"You’ll shine brighter than anyone else, the most talented of all. They’ll notice you, without a doubt. Your name will light up the city on every marquee."

Tears streamed down Emma’s cheeks as she buried her face in the blanket covering her father. His hand, frail but still warm, gently brushed her hair.

“Don’t cry, my little one. Please,” he murmured. “You can’t outwit fate. But you can listen to me.”

Emma lifted her tear-streaked face, eyes searching for strength in his. Her father’s voice was barely audible, as though each syllable drained his soul.

“Don’t interrupt. I’m almost out of time… Once, there were two of us—Daniel and I, Victor. Blood brothers, we swore our friendship would never break. Then… your mother came into our lives. We both fell for her. Love has a way of creating fault lines in even the strongest bonds. She chose me. And Daniel never forgave that.”

Emma clutched his hand tighter.

“He’s a good man, Emma. If things ever get too difficult, find him. He’ll help. He owns a restaurant now—The Harbor. Remember the name. It might matter one day. There’s more to the story, but if he’s willing, he’ll tell you himself…”

Victor’s hand trembled.

“I love you with every breath in me. I believe in you. And I know—you’ll make it.”

Emma hugged him, and in that moment, his body tensed—then grew still.

“Dad? Dad!” Her voice cracked into a scream that echoed through the quiet house.

People rushed in. Doctors, nurses, commotion. But to Emma, it all felt like watching through glass. A single, terrible thought kept turning in her mind: I’m alone. Completely alone.

After the funeral, once the guests had gone, her stepmother’s tone turned cold.

“Tomorrow, you’ll find a job. I’m not going to keep feeding you.”

“But I’m still in college—”

“College?” the woman scoffed. “You think singing pays the bills? Wake up. If you don’t find work, you're out on the street.”

“But this is my home!”

Her stepmother’s eyes gleamed with disdain.

“Your home? This is my house. I was your father’s legal wife. Don’t push me, Emma. This is me being nice. I can be otherwise.”

Emma fled to her room and cried into her father’s old sweater, the one that still held his scent. By morning, she had made a decision. Her father had left her enough to finish her degree, and she would pursue what he dreamed for her.

He always wanted her to sing. Since childhood, she had won music competitions. Teachers said her voice could open doors, even if the journey wouldn’t be easy. And even if fame never came, her voice could earn her a living.

“They’ll never forget your name, Emma Vasilieva,” her father once said with pride.

She smiled. Yes, she wasn’t just Vasilieva—she was Victorovna.

That morning, she left quietly for her university classes, careful not to wake her stepmother. She would keep studying. No matter what it cost her. It was her father’s final wish.

When she returned that evening, she saw her stepmother waiting on the porch.

“Well?” the woman barked. “Find a job?”

“I was at school.”

Emma tried to walk past, but her stepmother blocked her.

“You and your pathetic dreams. You think you’ll be a star? You sound like a rusty gate. You should be scrubbing floors, not chasing stages.”

She shoved a suitcase toward her.

“Take your junk and go. Sing in subway tunnels if you must. Maybe someone will toss you coins.”

Emma stared at the suitcase, lips trembling, but her stepmother turned and slammed the door. The locks clicked loudly.

Dragging her things down the street, Emma whispered a prayer: God, please, don’t let anyone I know see me like this. Let my dad rest in peace.

She had no family to call. Her parents had grown up in orphanages themselves. She wandered aimlessly, the sun dipping low on the horizon. Then she saw it—the sign for The Harbor.

Her father’s voice echoed in her memory: “He owns the restaurant now.”

With no other option, she approached the door. A sharply dressed young man greeted her.

“Good evening. Would you like a table?”

“No, thank you. Could I speak with the owner? Daniel Petrov?”

“Mr. Petrov?” He looked uncertain. “Wait here. I’ll check.”

A minute later, a tall man with silver at his temples appeared.

“You’re looking for me?”

Emma nodded. “I’m Emma… daughter of Liana and Victor Vasiliev. My father said I could turn to you if I ever needed help.”

“Victor and Liana?” Daniel’s face changed. “Why can’t Victor help you?”

“He’s gone. He passed away a few days ago.”

Daniel froze. Emma choked on a sob. The younger man offered her tissues, and Daniel quietly said, “Take her bag to my office, Alex. And bring her a glass of water.”

Then he turned to Emma.

“I didn’t know… I’m so sorry.”

Once she calmed a bit, Daniel asked gently, “Why do you have a suitcase?”

Emma explained everything—from her mother’s death to the arrival of Julia, her cruel stepmother. She recounted her father’s illness, his final words, and how everything fell apart.

Daniel listened, eyes distant, jaw clenched.

“Emma… your mother was the best person I ever knew. I loved her, once. I hurt her with my pride. When she became pregnant, she left. Victor found her. He was the better man.”

He paused.

“You don’t need to worry. You have a place here. Would you be willing to stay at my home for now? It’s large. Or, if you'd prefer, I can put you up in a hotel.”

Emma hesitated. “Could I stay with you? I don’t want to be alone anymore.”

Daniel smiled. “Of course. It’s just me—and an arrogant cat who thinks he runs the house.”

Emma gave a faint laugh.

“How do you know what he thinks?”

“He never comes when I call. He waits for the housekeeper, eats gourmet food, and acts like I’m the servant.”

Over the next few days, Daniel became her pillar. When he took her to the restaurant one evening, a crisis struck. Their scheduled singer had canceled last-minute, and a live performance was contractually required for an anniversary party.

Emma stepped forward. “Uncle Daniel, I can sing.”

He hesitated. “This is a restaurant, not a recital hall. Are you sure?”

“I can do it. Let me help.”

The room went quiet when Emma sang. Her voice floated through the air—raw, powerful, and aching with everything she had endured.

Daniel whispered under his breath, “Liana… our daughter will become a star. I swear it.”

Later that week, Julia and her new husband came to the restaurant—her attempt to flaunt social status. When she asked if anyone would perform, the waiter answered, “Yes, we’re honored to feature Emma Vasilieva. She’s from this town—maybe you’ve heard of her.”

Julia went pale. Her husband raised an eyebrow. “Wasn’t your last name Vasilieva?”

“Just a coincidence,” she snapped. “You chose the wrong place, as always.”

As Emma stepped onstage, her voice filled the room again. Julia turned her back to the performance, fuming. But no one noticed her anymore.

All eyes were on Emma—the girl with nothing, who had become everything.