She Was the Treasure All Along novel Chapter 964

Yelena texted Morris the address of the studio. *"Feel free to drop by whenever."*

Morris read the text, though his primary concern was whether Helena would buckle under the immense pressure of the project.

Stepping out of the building with the contract in hand, Helena felt the crushing weight on her chest finally lighten. Even though things with Morris were over—and the heartbreak still simmered beneath her ribs—she felt a profound sense of gratitude.

But the moment she actually stepped into the private studio listed in her contract, the reality of the task hit her like a tidal wave.

The studio was massive, echoing, and intimidatingly silent. A sleek, midnight-black grand piano sat dead center, looking less like an instrument and more like a judge waiting to deliver a verdict. Helena sat on the bench, spreading the pitch deck and concept art for *The Way Back* across the music stand.

The stakes were terrifying. A Golden Bear-winning director, a massive holiday release budget, top-tier pay, and a solo credit. To anyone else, it was the dream. To her, it felt like a noose tightening around her throat.

She raised her hands, letting her fingers hover over the black and white keys. She tried to channel the girl she used to be—the prodigy who locked herself in her room and bled melodies onto paper. But right now, her mind was a blinding, static white.

Taking a shaky breath, Helena played a quick progression. The crisp notes echoed through the cavernous room, but the sound only spiked her anxiety. It was wrong. It didn't capture the soul of *The Way Back* at all.

One hour passed. Then two. Then three.

The ticking clock felt like a death sentence. The harder she tried to force the genius she thought she'd lost, the deeper her mind sank into the mud. The sheer helplessness of losing control over her own creativity crawled over her skin like a swarm of ants, gnawing at her sanity.

Cold sweat beaded on her forehead. Her heart hammered wildly against her ribs. The familiar, suffocating tide of panic threatened to pull her under.

"Calm down... just calm down," she whispered frantically.

Her breathing turned shallow and jagged. Her fingers started to tremble. Desperate to shock herself out of the spiral, she dug the fingernails of her right hand violently into the back of her left. She pressed until the skin broke, leaving angry, bleeding crescent moons in her flesh.

The sharp sting of pain was the only thing keeping the panic at bay. Closing her eyes, she prepared to dig her nails in deeper, ready to trade more pain for clarity...

*Bang!*

The studio doors flew open.

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