Chapter 16
“Gabriel!”
Fiona, completely losing her composure, forgot to knock and barged into Count Guno’s office. Both Count Guno, sitting at a large walnut desk, and the chief administrator next to him, turned to look at her.
Count Guno’s thick eyebrows twitched.
Fiona realized her mistake. While she and Gabriel didn’t follow formalities in private, this was his official space.
“… I’ll wait outside,” she said, regaining her composure and carefully closing the door, leaving a small gap.
“The Turner Marquis, the Hyzen Count, and the wife of the President of Gretha Bank have invited Lady Faledon to the banquet this weekend. These are the terms they’ve proposed,” the chief administrator reported.
Fiona, standing outside, bit her lip. These were the families that always invited her to perform. It was the only chance for common-born singers to break into high society. While the payment was good, it also gave them a chance to form connections with nobility, which was often the way to advance in their world.
Despite some unscrupulous theater owners who had sent singers for less-than-pure reasons, Count Guno always respected the will of his singers.
“We won’t send Kristan Faledon. Handle it accordingly,” Count Guno said decisively.
“Pardon? What? No, why…?” The administrator stammered, confused by the Count’s unexpected decision.
“If she wants to hear her singing, she can come herself,” Count Guno replied, adding, “From Friday’s performance, let’s have Christine back on stage.”
“Gabriel!”
Unable to hold herself back, Fiona stormed into the office again, her actions like a bull charging at a red cloth. The administrator instinctively stepped back.
Count Guno glanced at Fiona, sighed, and motioned to the administrator. Understanding quickly, the administrator bowed his head and left the room in a hurry.
“I don’t recall calling you,” Count Guno said with a slight irritation in his voice.
There was always a clear boundary between them, and now he was warning her not to cross it. But Fiona had no time to consider that.
“Do I have to be called just to see you? Violet is my role. She’s mine! How could you do this to me without even consulting me? Huh?”
“I’m a businessman, Fiona,” Count Guno said coldly, tapping the sales report the administrator had left.
Fiona, stung by the poor sales figures, blushed in embarrassment.
Count Guno returned to his work, signaling that the conversation should end. Feeling abandoned by his cold attitude, Fiona switched strategies, speaking in a softer voice.
“Are you tired of me, Gabriel?”
She stepped closer, trying to wrap her arms around his neck, but froze halfway.
“This isn’t the right time or place for this conversation,” Count Guno replied firmly, his amber eyes stern under golden eyelashes. His gaze made it clear he wouldn’t allow anything beyond this point.
Fiona understood, but now there was no mistaking it.
Another woman had entered his life. It was obvious who she was.
“Answer me. Are you tired of me?” she asked again.
The Guno Opera House was full of beautiful, young singers, and Gabriel Guno was the master of this kingdom.
“Not at all. You’re still charming in bed, but Christine is simply better on stage.”
Count Guno’s indifferent response stung Fiona. She glared at him like a cat, trying to hold her anger in.
“I can do better on stage. Let me do it, Gabriel, please…”
“That look of yours is especially cute, but that’s it. The public wants a new face.”
“Gabriel!”
“Christine fits that demand perfectly.”
“No, I won’t accept it!”
Unable to control her temper, Fiona swept everything off the desk with a crash. Lamps, vases, and ink bottles tumbled to the floor, papers flying through the air, landing on the carpet. Count Guno, watching the scene calmly, only raised his eyes to look at her.
“I don’t care what you destroy, Fiona. But if you touch my singer, that’s something I’ll never tolerate,” he said in a calm tone, delivering a soft but clear warning.
He rang the bell, signaling the end of their conversation with cold finality.
Fiona’s clenched fists trembled with rage, her body shaking with the urge to break everything in her path.
The Dressing Room Scene
“Looks like all the roses from Gretha are here,” a young maid said as she received a bouquet of flowers in the dressing room, admiring the overflowing flowers filling the table, couch, and window ledges. The room was a sea of red.
“Not even during Bennett’s first performance was it like this. Not when Adele performed either,” Joanne, the head of costumes, said proudly.
The Guno Opera House was packed today. Word had spread that Prince Arsen and his wife would be attending, and high society had buzzed about it.
“Your mother must be very proud. Is she not coming?” Joanne asked, recalling a time from 9 years ago.
A woman had entered the theater holding her young daughter’s hand, introducing herself as Anna Faledon. Joanne had recognized her immediately. Though tired and worn, she was still strikingly beautiful, a former soprano from the Rosid Opera House.
“She still isn’t well enough to come,” came the calm reply.
Joanne paused as she adjusted the dress’s laces. Excessive beauty could be dangerous. A flower without thorns could be easily plucked.
When Rose disappeared with the loss of the theater, it wasn’t a shocking event, not in this world, at least.
“She must recover soon,” Joanne said. “Is this more comfortable for you?” she asked, smoothing out Christine’s dress.
“Much more comfortable, thank you, ma’am.”
When Christine had suddenly been asked to take over for Violet, the tight dress had made it hard to breathe. Wearing it for three hours, switching between different vocal styles, had nearly made her faint.
“You’re the most beautiful of them all, Christine,” Joanne said, admiring the pearl-colored dress. Christine’s long neck and bust were beautifully framed by the gown, making her look elegant.
“Let’s go down now, shall we?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
As Christine and Joanne made their way to the door, they ran into a young page boy who had been about to knock. He held a large bouquet.
Christine’s eyes trembled.
It was a gardenia flower.
“It’s for Miss Faledon,” the boy said.
Seeing the white gardenia wrapped in pale parchment, memories of the night at Bern Palace flooded Christine’s mind.
The smell of flowers filled the doorway, and she seemed to hear the prince’s low voice once more. The joy that the roses had brought her vanished quickly, replaced by discomfort.
“There’s no card or note. Who sent this?” Joanne asked as she took the bouquet.
“I don’t know. It came directly from the florist,” the boy replied, bowing before leaving.
Joanne studied the bouquet, “Flowers are always the start. From there, it’s expensive dresses, jewelry… even villas. It’s all meant to overwhelm you. You must never fall for it, Christine.”
“I’ll remember, ma’am.”
Christine, standing among the sea of red in the dressing room, ignored the gardenia flower and its quiet white glow.
