Mrs. Ellington''s voice was pitched just right—not too loud, not too soft-ensuring everyone nearby heard her words with perfect rity. Vanessa Shannon''s fingers tightened around the stem of her champagne flute, her manicured nails digging so sharply into her palm she nearly drew blood.


    "The developer of the miracle drug? So it was her all along! That''s incredible," one of the guests eximed in surprise.


    "Yes, my son was seriously ill, and it was only thanks to that treatment that he recovered," another added, voice full of genuine gratitude.


    In an instant, several societydies, sses in hand, began drifting toward Eleanor Sutton, drawn to her like moths to a me.


    Vanessa''s gaze followed them, unable to look away from the woman now basking in the limelight, surrounded by admirers.


    Eleanor, the once-invisible housewife who had always lingered quietly besiden Goodwin, was now the center of attention. She conversed with thedies with effortless poise, a gentle, measured smile on her lips-neither fawning nor aloof.


    "Miss Shannon?" A voice cut through Vanessa''s thoughts. "The emcee needs to confirm your setlist for the performance."


    Startled, Vanessa snapped back to reality, suddenly aware she''d been standing there lost in thought for far too long. She forced a polite smile for the messenger. "Thank you, I''ll be right there."


    Low murmurings from the other guests drifted to her ears as she walked away.


    "I heard that medicine saved thousands of lives..."


    "To achieve so much at such a young age-no wonder Mrs. Ellington holds her in such high regard..."


    "And she''s beautiful, too!"


    Each whispered remarknded like a pinprick to Vanessa''s pride, making her quicken her pace as she left the crowd behind.


    In front of the backstage dressing mirror, Vanessa drew a deep breath, taking in her meticulously applied makeup. She''d chosen a stunning white gown adorned with real diamonds-a seven-figure designer piece flown in from Europe- specifically to make an impression tonight.


    Every sparkling gem on the dress was genuine, a testament to how carefully she''d prepared. She''d wanted to ensure no one could look down on her.


    But then Eleanor had appeared-


    "Miss Shannon, your setlist is Chopin''s Nocturne and Debussy''s ir de Lune, correct?" the emcee asked, program in hand.


    Vanessa nodded, though a tightness pressed against her chest.


    "Miss Shannon, you''re on in five minutes," came the gentle reminder.


    Forcing a smile, Vanessa returned to the ballroom, determined to collect herself. There was no reason to feel inferior-she had plenty to be proud of. Her des from internationalpetitions had always been her source of confidence. How could she possibly lose to Eleanor?


    The emcee''s voice rang out from the hall, "Now, please wee the renowned pianist, Miss Vanessa Shannon, for a special performance!"


    A round of apuse from thedies greeted her as Vanessaposed herself, lifted her chin, and strode gracefully onto the stage. The spotlight found her immediately. As always, her eyes searched the audience for the one person who truly mattered-Mrs. Ellington.


    But her smile faltered.


    There, on a velvet loveseat, Mrs. Ellington was holding Eleanor''s hand, leaning in close as they chatted intimately, not even ncing toward the stage.


    Several other society women clustered around them, as if the piano recital was nothing more than background music.


    Vanessa''s fingers hovered above the keys, her mind suddenly nk. For a


    moment, she nearly forgot the opening note. Forcing herself to begin, she yed, but the smooth, flowing melody she was known for sounded strangely lifeless tonight.


    Her hands moved mechanically over the keys, her eyes drifting again and again to Eleanor. That woman, once so insignificant in Vanessa''s eyes, now basked in adoration, while Vanessa-the celebrated piano prodigy, beloved at countless events-felt like a mere afterthought.


    A harsh, wrong note rang out. Vanessa jolted, realizing her palm was slick with nervous sweat.


    She recovered quickly, but herposure was gone. The piece that usually brought her thunderous ovations now felt t and hollow.


    As the final note faded, polite apuse rose from the crowd. Vanessa stood and curtsied, her gaze searching for Mrs. Ellington-who offered only a perfunctory p before turning right back to Eleanor, her attention already elsewhere.