Chapter 88 No Filter

Chapter 88 No Filter

Isabella's POV

I ignored Sophia's provocation.

I took a deep breath and settled the violin on my left shoulder, resting my chin on the chinrest.

The second I closed my eyes, all the noise in the concert hall disappeared.

Elena's baton came down.

I played the first note.

For the next two hours, I was completely lost in the music.

No Maurice. No disgusting alley from last night. No messy situations that made me feel suffocated.

Just me and my violin.

By the end of the first rehearsal session, a thin layer of sweat had formed on my back.

"Isabella," Elena said, tapping the music stand to wave me over.

"Your pitch and emotion are good. But the third movement is the highlight of our collaboration with the ballet company. Take your violin and go to the dance studio next door. You need to work with the principal male dancer on the stage interaction."

I froze for a moment. Stage interaction?

I pushed open the glass door to the dance studio. A tall, muscular man sat on the wooden floor, stretching. When he heard me come in, he stood up.

He was handsome, with dark brown curly hair, wearing tight black practice clothes that showed off the smooth, powerful lines of his muscles.

"You must be Isabella?" He walked over and extended his hand. "I'm Dustin Banks, lead dancer for the Spring Gala."

"Hello." I shook his hand, a little nervous. His palm was large, with calluses from years of training.

"Don't be nervous. Elena must have told you—during the climax of the third movement, you'll stand on the lower platform onstage, and I'll lift you to center stage in time with the music. You can't stop playing while that happens."

I gasped. Play the violin in mid-air? Keep my pitch and posture? This was insane.

"Come on, let's try it once. Hold your violin, get in position, and leave the rest to me."

I took a deep breath and raised my violin. His hands naturally gripped my waist.

"One, two, up."

On his cue, I was lifted off the ground. I was so scared I almost screamed, and I nearly dropped my violin to grab his shoulders.

"Engage your core! Don't be afraid! Give me your weight, just focus on your violin!"

I gritted my teeth and forced my arms steady. He held me from below, his steps extremely steady as he walked forward three paces, then set me down on the prop platform. The whole thing took less than five seconds, but it felt like a century.

"Nice job," Dustin said, letting go and smiling at me. "You've got great balance."

At six in the evening, rehearsal finally ended. I thought I'd be exhausted, but strangely, I wasn't that tired. Instead, I felt a rush of excitement and adrenaline. This feeling of being taken seriously by professionals, of being completely immersed—it was amazing.

I walked out of the main building with Dustin, carrying my violin case.

Then I stopped in my tracks.

At the far edge of the parking lot, a familiar car was parked. Terrence leaned against the door, wearing a black leather jacket over a plain dark T-shirt, one long leg casually bent. An unlit cigarette dangled from his mouth, his hands in his pockets. His gaze cut through the crowd and landed squarely on Dustin and me.

"Your boyfriend here to pick you up?" Dustin followed my gaze and raised an eyebrow.

"Not my boyfriend," I said quickly. "He's my boyfriend's... brother."

Dustin gave me a surprised look but was smart enough not to ask more questions.

"Well then, see you tomorrow, Isabella." He turned and leaned in to give me a quick kiss on both cheeks, then followed it with a quick, gentlemanly hug.

"See you tomorrow, Dustin."

Dustin walked away. I took a deep breath and headed toward Terrence with my violin case. As I got closer, he took the unlit cigarette from his mouth and tossed it into a nearby trash can. He straightened up, his eyes fixed on me—or rather, on the spots Dustin had just touched.

I couldn't help it. My eyes lit up as I looked at him. "Terrence, you have no idea how amazing Dustin is. He's going to lift me into the air. I was terrified at first, but he was so steady. He's so professional—he doesn't treat me like some fragile thing that'll break if you touch it. He's really reliable!"

I was still going on about that rush of adrenaline. Terrence listened quietly. Then he let out a short, soft laugh.

"Just because he lifted you up during rehearsal without dropping you, that makes him reliable? Isabella, are your standards for men a little too low?"

I froze. There was a clear edge in his voice. My heart skipped a beat. Was he... jealous?

"That's not what I meant..." I bit my lip and quickly changed the subject.

I looked down at my clothes—ordinary blue jeans and a simple beige knit sweater. "Terrence, is this too casual for meeting your comrade?" I tugged at the hem anxiously. "Should I go back and change into a dress?"

Terrence lowered his gaze, letting it slide from my hair, past my cheeks, down to my fingers, which were clenched tight with nerves.

"No need. You look perfect."

My face turned bright red.

He opened the passenger door and gestured for me to get in. Soft instrumental music played at a low volume in the car. Neither of us mentioned the crazy things that had happened last night on that twin bed.

Terrence gripped the steering wheel with both hands, eyes on the road, and spoke suddenly. "The place we're eating tonight is an old restaurant in the west district. Reveille and his fiancée are already there."

"Okay," I said, a little nervous.

"Reveille's got no filter," Terrence said of his brother-in-arms, not holding back. "His mouth runs faster than his brain. And he's got this thing—he loves to talk about gore while he's eating. Whose guts were hanging out, whose head got sheared clean off."

I gasped.

"So," Terrence turned his head and looked at me very seriously, "if you feel sick, or you can't stand the crap he says, just kick me under the table or give me a look."

"Then what?" I asked.