Chapter 290
Chapter 290:
“This must be the highlight of the night! What a surprise p>
“And her style—don’t you think it’s similar to Wing’s? The mysterious violinist? The resemblance is uncanny p>
“I thought so too! I was lucky enough to hear Wing once, and this performance felt just as heavenly. I never imagined I’d hear something like this tonight p>
“She’s a true virtuoso. I’d love to hear her again. Do you think she might hold a concert of her own p>
The crowd’s praises filled the air, admiration flowing freely.
Monica sat frozen, her expression a mix of shock and disbelief.
She had never expected Yelena to actually play the violin, let alone outshine her so effortlessly.
The performance was extraordinary—too extraordinary to be a coincidence.
Yelena had been hiding her talent all along?
Did she do it deliberately?
And why didn’t she say anything before? The resemblance to Wing’s style gnawed at Monica. Was Yelena imitating Wing? Or… could there be something more?
Monica recalled Yelena mentioning attending Wing’s concerts before. Was there a deeper connection they didn’t know about?
The realization hit Monica hard. Not only had her plan to humiliate Yelena backfired spectacularly, but Yelena had also stolen the spotlight in the process.
This was supposed to be her night. Her concert. Now, everyone was talking about Yelena.
Monica’s fury simmered, her hands clenching into fists. Her jaw tightened as she caught sight of Austin smiling warmly at Yelena, his admiration unmistakable. The sight made her blood boil.
𝖋𝖎𝖗𝖘𝖙 𝖘𝖊𝖊𝖓 𝖎𝖓 𝖘𝖎𝖙𝖊: ⳑ𝗮𝗅𝗇𝗈ν𝖊𝗅𝘀⧼ⅽ𝗈𝗺
Monica couldn’t shake the sinking feeling that tonight had been a colossal miscalculation on her part—a move that had unwittingly set the stage for Yelena’s triumph. All eyes were riveted on Yelena, who dazzled like the North Star, effortlessly outshining everyone else in the room.
Monica stood frozen, disbelief washing over her as regret tightened its grip.
How could she have made such a blunder? Damn it!
Yelena had played her cards masterfully, feigning inexperience while silently calculating her every move. Monica had underestimated her, and now the sting of humiliation was unbearable.
The final blow had come on stage when Yelena publicly trampled on Monica’s pride, leaving her reeling.
But Monica knew she couldn’t afford to lose face.
Gritting her teeth, she strode onto the stage, masking her fury behind a polished smile. “Thank you, Yelena, for such a breathtaking performance,” she said, her voice sweet but taut. “It was truly mesmerizing p>
Yelena, poised as ever, met Monica’s gaze with an easy calm. “No need to thank me,” she said smoothly. “I should be thanking all of you for listening p>
A voice broke through the applause. “Encore! It was incredible p>
Yelena’s smile widened at the praise, but she raised a hand graciously. “Thank you so much, but tonight belongs to Miss Mitchell. I wouldn’t dream of stealing her spotlight p>
With that parting shot, Yelena glided off the stage, her exit as graceful as her performance.
Monica felt her cheeks flush with a heat that had nothing to do with the stage lights.
How mortifying—to be mocked so skillfully, so subtly, in front of everyone!
This was supposed to be Monica’s moment to shine, but somehow, Yelena—the so-called supporting act—had swooped in and stolen the show.
Now, the room buzzed with curiosity about Yelena. People peppered her with questions. Who was she? Where had she trained? Did she have a connection to the legendary violinist Wing?
Yelena’s response was as disarming as her performance. “Oh, I’m nobody special,” she said with a modest smile. “I’ve never met Wing, and I never had formal lessons. I just taught myself p>
It was true—Yelena wasn’t bluffing. She really had taught herself to play the violin.
Perhaps she was simply a natural, picking up the violin with an ease that bordered on the extraordinary. Upon hearing her words, the room fell into stunned silence, disbelief flickering across faces. Was she some kind of prodigy?
Her humility only added to the intrigue, leaving everyone wondering how such raw talent could bloom without guidance.
Monica, meanwhile, couldn’t ignore the bitter truth staring her in the face—she had poured endless hours of practice and effort into mastering the violin, yet all of it seemed to pale in comparison to Yelena’s effortless brilliance.
The comparison was a dagger to her pride.
Yelena’s casual remarks grated on Monica’s nerves, each word as jarring as nails on a chalkboard.
There was no room to argue, though—especially since Monica herself had trained under an internationally acclaimed violinist. And still, even with the best guidance, she had been eclipsed by Yelena’s self-taught genius. Admitting as much would be unbearable, so Monica swallowed her frustration and stayed silent.