Chapter 134
Chapter 134
Violet
Though Madam Bellini spoke in defense of her daughter, she was clearly straining to keep herself in check.
Gone was the imperious tone she'd used on me moments ago. Facing Owen, her eyes betrayed an unmistakable wariness. She didn't dare vent her anger at him, and certainly didn't dare hurl another insult at me in his presence.
Standing off to the side, I finally understood the situation with perfect clarity.
Owen was far more than a mere instructor at the Manhattan Conservatory of Music.
A man who could make a trustee's family cower like this, who could order the dean around like a personal assistant—such a man had to be backed by extraordinary influence and wealth.
"Fair or not, we let the evidence decide." Owen didn't so much as lift an eyelid. Madam Bellini's protests meant nothing to him.
A dead silence fell over the office.
Sienna twisted her fingers anxiously. Madam Bellini's face had gone ashen, but she didn't dare say another word.
Within ten minutes, the head of security knocked and entered, a USB drive in hand. Behind him came the music history professor who had stepped in to stop us in the restaurant earlier, along with two students who had been dining in a nearby booth at the time.
The dean took the drive, plugged it into the computer on his desk, and turned the screen toward everyone.
The surveillance footage was crystal clear—not just the picture, but the audio as well.
In the video, Sienna strode up to our table with her entourage and sneered down at us. Then she snatched up a glass of water and threw it in my face, spewing whatever came to mind, cursing the violin, calling me a "cheap little performer."
The whole thing was there, plain as day.
When the video ended, the music history professor gave an honest account of what had happened, confirming that Sienna had started it.
The truth was out.
The dean's face twisted with acute embarrassment. He stole a glance at Owen, then at Madam Bellini, cleared his throat, and forced himself to announce: "The footage makes it quite clear. The primary responsibility for this conflict lies with Sienna."
Madam Bellini closed her eyes and drew a deep breath. The arrogance drained from her face entirely. She knew she had lost this round completely, and could only grope for a way to save face.
"If Sienna struck first, then the fault is hers." Grinding the words out through her teeth, she turned and shot her daughter a glare. "Apologize to Violet."
Humiliation flooded Sienna's face, tears welling in her eyes. Biting down hard on her lip, she looked at me with the greatest reluctance and squeezed out a perfunctory: "I'm sorry."
"That's it?" Owen cut in coldly.
Madam Bellini's head snapped up, her expression grim. "Mr. Sheldon, she's apologized. What more do you want?"
"She didn't just insult my student—she insulted classical music itself." Owen took a step forward, and an overwhelming pressure instantly filled the room. "You think a flimsy 'I'm sorry' erases all of that?"
His sharp gaze bore into Sienna as he delivered his final verdict, one word at a time.
"On your knees. Apologize to Violet." His voice wasn't loud, but it carried an absolute, unassailable force. "And you'll write a two-thousand-word public apology, post it on the conservatory's notice board, and leave it there for a month."
I froze in place, staring at Owen in disbelief.
I did hate Sienna. But I knew all too well that in Manhattan's circles—where class and dignity were prized above all—forcing the daughter of an old-money family to kneel in public was tantamount to stripping the entire Bellini family of its face and grinding it underfoot.
Sienna was stunned too.
She sat there dumbly on the carpet, forgetting even to wipe her tears, as though she'd just heard something utterly absurd.
"Mr. Sheldon, have you lost your mind?" Madam Bellini was the first to recover. Her well-maintained features contorted completely, her voice shrill enough to pierce eardrums. "My daughter is the heir to the Bellini family! And you dare make her kneel before a commoner?!"
The dean bolted out from behind his desk in fright, cold sweat trickling down his forehead. He flailed his hands in the air, trying to smooth things over. "Mr. Sheldon, Madam Bellini, everyone, please—let's all calm down. Sienna has already apologized. Making her kneel really is a bit… excessive. How about this—Sienna writes a few more statements of reflection, and we put this whole matter behind us."
"Quiet." Owen didn't even glance at the dean as he bit out the single word.
The dean went rigid, and swallowed the rest of his sentence whole.
Owen turned, his gaze locking directly onto Madam Bellini. There was no hint of retreat in him; if anything, the pressure radiating from him only grew heavier.
"If she won't kneel, she can pack up and get out of the Manhattan Conservatory tomorrow." Owen's voice was calm and cold, ringing with a decision that brooked no argument.
"You wouldn't dare!" So furious she laughed, Madam Bellini jabbed a finger toward Owen's face. "You're nothing but a music instructor! What right do you have to expel my daughter? My husband is a core member of the board of trustees. One word from me, and you'll be the one packing your bags tomorrow!"
Faced with this threat, Owen didn't lose his temper. Instead, his lips curled with utter contempt.
"By all means, try. Let's see whether the board listens to your husband, or to me." He took another step forward and looked down at Sienna on the floor. "As for reasons to expel her—there are plenty."
Hands buried in the pockets of his slacks, he spoke in a tone like a man reading out a sentence. "Last semester's finals, you paid a teaching assistant five thousand dollars to alter your music theory grade. Last Halloween, you cut a freshman's strings and hounded her into dropping out. And that so-called family recommendation letter of yours—shall I read aloud, right here, just how much of it is fabricated?"
Every detail Owen laid out was precise beyond dispute.
Sienna's face went from bloodless white to ashen gray. She stared at Owen in terror, trembling like a leaf.
Madam Bellini's hand froze in midair, half her bluster snuffed out in an instant. She looked at her daughter in disbelief, clearly unaware that Sienna had done so many foolish things behind her back. What terrified her even more was how intimately Owen knew every one of these buried, sordid accounts.
At last she realized that the man before her was no ordinary music instructor. The capital and connections in his grasp far exceeded anything the Bellini family could withstand.
A dead silence settled over the office.
"I'll count to three." Owen lowered his eyes, his voice cold as ice. "One."
Sienna gave a violent shudder. She looked to her mother, pleading.
Madam Bellini clenched her jaw, her face livid—but she kept her mouth shut and made no further move to intervene. Caught between the family's interests and her daughter's dignity, she chose the former.
"Two."
"I'll kneel!" Sienna broke down, sobbing.
Bracing both hands against the Persian carpet, she turned herself over with enormous difficulty. Under the gaze of everyone in the room, her knees bent, and she dropped heavily to the floor before me.