Chapter 17
The first bell signaling the audience’s arrival rang.
Gentlemen smoking in the garden of the Guno Opera House and ladies chatting while sipping champagne in the lobby all rushed toward the entrance of the theater, their long dress hems brushing against each other in a wave.
“Unless it’s Christine Faledon again, I might seriously sue the Guno Opera House,” one lady joked as she sat on a lavender velvet sofa, and laughter erupted among her companions. Ladies adorned with jewels were busy noticing which noble families were attending, while gentlemen dressed in tailcoats eagerly awaited the raising of the curtain, adjusting their opera glasses.
The chandelier hanging from the ceiling was ablaze with a fiery crimson light, illuminating the scene.
“I think the Prince and Princess of Arsen are entering,” Daisy whispered to Christine, startled by the sound of applause from behind the red curtain. Christine nodded briefly, trying to steady her breathing as she relaxed the muscles around her lips.
“Isn’t His Highness the Crown Prince coming?” Daisy asked again.
“…I don’t know,” Christine responded with a brief reply, closing her eyes and mentally reviewing her lines. It was a second chance, almost like a miracle. She couldn’t afford to make a mistake, so she promised herself to do her best.
Just then, the noise around them gradually faded as the sound of heels clicking on the wooden floor became clearer. It was a familiar, unsettling rhythm. Christine lifted her head with a bad feeling, and there she was—Fiona Bennett, approaching.
The onlookers’ attention shifted to Fiona, who had stopped right in front of Christine.
“You!” Fiona’s sharp voice cut through the air, bringing calm to the backstage chaos.
“You slept with Count Guno, didn’t you?” she accused.
“…”
“Tell me. Did you crawl into the Count’s bed because you wanted my role? You dirty thing!” Her voice, filled with deliberate malice, was loud enough to reach the audience behind the red curtain.
“That’s what it was!” murmured the onlookers. Their eyes turned toward Christine, whose neck visible under her dress was now flushed.
“I knew it… that’s why the treatment seemed too extravagant to be true,” someone muttered.
“Turns out she’s not just good at singing, but she knows how to use her looks, too,” another added.
The atmosphere became tense, and Fiona continued to corner Christine, who stood frozen in place.
“Did you covet my spot that much? Not only did you drug my drink, but you even resorted to selling your body?” Fiona sneered, her breath faintly smelling of alcohol, though she didn’t seem drunk enough to lose control. Christine realized this wasn’t just drunken behavior—it was calculated, meant to destabilize the audience before the performance of foreign royalty.
As the realization hit, Christine’s flushed earlobes slowly returned to their natural color. She took a deep breath and met Fiona’s gaze.
“Miss Bennett, you have now insulted both myself and Count Guno.”
Christine’s voice, smooth yet firm, carried a newfound strength, and her dignified demeanor matched her luxurious dress.
“Shut your mouth,” Fiona spat, her face contorting with rage.
“I swear to God, I never touched your cup, Miss Bennett. And do you really think Count Guno would give someone the lead role over such petty reasons?” Christine replied, looking directly at her.
“What… what did you say?” Fiona stammered.
Christine’s turquoise eyes remained steady and unwavering. Fiona couldn’t stand the insult.
“If the Count had chosen me for the Violet role based on such conditions, I would never have stepped on that stage. I am a singer, nothing more.”
Fiona’s eyes wavered, and Christine’s words hit her like a slap. Christine was implying that without talent, she wouldn’t have been given the role, regardless of her relationship with the Count.
“If Count Guno selected me, it’s because he believes I have the ability,” Christine added coldly. “Please, don’t insult his character.”
Fiona’s face turned bright red, and Christine’s icy demeanor made her feel small.
“Do you have anything else to say?” Christine asked, her composure unshaken.
Fiona’s face reddened with anger, but she knew there was no point in continuing. The audience was beginning to disperse, and the atmosphere shifted.
Fiona stalked off, her satin dress swishing behind her, plotting her next move. She swore that Christine wouldn’t get away with this.
Meanwhile, outside on the terrace, Arthur felt the cold, clear night air brush his cheek as he lit a cigarette. The sky was dark, with heavy clouds hanging low. The chill of the Dauner River breeze carried the scent of wet earth, signaling snow might be on the way.
Taking a long drag, Arthur stared at the city lights in the distance. The opera had just begun. He thought of Christine as the soloist’s song filled the air. His eyes narrowed as he flicked the ash from his cigarette, contemplating her connection with Count Guno.
“She’s not what she seems,” Arthur muttered to himself, considering that her relationship with the Count may not be as scandalous as it appeared. He decided to put a halt to his plans to use her as a source of information for the Duke of Deimos, deciding to observe her a bit longer.
As he continued smoking, the sound of applause from the concert hall echoed through the night. His thoughts turned back to Christine, her striking turquoise eyes still lingering in his mind.
The cold night air, thickened by a strange scent of perfume, made him furrow his brows.
