?Chapter 1605:


    Holding the microphone, Vickie beamed with practiced charm, herughter warm and effortless. To the crowd, it looked like the picture of genuine friendship.


    “Tonight’s banquet is to send Christina off,” Vickie announced. “Everyone, rx and enjoy yourselves!”


    Then, with a gracious sweep of her hand, she added, “Please focus the spotlight on Christina—she’s prepared a cello solo for everyone!”


    The spotlight drifted toward Christina, and every head in the room turned to her—the woman now glowing under its pale gold beam.


    “Paganini’s Caprice No. 24!” Vickie announced.


    A wave of startled murmurs rippled through the crowd. The piece was notoriously difficult—a choice only the most seasoned virtuosos dared attempt.


    Yet Christina stood perfectlyposed beneath the light, a serene smile brushing her lips as though the challenge were child’s y.


    Watching her, Vickie felt jealousy churn violently in her chest. Every eye in the room had turned toward Christina—drawn to her like moths to a me.


    Under the spotlight, she looked breathtaking. The scarlet gown she wore shimmered like liquid fire, clinging to her in all the right ces, every flicker of light kissing her features with dangerous allure.


    Vickie’s smile remained perfectly poised, but her mrs ground together. The storm of envy inside her nearly shattered herposure.


    She remembered asking Christina once if she could y the cello, and Christina had simply said she “could manage.”


    “Could manage?” Vickie scoffed inwardly. That sounded barelypetent. She could already picture the scene—Christina fumbling through the piece, red-faced with humiliation.


    A cold smirk crept onto Vickie’s lips.


    The more radiant Christina appeared now, the sweeter her downfall would tasteter.


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    “Why don’t we give Christina a moment to prepare?” Vickie said brightly. “I’ll start with a solo to warm everyone up.”


    The lights swung back to her, and she basked in the attention—that intoxicating rush of being the center of every gaze. In her mind, she was the true star of the night, and Christina was merely a prop designed to frame her brilliance.


    Years of study abroad had refined her technique to near perfection.


    Even Silven, the world’s second-ranked cellist, had once invited her to be his pupil—but she’d declined with polite grace.


    Her ambition had always reached higher: to be mentored by the legendary La Rosa, the mysterious first-ranked cellist whose identity no one had ever uncovered.


    But La Rosa was a phantom. No one knew her face, her real name, or even where she lived. Vickie had spent years chasing her shadow, yet never found a trace.


    Still, she hadn’t given up. Perseverance, she believed, would lead her there one day.


    Vickie sat down with her usual polished grace. Once settled, she lifted her cello and began to y.


    The moment the prelude filled the hall, most of the audience instantly recognized it—Paganini’s Caprice No. 24.


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