“Larry Mitchell, you seem desperate for fame. You want to become a renowned pianist, a real success story, don’t you?” Emily said with a calm smile. “But let me tell you—your wish isn’t going to come true.”
Larry’s expression darkened. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Without another word, Emily pulled out her phone, tapped open a video, turned the volume all the way up, and held it right in front of Larry’s face.
In the video, Emily was dressed casually, sitting at the piano bench. A brilliant white spotlight shone down from above, surrounding her in a halo of warm light. The glow seemed to blur her features, making her look ethereal—almost otherworldly.
She closed her eyes as her slender, pale hands danced across the keys. The music flowed out—fluid, flawless, winding and elegant, every note perfect, ringing clear like spring water, lingering in the air long after she played. It was the kind of performance that couldn’t be improved upon.
Even though the footage was a little grainy, the atmosphere was so intense that Emily herself felt moved watching it.
Larry stared, breath coming quicker. Slowly, his eyes widened in disbelief.
“No way,” he croaked, voice raw. “How… How could you possibly play like that?”
Emily explained, “I asked a hotel staffer to record it for me—just as a keepsake. Never thought I’d end up needing it like this.”
The video started from the very beginning of her performance, so it also captured the part where Larry tried to cause a scene. His section was sloppy, with background noise. Emily skipped ahead, showing Larry only the part after he’d been thrown out.
Larry’s breathing grew harsher. “It’s fake. You dubbed it over or something. There’s no way!”


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