Chapter 1She Ruined All Practice Pianos One Day Before My Music Audition

The day before the national conservatory auditions, the spoiled heiress who constantly acted like a fragile toddler secretly detuned every grand piano in the practice wing by a full half-step.

"Lola just thinks a piano tuned down a half-step sounds so much gentler. This way, everyone's music will sound as beautiful as a sweet lullaby."

In my past life, my ears caught the sickening pitch the second I sat down to practice. I immediately reported the sabotage to the faculty, and professional tuners worked through the night to fix every instrument.

Stripped of her precious "gentle aesthetic," Lola threw a hysterical fit, swallowed an entire bottle of prescription sleeping pills, and died before the ambulance even reached the hospital.

To avenge her, my entire class conspired against me at our graduation gala. They spiked my drink with a lethal dose of industrial alcohol.

When I woke up, my childhood best friend had bound my ten fingers with heavy steel piano wire, tightening the razor-sharp metal loop by agonizing loop.

"You love playing the piano so much? Then use your mangled fingers to play a requiem for Lola in hell!"

* * *

"But Lola just thinks a piano tuned a half-step down sounds so much gentler."

Lola rubbed her reddened eyes, letting a single, perfect tear slide down her cheek. She clutched a heavy steel tuning wrench to her chest. Her voice was thick with exaggerated, nasal innocence.

"Lola just wanted everyone's audition pieces to sound like sweet lullabies. Why are you yelling at Lola?"

That sickeningly sweet, infantile tone instantly triggered the protective instincts of every guy in the room.

My childhood best friend, Oliver, stepped forward and shielded Lola with his body. He glared at me and let out a furious snarl.

"Violet, do you know anything besides grinding away at those keys?"

"Lola is doing this for our own good. She's trying to help us relax before the biggest audition of our lives."

"Do you have zero empathy? Are you only happy when everyone else is having a mental breakdown from the stress?"

The rest of our classmates swarmed around them, their voices rising in a chorus of toxic accusations.

"Seriously. She’s just a mindless practice machine. Zero artistic soul."

"So what if the pitch is a little flat? I'm naturally gifted. I could play on a broken keyboard and still ace the audition. She’s just a try-hard who is insanely jealous of Lola."

"What a total buzzkill. She’s clinically insane for ruining the vibe."

Listening to those familiar, ear-piercing insults, a violent wave of vertigo washed over my brain.

I was reborn.

I was back to the exact day before the National Conservatory Auditions. The moment Lola secretly detuned every grand piano in the practice wing, and the exact second I tried to stop her.

Lola was a filthy-rich heiress who transferred to our academy six months ago.

When she first arrived, her habit of referring to herself in the third person made people roll their eyes. But within a month, her massive trust fund and constant damsel-in-distress act had turned her into the undisputed princess of the senior class.

Even Oliver, the boy I grew up with, the boy who once promised to protect me forever, had devolved into her most loyal, rabid attack dog.

In my past life, I tried to warn them.

I told them the conservatory judges had absolute perfect pitch. I warned them that a detuned piano would destroy the emotional resonance of their pieces and result in automatic disqualification.

For my honesty, I was viciously bullied by the entire class. They called me a jealous, talentless hack.

Terrified for everyone's future, I secretly alerted the faculty. The professors brought in professional tuners overnight to fix the damage.

When Lola realized her "gentle aesthetic" was gone, she threw a massive hysterical fit. That night, she swallowed a handful of prescription pills and slipped into a permanent, fatal coma.

Weeks later, at our graduation gala, my classmates spiked my drink with a lethal dose of cleaning chemicals.

I woke up tied to a chair in the music hall. Oliver wrapped heavy, steel piano wire around my hands. He pulled the wire taut, slowly crushing the bones in my fingers until my hands were completely mangled.

He looked down at my bleeding, ruined hands and sneered. "You love playing the piano so much? Then use your crippled fingers to play a requiem for Lola in hell."

The phantom agony of my bones splintering still burned deep in my soul.

In this life, I absolutely refused to be their savior.

I took a deep breath, forcing down the bile rising in my throat. I looked at Lola and lowered my head submissively.

"You're right. I'm sorry. I overreacted."

"Lola is totally right. A gentle, soft aesthetic is way more important than rigid, boring pitch rules. I promise I won't interfere with your art again."

A wave of mocking laughter echoed through the practice room.

"Look at her folding. So much for acting like a music prodigy."

"Exactly. Trying to show off her ear training? Next to Lola's aesthetic vision, your textbook theory is pure garbage."

Lola wiped her eyes, pasting on a saintly, forgiving smile.

"Don't be mean to Violet, guys."

"Lola knows that everyone's ears are different. Some people just have a really low capacity for true beauty."

"Please don't ostracize Violet just because her taste is so... basic."

It sounded like she was defending me, but she was expertly branding me as a tasteless, uncultured loser.

I didn't argue. I just silently walked back to my piano bench.

In my previous life, my scores were just a few points shy of a full ride to Juilliard. My technique was peerless among my age group. But to these trust-fund kids, I was just a pathetic "piano slave" who had to work for what they thought they were born with.

Right now, the only thing on my mind was tomorrow's audition.

I was going to take back my rightful spot as the top recruit in the state, and permanently leave these lunatics in my rearview mirror.

As soon as I sat down, a thick, heavy hand clamped down on my wrist like a vice.

"Violet, your pathetic acting doesn't fool me."

Oliver leaned in close, his breath hot against my face.

"You're totally plotting something. You're just waiting for us to leave so you can run and snitch to the department head, aren't you?"