mind tasting it myself."

With that, he took the champagne from Vivian's hand and drained it in one gulp.

Vivian looked extremely uncomfortable, clearly not expecting her plan to be thwarted this way.

The man frowned slightly, as if the taste was odd, but didn't say much more.

"The taste is indeed off," he said flatly. "I suggest this lady be more careful when selecting beverages in the future."

Sensing the awkward atmosphere, Kris quickly tried to smooth things over: "Maybe the champagne was left out too long. Why don't we move somewhere else to chat?"

"That won't be necessary," the man politely declined, then looked at me. "Miss, would you like to accompany me to see some other artworks? I'm very interested in the piano collection here."

I was stunned, not expecting his invitation. Under Kris and Vivian's shocked gazes, I nodded:

"Okay."

"Then we'll take our leave." The man nodded to Kris and Vivian, then gently took my arm and led me away from that suffocating corner.

After walking a few steps, I couldn't help but look back. Vivian's face was ashen as she argued intensely with Kris about something.

"Don't mind them," the man said gently. "Some people just like causing trouble."

We slowly walked toward the piano exhibition hall deeper in the museum. Along the way, I secretly observed this mysterious man beside me. He seemed very composed, with steady steps, showing no signs of anything unusual.

"Thank you for helping me back there," I said softly.

"You're welcome," he smiled in response. "I just can't bear to see beautiful things being maliciously hurt."

The piano exhibition hall was very quiet, with moonlight streaming through stained glass onto the priceless Steinway piano, making the entire space feel sacred and romantic.

"It's beautiful here," the man said softly, then suddenly stopped and leaned against the wall.

I noticed his breathing was becoming somewhat labored, and an unnatural flush appeared on his cheeks.

"Are you alright?" I asked with concern.

"I..." his voice began to turn hoarse, a flash of pain in his eyes. "There was something wrong with that champagne."

He closed his eyes tightly, struggling to control himself: "I'm sorry you have to see me like this."

He kept his eyes tightly shut, as if trying to control something.

"In my current state... are you afraid?" he asked, his voice carrying a note of vulnerability.

I shook my head: "No. You're like this because you were protecting me."

He looked at me deeply, his eyes sparkling with a light I'd never seen before.

"Your music... I've heard it," he suddenly said. "Three months ago, at that solo recital in the San Francisco Symphony Hall."