It wasn’t just about the gown. The Mcintosh Piano Competition’s final championship throne was hers by right. Alaricka wouldn’t lay a finger on it.

Roschelle tapped the armrest.

For this final round, she’d prepared meticulously. After sifting through countless pieces, she’d paid a premium for the perfect composition – guaranteed to astonish both judges and audience.

Alarieka Huston’s resistance was futile.

Unlike what others might assume, she cared little for their opinions.

Her sole focus was how many would witness the Mcintosh Piano Competition finals, how many would see “Aspiration” left behind by Lindsey Weaver.

As always, she took her seat in the corner.

This final felt different from earlier rounds – tension hung thick in the air. No one chatted in the waiting room; most sat with closed eyes, mentally rehearsing their pieces.

Alarieka needed no rehearsal.

Every note, every phrase of “Aspiration” lived within her, etched into muscle memory.

Five minutes before the final, contestants stepped onstage one by one to draw their performance order before judges and a thousand spectators.

Fortune favored Alarieka – she drew the last slot.

Rose drew first.

Once all orders were set, Rose took the stage.

Even from the waiting room, Alaricka heard the sudden eruption of cheers as Rose appeared – waves of sound piercing the walls, flooding every contestant’s ears.

Murmurs rippled through the room: “All those fans for Rose? That roar!”

“Obviously. Her following’s massive enough for stardom. Millions of followers online – no joke.”

The waiting room froze.

Outside, cheers swelled like tidal waves, Rose’s name rising above the din. Louder cheers seemed to crown her champion already.

Her devoted fans fell silent the instant a judge raised the mic for quiet.

Throughout Rose’s performance, not a single cheer broke the perfect stillness.

Alarieka lowered her head, smirking with contempt.

Today’s spectacle demanded a crowd – the louder, the better.

She steadied herself, listening intently to Rose’s piano piece.

Melodic, dynamic, technically flawless – an undeniably successful performance.

A direct strike for the championship.

Rose had chosen an original composition.

Alarieka nearly laughed aloud. At Rose’s skill level? Impossible. Stolen from some ghostwriter – or some poor soul?

As Rose’s final note faded, thunderous applause shook the hall.

Alarieka lifted her gaze toward the stage.

From her corner seat, through the door connecting waiting room and performance hall, she had a clear view between the judges’ panel and the audience.

Spectators radiated joy, clapping so hard it looked painful. Many half-rose, hands raised in cheering tribute.

Kieran Argent sat front-row center. His sharp features softened, dark eyes fixed intently on the stage. A faint smile touched his lips as he applauded Rose.

His arms held a flawless bouquet of vivid blue roses. Tiny lights woven among the petals made the blossoms glow enchantingly vivid.

Alarieka raised her hands too. Her gaze steady, she joined the applause for Rose.

She watched Roschelle Whitaker step down from the stage amid cheers, walking up to Kieran Argent with a beaming smile as she took the bouquet of blue roses from his hands and held it to her chest.

Amid thunderous applause and teasing shouts, Kieran stood up and pulled Roschelle into his arms. She laughed, burying her face against his neck as she nestled into his embrace.

Alarieka Huston watched quietly, observing as Roschelle turned her head sideways.

Their eyes met unexpectedly.

Instantly, Roschelle’s gaze turned meaningful, brimming with arrogance and pride.

She raised her hands, tucking the flowers between their bodies before wrapping both arms tightly around Kieran’s waist. Slowly, almost intoxicatedly, she melted deeper into his embrace.

Alarieka’s expression remained calm as she continued clapping.

Roschelle stared back, her smile fading until her eyes turned nearly icy.

After Roschelle’s performance, the backstage waiting room sank into an oppressive, suffocating silence.