Chapter 624

The final note hung in the air like a whisper of heartbreak. Evelyn Carter exhaled slowly, her fingers still trembling against the cello strings. She'd been certain the sabotaged string would snap mid-performance, yet somehow it had held.

The concert hall erupted.

A standing ovation shook the venue. People wiped tears, clutching their chests as if Evelyn's music had physically rearranged their hearts. Even the stone-faced judges rose to their feet, applauding with rare enthusiasm.

Isabella Morgan's glare could have melted steel. She shot Cassandra Brown a look that screamed, "You had one job."

Cassandra's mouth went dry. She'd loosened that string herself—it should have broken during the crescendo!

Evelyn's composition wasn't just technically flawless; it was soul-wrenching. The cello wept a story of decades-long love—sun-dappled memories of an elderly couple's intertwined hands, of shared silence more intimate than words. The kind of love that outlasts lifetimes.

Backstage, Natalie Riley turned to Leonard Herty with shining eyes. "Now I understand why you broke your ten-year hiatus to teach her."

Leonard's chest puffed up. "Talent like hers comes once in a generation."

Online, the livestream exploded:

[I just ugly-cried in public!]

[That's not music—that's pure magic!]

[VOTE NOW! This deserves ALL the awards!]

Then came the detractors:

[Wait—isn't this the same girl accused of plagiarism last month?]

[Convenient how she disappears during the scandal only to show up with a "new masterpiece."]

Trending hashtags #EvelynCarter and #PlagiarismScandal began battling for top spot. Unaware, Evelyn's vote count soared past competitors.

Vanessa Hart crushed a throw pillow against her pregnant belly, the livestream mocking her from the iPad. While she'd been confined to Hawthorne Estate after her miscarriage, Evelyn—also pregnant—was out there glowing under spotlights.

"Why does she get to have everything?" Vanessa hissed.

Across town, Ethan Caldwell gripped his phone hard enough to crack the screen. Fresh welts from his father's punishment still burned his back, but that pain was nothing compared to the agony of hearing Evelyn play again.

Every note was a knife twisting in old wounds. She'd once played like this for him—private concerts in moonlit gardens. Now that music belonged to the world. To Alexander Whitmore.

He hurled the phone against the wall.

Backstage, Evelyn set down her miraculously intact cello just as voting closed.

Isabella approached with a smile sharp enough to draw blood. "Bravo. Who knew you had such... dramatic flair?"

"Thank you," Evelyn said coolly.

Cassandra kept staring at the cello like it had personally betrayed her. "It should've broken," she muttered.

Evelyn turned slowly. "I changed the strings." She'd borrowed spares from Natalie—standard practice for professional musicians.

Cassandra blanched. "Lucky you."

"Not luck." Evelyn's voice dropped to ice. "It was sabotage." She signaled to the stage manager concealed in the wings. "We found our culprit."

The manager stepped forward, lips pressed thin. "Contestant 49, your admission just cost you this competition."

"No! I was joking!" Cassandra's shriek drew stares.

Isabella jumped in. "She's my accompanist! If she's disqualified—"

"The composer advances regardless," the manager cut in.

Relief flashed across Isabella's face before she could mask it. Cassandra looked gutted. Their partnership had always been transactional—now Isabella had thrown her under the bus without hesitation.

Evelyn watched coldly as security escorted Cassandra out. One enemy down. But as the whispers about plagiarism swirled online, she knew the real battle was just beginning.