Alpha's Discarded Luna (Talia) novel Chapter 108

Alpha’s Discarded Luna

Chapter 106

Nick’s POV

I lean back in my seat, absolutely glowing with satisfaction. Imema and Aeson just finished, and the score is everything I hoped for–99.9, shooting them straight to first place. The only deduction was for Aeson, obviously. He’s young, still learning, and his part couldn’t match Imema’s brilliance. But Imema? Flawless.

Perfect. Untouchable.

Imema glides back to her seat, Aeson’s hand in hers, that confident smile playing on her lips. She knows she killed it, we all know. The audience is still buzzing, still whispering, still completely under her

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spell.

I give her a thumbs up, barely containing my glee. “Incredible! The whole audience is mesmerized. Talia doesn’t stand a chance… no one will even notice her up there! This is perfect!”

A thought strikes me, brilliant in its simplicity. I pull out my phone and start

a live stream. Let the whole world see Talia’s humiliation. I spent serious money pushing this stream to the top spot- hundreds of thousands, maybe more.

Worth every penny to watch her crumble publicly.

The viewers flood in immediately. Tens of thousands, drawn by the prime

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placement. They see the chaotic venue, the distracted audience, and settle in for what they think will be juicy gossip.

Perfect. Absolutely perfect.

***

The lights come up. Tália and Robin step onto the stage.

No one even looks at them. The audience is still buzzing about Imema–whispering, gesturing, completely ignoring the new performers. I watch with satisfaction as people check their phones, stretch, whisper to neighbors. Some are even getting up to use the restroom, taking advantage of what they assume will be a:26

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forgettable performance.

Even the judges seem lost in memory, still savoring Imema’s notes. One of them is actually rubbing his temples, exhausted from the long competition. Another checks her watch.

This is exactly what I planned.

Beside me, I notice Electra’s face contort with fury. She mutters something under her breath, probably curses. Good! Let her be angry. Let her see her precious friend

become invisible.

Raymond, that smug bastard, just watches calmly. Unbothered. I’ll enjoy

seeing his expression when Talia bombs26

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When the score comes back embarrassing. When everyone realizes

what a joke she is.

The first notes ring out.

I barely register them. My focus is on my phone, on the live stream comments, on the growing crowd of viewers waiting for embarrassment. The numbers are climbing… fifty thousand, eighty thousand, a hundred thousand. Perfect.

But something’s changing.

୮

The whispers around me are fading, drying out. One by one, people stop talking and turn toward the stage.

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I look up, annoyed. What are they, and then I can’t look away.

Talia stands under the lights,

transformed. Her piano sings under her fingers, no, not sings. Breathes. The music flows like water, like wind, like something alive and ancient and absolutely mesmerizing.

Her eyes are different now. Focused. Intense. As if the entire world has narrowed to this single moment, this single instrument, this single melody. The woman I’ve mocked for years, dismissed as a useless housewife, stands there like

someone else entirely.

The golden light catches her face,

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illuminates her features, makes her look like something from a dream. Ethereal. Otherworldly. Absolutely stunning.

The music pours out–melodious, clear, impossibly beautiful. It wraps around the audience, pulls us under, drowns us in sound. I’ve heard a lot of piano in my life, thanks to Imema. But this? This is different. This is something else.

I can’t move. Can’t breathe. Can’t do anything but listen.

My phone buzzes in my hand, but I barely notice. The screen glows with comments, but I can’t read them. All I can do is stare

at the stage, at this woman I’ve dismissed, mocked, belittled for years, and watch her

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become something I never imagined.

The music builds. Soars. Fills every corner of the hall, every corner of my mind.

***

The performance ends, and there is absolute, complete, deafening silence

before chaos breaks out.

My phone explodes. Notifications flood in so fast the screen freezes. Comments race

past, impossible to read, a waterfall of text and emojis and exclamation points.

The live stream numbers: millions. Millions of people watched Talia play. My follower count, hundreds of thousands in

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minutes. Still climbing. Still rising like an

unstoppable wave.

The comments scroll past, and I catch fragments through the freeze:

“This is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard in my life.”

“I study music professionally at the conservatory–she’s better than Bernard.

BETTER. Than BERNARD.”

“I forgot to record! DOES ANYONE HAVE

THIS? PLEASE!”

“She’s absolutely gorgeous! Who is she? Someone tell me her name right now!”

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“Isaac, point the camera at her! We want to see her face properly!”

“Donate so she plays again! I’ll give everything I have!”

Big streamers flood in, attracted by the numbers. I recognize usernames–people with millions of followers of their own. They’re watching Talia. Praising Talia. Wanting to collaborate with Talia.

Netizen K, a verified musician with a blue check: “Her technique is flawless. The emotion, the precision, the soul—this is

what greatness looks like. I’m genuinely moved to tears.”

Netizen L: “She just made me cry and I14:26

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don’t even know why. This is what music should be.”

Netizen M: “Forget the drama, forget the gossip–just look at her. Listen to her. This woman is ART.”

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

I spent a fortune to humiliate her. To let the whole world see her fail. To broadcast her embarrassment to every corner of the internet.

Instead, I’ve made her famous. I’ve given her a platform. I’ve handed her exactly what she needs to destroy Imema’s reputation.

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My hands shake with rage. With shock. With the horrible, creeping realization that I’ve completely and utterly failed.

I need to end this. Now.

I jab at the close button. Miss. Jab again,

and miss.

My hands won’t stop trembling.

The phone freezes completely: too many viewers, too many comments, too much chaos. The server itself is lagging under the weight of people watching Talia play.

“Close, damn it, CLOSE!”

Ijab frantically, missing again and again.26

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Sweat beads on my forehead. My heart pounds so hard I can hear it in my ears.

Finally, finally, I hit the button. The screen goes dark.

I slump in my seat, breathing hard, heart pounding, hands still shaking.

Around me, the audience is still

applauding. Still cheering. Still utterly captivated by the woman I tried to destroy.

Talia takes her bow, Robin’s hand in hers, and for just a moment, her eyes meet mine across the crowd. My phone is hot in my hands. The live stream is over, but the damage is done.

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Talia just became a star, and I spent my fucking money to make it happen.

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