Chapter 4

Rhiannon's POV

The following morning, Lincoln Center Rehearsal Hall.

Beneath the soaring vaulted ceiling, the hundred-piece symphony orchestra had already taken their places. The air was thick with the scent of rosin and the chaotic hum of instruments tuning up.

Edward stood on the podium, baton in hand, exuding absolute authority. He seemed to be in an exceptionally good mood today, his gaze sweeping across the floor before settling directly on my chair in the first row.

I sat there with my sharp, short hair, dressed in a plain black button-down, projecting an icy, untouchable detachment. Resting on the stand before me was that cheap, factory-made practice violin.

Edward's brow twitched slightly.

"Alright, everyone, focus. Tchaikovsky's Violin Concerto in D Major, first movement. Lauren, are you ready?" Edward's voice resonated through the house mic, his tone dripping with unmistakable favoritism.

Positioned center stage as the soloist, Lauren wore a striking crimson gown. In her hands was the Guarneri that rightfully belonged to me. She tilted her chin up with proud confidence. "Ready, Maestro."

"Let's begin."

The baton came down, and the majestic swell of the symphony detonated through the hall.

The piece was notoriously difficult, demanding an intricate balance of technical precision and raw emotional depth. Lauren's technique wasn't bad, but to my ears, her playing was nothing more than mechanical showboating. It lacked any semblance of a soul, failing entirely to bring out the deep, resonant warmth the Guarneri was famous for.

Midway through the movement, we approached a challenging, rapid cadenza. In this section, as the lead accompanist, I was supposed to engage in a tight, rapid call-and-response with Lauren.

I drew in a steady breath and raised my bow.

The second my eyes locked onto the sheet music, my pupils snapped wide.

Something was wrong.

These measures had been altered. Where an F-sharp should have been, someone had used a micro-tip pen to turn it into an E-flat; the staccato marks had been carefully smoothed over into slurs. At high speeds, if a musician played this without second thought, it would result in a catastrophic, jarring dissonance and a complete breakdown of rhythm.

And among everyone in this room, only one person had access to my stand before call time.

I lifted my gaze. My eyes collided directly with Lauren's, which were practically dripping with malice and smug provocation. A venomous smirk curled the corner of her lips.

She wanted to humiliate me in front of the entire orchestra.

My bow touched the string.

Muscle memory alone was enough for me to play the correct passage blindfolded. But as I glanced toward the podium—at Edward, whose gaze was glued entirely to Lauren, completely oblivious to the sabotage unfolding before him—I changed my mind.

*Screeech—!*

A jarring, horribly out-of-tune screech tore through the orchestral harmony like a serrated blade.

I intentionally played the sabotaged score. The entire orchestra's tempo collapsed in a split second, and hideous, clashing notes ricocheted wildly across the cavernous rehearsal hall.

"Stop!!!"

Edward slammed his baton against the conductor's stand, snapping the wood in half and hurling the pieces to the floor. The hall dropped into absolute silence. Every single pair of eyes locked onto me.

"Rhiannon! What the hell are you doing?!" Edward stormed down the podium steps, his face livid, veins bulging at his temples. "An E-flat? Slurs? Are you blind, or are you deaf?! You can't even get through a basic scale? Has staying at home for three years completely rotted your brain?!"