As Sylvie’s voice faded, the entire room turned to look at Jarrod poised and unruffled surprise and delight lighting up their faces.

If Jarrod truly agreed, everyone present would consider themselves fortunate to have witnessed it.

Even Elodie couldn’t help but glance over, taken aback. She studied the calm lines of Jarrod’s profile, and an odd sense of unfamiliarity crept in. After all these years of marriage, she realized she never knew he had these talents. Jarrod had never been honest with her about such things-never truly let her in.

Esmeralda straightened in her chair, her expression tense with doubt. “Jarrod wouldn’t actually agree, would he? That’d be handing Sylvie the perfect chance to show him off-right in front of you.”

Elodie pressed her lips together, watching the scene with a composed, unreadable gaze.

Sylvie turned, her smile gentle as she looked at Jarrod, extending her hand. “If we could use my name to donate more schools for the children, it would be an honor. I’d love for your name to stand beside mine, Jarrod. Will you join me?”

It sounded almost like a confession-so moving, so artfully delivered, it stirred the room. The women looked on with open envy, and a few of the younger girls exchanged excited glances, whispering and clasping hands in giddy awe.

Yet Elodie felt like a stranger, an outsider looking in on the world’s grandest blessing for her husband and his beloved. Esmeralda’s hand shook so much her water glass trembled. Her cheeks flushed with anger. “Sylvie’s got some nerve, hasn’t she?” she muttered. “She knows you’re his wife and still flaunts it right in your face.”

But who could blame her? Jarrod always let her get away with it.

“If Jarrod agrees… I swear, I—” Esmeralda’s voice was tight, as if the very thought pressed the air from her lungs.

“It’s all right,” Elodie replied quietly, calm but resigned. Even as she spoke, she saw Jarrod at the head of the table set down his teacup and gaze thoughtfully at Sylvie’s outstretched hand.

Instead of taking her hand, he rose and offered his arm like a gentleman. “Of course,” he said smoothly.

Sylvie didn’t mind the formality. She curled her fingers slightly and rested her hand on his arm, her smile turning even more dazzling-because Jarrod had agreed to play a duet with her.

Elodie lowered her gaze to her half-finished glass of kiwi juice. It should have tasted sweet, but she found only bitterness.

Ivan grinned, clapping enthusiastically. “A four-hand duet will be a real treat! I think everyone here is eager to see Mr. Silverstein perform. We’re in for something special tonight.”

Queenie glanced uncomfortably at Elodie, who sat quietly at the table. “Well, with Mr. Silverstein backing Ms. Fielding, the whole thing feels different, doesn’t it? Don’t take it to heart, Elodie.”

It was clear to everyone: If this had been a contest between just Elodie and Sylvie, no one would have dared take sides. But now that Jarrod himself had agreed to accompany Sylvie, Elodie simply couldn’t compete.

After all, she had no one to accompany her for a duet.

Elodie’s eyes were cool and composed as frost. “It doesn’t matter,” she replied softly. “With Mr. Silverstein playing, I have nothing more to say.”

She let the opportunity slip away without protest, unwilling to perform anything else. The outcome was already decided: Jarrod’s presence would make Sylvie the star of the night.

Then, for a fleeting moment, Elodie felt the weight of someone’s gaze. She looked up and found Jarrod watching her, his expression unreadable, his dark eyes impossible to decipher.