The Ex-Wife's Burning Elegance

Among the infamous Devil's Trilogy, *The Gaze* was known as the most difficult piece of all—a reputation earned from the very first bars. Unlike most

compositions, which built up layer by layer, allowing musicians to ease in and find their footing, *The Gaze* hurled the performer straight into its most punishing passages without mercy.

For ordinary violinists, even the opening was a mountain too steep to climb, let alone the challenge of making it through the entire piece. The judges were already bracing themselves for Stella to falter right from the start.

But to their shock, Stella navigated those treacherous opening measures with astonishing ease. She made the hellish passages sound almost mundane, as if *The Gaze* were nothing more than a pleasant, straightforward melody.

Her movements betrayed no effort or strain. Each phrase flowed from her hands as smoothly as water gliding over polished stone.

In the audience, Mr. Walden and his students watched, dumbfounded. They knew that some pieces could be played on many instruments, but even those most familiar with other disciplines-like Rena and her companions-found *The Gaze* daunting. Even if one survived the brutal introduction, the rest of the piece was no gentler.

How could Stella make it seem so effortless? Was she just pretending? Or was Nocturne Stella truly that gifted?

Backstage in the green room, Harry watched the performance on the monitor, momentarily stunned. But soon, he composed himself. The opening may have been torturous, but there were violinists who could get through it. The true nightmare of *The Gaze* lay ahead, in the surging climax and the delicate conclusion. That stretch demanded not just flawless technique, but a deep well of musical instinct—a mastery of fingering and pressure, where every nuance mattered. Too tight or too loose, too much or too little, and the entire piece would unravel.

Yet Stella's interpretation was pitch-perfect. She didn't miss a beat; in fact, her performance was every bit as brilliant as Harry's own. He couldn't deny it-this woman truly had skill.

As the music soared toward its crescendo, Harry's expression darkened, He listened, desperate to catch a mistake, but Stella gave him nothing. If she could keep this up to the end, the contest would be a dead heat. And for him, a tie against a newcomer was as good as defeat. He was the established maestro; Stella was a rookie just stepping onto the stage. There would be no rematch. A draw meant he'd lost.

Lost in these thoughts, Harry suddenly caught something—a subtle shift. Stella had taken a notoriously difficult passage and raised it an entire key.

Harry's heart leapt. Lowering the key would have made things easier, but raising it? That multiplied the difficulty several times over. The next section would be nearly impossible to complete.

Stella had slipped up—finally! Relief washed over Harry. Only then did he realize how tense he'd become; his shirt stuck to his back, damp with cold sweat. He'd never felt this way before. To be pushed to the brink by a complete unknown-so it was true, then: the Camerons really were his destined rivals. noveldrama

The judges, too, frowned in concern. Stella had played a note too high. Even a prodigy couldn't weather such a mistake in a piece this unforgiving. It was over. She would lose.

Mr. Walden and his students

relaxed, their grim expressions

softening, Mr. Walden exhaled

quietly, "Looks like she's reached her

limit after all." For a moment, he'd

wondered if his doubts about Stella's talent had been

misplaced-but perhaps, he thought, his instincts had been right all along.