Chapter 53
My mind was already too tangled to deal with Quinlan. I brushed her off vaguely.
"You should ask Octavius about that."
I tried to step around her.
Quinlan threw her arm out, blocking me again. "He has similar marks. You have them too, and you deliberately wore that turtleneck to hide them."
"It can't be a coincidence. You were together last night, weren't you? Your sister said you didn't come home all night." Her tone grew heavier with each question.
Faced with Quinlan's aggressive interrogation, I was beyond annoyed. The last thing I wanted was to explain the messy situation between Octavius and me.
I gave her a cool glance, my tone distant. "Ms. Powell, think whatever you want. I'm not obligated to answer your questions."
Without waiting to see her ugly expression, I smoothed my slightly wrinkled dress and headed back toward the crowd.
I'd barely steadied myself when Quinlan's voice rang through the microphone, echoing across the entire ballroom. "Distinguished guests, thank you all for coming to celebrate my grandmother's birthday."
Everyone turned toward Quinlan.
She held the mic with a radiant smile. "Tonight, Ms. Seraphine Whitaker of the Whitaker family has specially prepared a performance to honor my grandmother."
Instantly, all eyes focused on me.
I froze, completely blindsided.
When the hell did I say I'd perform?
Right on cue, Brielle gasped dramatically, digging my grave deeper. "Seraphine, so that's why you mentioned learning piano in the car earlier—you were preparing something special for Mrs. Flora Powell's birthday? How thoughtful!"
She made sure everyone around us heard.
Quinlan jumped in seamlessly. "Yes, Ms. Whitaker will be playing piano! Bring out my piano!"
I hadn't said a single word, yet these two had already set the trap.
Within moments, everyone was staring at me.
Whispers flooded in from all directions.
"Since when does Seraphine know how to play piano?"
"The Whitaker family's fake heiress is famous for being boy-crazy. She only ever had eyes for Mitchell. Besides being decent at work, she has zero other talents. I heard she's never even touched a piano."
"She probably learned it last minute. Talk about setting yourself up for embarrassment!"
"Please don't turn Mrs. Powell's birthday into a comedy show!"
"She probably can't even find middle C. Totally delusional. She'd do anything for attention."
Several people laughed mockingly.
"Seraphine, the piano's ready. Go ahead!" Brielle wore a bright smile, clearly enjoying the setup.
Quinlan stood on stage, smiling down at me, her eyes full of challenge.
I stood in the center of the crowd, absorbing the contemptuous and gleeful stares from all directions, completely unfazed.
They had no idea.
In my past life, I'd practiced piano obsessively after Mitchell casually mentioned he loved a particular piece.
Back then, I was pathetically naive, believing that mastering his favorite song would make him love me more.
Instead, it led to my brutal death.
Reborn, this skill had become my weapon.
Even fate was on my side.
I smiled and walked calmly toward the piano through the mocking crowd.
Passing the head table, I nodded respectfully to Flora. "Happy birthday."
As the words left my lips, I looked up to see Octavius emerging from the lounge, just ending a call.
He spotted me standing by the piano, his brow furrowing slightly.
I didn't look at him again. I sat at the bench and took a deep breath.
Closing my eyes, memories of practicing alone with sheet music in my past life surfaced vividly.
I opened my eyes and let my fingers fall, touching the cool keys.
That familiar feeling returned.
I began to play.
A cascade of light, joyful notes poured from my fingertips.
Everyone froze.
The noisy ballroom fell instantly silent.
The mocking voices vanished, leaving only the music weaving through the crowd.
I immersed myself completely in the piece, ignoring the stares around me, ignoring Octavius.
Just me, this song, and the sheet music burned into my memory.
Three minutes later, the piece ended.
I lifted my hands and nodded toward Flora, who sat utterly stunned.
The entire ballroom remained silent before erupting into thunderous applause.
"That was incredible! Ms. Whitaker's been holding out on us!"
"That level—she's definitely professional!"
"Who was calling her a pretty airhead? This plot twist came out of nowhere!"
Flora stood excitedly, praising me repeatedly. "That was magnificent! Ms. Whitaker, you've been hiding your talents! Even better than my Quinlan!"
I smiled modestly, my gaze sweeping across the crowd.
Quinlan's face looked absolutely terrible. Brielle's eyes were wide as saucers, like she'd seen a ghost.
I smirked mockingly, then turned to find Octavius.
He stood in the shadows of a corner, his gaze heavy and inscrutable as it rested on me.
Our eyes met. Octavius didn't look away. Instead, his focus sharpened, as if trying to see straight through me.
I looked away first, accepting compliments from those around me as I stepped off the stage.
Brielle watched me approach, forcing a smile uglier than crying, her tone dripping with acid. "Seraphine, when did you secretly learn piano?"
"Secretly?" I feigned surprise. "You were so eager to get me up there just now. I assumed you knew I was good. Wait—did you actually think I couldn't play?"
Several people nearby overheard, shooting strange looks her way.
"Wait, Brielle didn't know she could play? But she just announced Seraphine would perform."
"She obviously wanted to humiliate her. The sisters never got along, right? Didn't Brielle sabotage Seraphine and Mitchell's engagement party a while back?"
"Scary. Having a sister like that must be hell."
Brielle's face went pale. She forced a smile. "Of course I knew you could play! I just didn't expect you to be this good!"
I smiled coolly, my tone mocking. "You've barely been back at the Whitaker house. There's a lot you don't know about me."
Brielle was completely shut down, nearly choking.
I ignored her, turning to chat with another wealthy young woman who'd come over to compliment me.
During the small talk, thoughts of Octavius made my chest feel stuffed with cotton—suffocating and uncomfortable. Before I knew it, I'd downed two more drinks.
The alcohol hit, making my head spin and my vision blur.
Just then, my phone buzzed.
Mitchell's number lit up the screen.
I answered irritably, snapping before he could speak, my words slurring. "Mitchell, are you ever going to stop? Quit calling me!"
"Seraphine, you've been drinking? You're at Mrs. Flora Powell's party, aren't you?"
Mitchell heard the delay in my speech, his tone turning urgent. "You drank that much without worrying about what might happen? Don't move—I'm coming to pick you up right away!"