Chapter 10
The sharp edge of broken glass caught the light in the waiting room, gleaming ominously.
Christine knelt with an emotionless face.
Her movements, as she cleaned up the shattered glass, showed no sign of unease. Instead, she seemed calm and composed.
“Her singing talent is undeniable, and her looks—well, Miss Faledon is far above her. As for Miss Bennett, she’s more… showy, like someone from the pleasure districts.”
At the ball following the opera, Fiona overheard the noblewoman whispering. She wanted to argue back, but couldn’t. All she could do was fume with frustration over being compared to Christine.
She couldn’t let this slide. If she didn’t crush Christine now, she might never be able to.
Rising from her seat, Fiona shot a cold glance at her maid, silently giving an order.
Make sure she never dares to challenge my position again.
When Christine reached for the last shard of glass, the maid smirked, brushing past her shoulder roughly with her knee. Christine lost her balance and instinctively braced herself on the floor.
As if waiting for this moment, Fiona stomped on Christine’s hand.
Christine bit her lip so hard it turned pale, sweat beginning to form on her forehead. Watching this, Fiona felt a wicked sense of satisfaction. But she wasn’t done yet.
Leaning her weight on her right foot, Fiona glared down at Christine, who was crouched before her.
“Say you’re sorry,” Fiona demanded.
Christine slowly lifted her head.
“Say you’re sorry for trying to take my place. Beg me, and promise you’ll never do it again!”
Christine’s dark eyes stared up at Fiona, silent and unyielding. She didn’t even let out a small groan.
How stubborn. So she wants to fight me, does she?
Suddenly, a knock broke through the tension. Fiona was in the middle of grinding Christine’s hand beneath her slipper when she froze at the sound.
“It’s Herbert, Miss Bennett.”
It was the voice of Count Guno’s secretary.
Startled, Fiona quickly stepped back.
“What are you doing? Get up already!”
Christine stood, cradling her bruised hand. The imprint of Fiona’s shoe was still visible on her skin.
“You’re so clumsy,” Fiona scoffed, stepping past the blood-stained carpet to check her reflection in the mirror. She gave her maid a quick nod to clean up the mess.
“I had no idea you were here. I’ve been searching the entire theater,” Herbert said.
“Where else would I be during a break but my dressing room?” Fiona replied, waving it off. “Christine, prepare some tea.”
“There’s no time for that,” Herbert interrupted. “The Count urgently wishes to see you.”
“At this hour? How unusual.”
It was rare for Count Guno to personally summon any of his performers, especially during practice hours. Fiona sighed softly as if to say How tiresome, before asking, “I suppose I have time to freshen up first?”
“Ah… but the person he’s looking for isn’t you, Miss Bennett.”
“…Not me?”
Herbert hesitated, clearly nervous as he glanced toward the corner of the room. Fiona followed his gaze, her eyes narrowing.
Standing there, holding a silver tray, was Christine, upright and composed. Her cold, steady gaze sent a chill through Fiona.
Her expression reignited Fiona’s fury.
“What happened to your hand?”
Christine glanced down at her injured hand, where a handkerchief was loosely wrapped. Blood was seeping through, as she hadn’t bothered to properly stop the bleeding.
“I was careless,” she replied.
It wasn’t hard to imagine what might’ve happened in Fiona Bennett’s dressing room. As a shrewd businessman, Count Guno showed no reaction, though Christine wondered what he might be thinking.
His gaze lingered on her injured hand for a moment before he got straight to the point.
“An interesting message came from the palace.”
Christine looked up, puzzled.
Given her minor role and the fact that she had missed a lead performance due to a sudden illness, she expected punishment—maybe a pay cut, suspension, or even dismissal.
But what Count Guno said next was unexpected.
“There’s a royal banquet this weekend for Prince Arsèn and his wife.”
Christine blinked, unsure why he was telling her this.
“The palace is looking for a soprano to perform a solo.”
Christine stared at him, struggling to understand. Surely, he means Fiona Bennett?
But Count Guno continued, firmly clarifying, “Christine Faledon. You’ve been chosen.”
Her eyes widened in shock.
“Me…?”
“Yes, you.”
The disbelief was clear in Christine’s emerald eyes as she stared at him.
“Arthur Ernst von Maximilian, the Crown Prince himself, made the request.”
It was an extraordinary situation.
An unknown singer being invited to perform at a royal banquet, and by the Crown Prince’s direct request, no less—it was unheard of.
“Are you sure it’s my name?”
In response, Count Guno handed her the letter.
It was brief and formal, starting with polite greetings. Her name, “Christine Faledon,” was written clearly in elegant handwriting.
There was no explanation as to why she had been chosen. However, at the bottom, one detail stood out: the payment.
“Five hundred pounds.”
Christine’s voice faltered as she read the amount aloud. It was five times her annual salary with the Guno Opera Company.
“It’s a generous offer. What do you think?” the Count asked.
“I don’t understand. Why would they choose someone like me…?” Christine’s quiet doubt trailed off.
The voice of her friend Daisy suddenly echoed in her mind. “Who knows? Maybe the Prince saw your performance and fell for you!”
Impossible, Christine thought.
It was as unlikely as cherry blossoms blooming in the middle of winter.
Count Guno observed her closely, his expression unreadable. “It’s clear enough to me. Based on talent alone, you’re more than capable.”
Christine’s cheeks flushed. It was the first time he had ever praised her directly.
“You’ve been a gem from the start,” he said, his tone softening.
Her eyes grew misty at the unexpected compliment. For a moment, the pain in her hand faded, replaced by a surge of courage.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
Performing at the royal banquet would secure her future as an opera singer. The generous payment could also free her from the debts that bound her and her family.
But then, Nora’s stern warning echoed in her mind: “Do nothing. Just breathe quietly. Isn’t that simple enough?”
Reality came crashing back, cold and sharp.
“Do you want this, Christine Faledon?” Count Guno asked directly.
Christine stared at her injured hand, trembling slightly. The pain reminded her of where she stood.
“I…” she hesitated, then met his gaze.
“I’ll do it,” she said, her voice steady.
She didn’t know why she had been chosen or whether this was the right decision. But one thing was certain:
This chance would never come again.
“I want to do it, Count.”
