Alpha's Discarded Luna (Talia) novel Chapter 277

< Alpha’s Discarded Luna

Chapter 275-1

Imema’s POV

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The leather steering wheel of my sports car groans under the tight grip of my manicured fingers. Every news notification that pops up on my dashboard screen feels like a physical slap to my face. Talia Johnson.

Her damn name is everywhere. Her face, pale and pathetic yet somehow capturing the public’s sympathy, plasters the local gossip blogs after the hospital incident.

Even with the media blackout Aires supposedly enforced,

whispers of her rising online popularity refuse to die down. She is trending. A simple, unrefined housewife who belongs in the kitchen is suddenly being discussed in the same breath as high–society elites.

It makes my blood boil. It makes my chest tighten with a suffocating, ugly rage that I can barely contain beneath my practiced, sweet smile.

I pull up to the iron gates of the elite music conservatory, the grand stone pillars looming over the manicured lawns like a fortress of old money and untouchable prestige.

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This is where real talent resides. This is where people of status belong, where Talia could never belong. I park the car, smooth down the front of my designer dress, and check my reflection in the rearview mirror.

My mask of vulnerability is perfectly in place, while inside, my mind is spinning a web of pure, lethal calculation.

If I let Talia continue on this path, she will eventually crawl her way back into the spotlight. She might even make Aires look at her twice, and I will not allow that to happen. I have sacrificed too much, waited too long to secure my position by his side. If I can’t shatter her reputation myself without looking malicious to Aires, I will simply find a better way to do

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I step out of the car, the sharp click of my high heels echoing against the marble steps of the conservatory’s main hall.

Cassian is practicing in the private south wing, reserved only for Old Master Gerard’s most prized pupils.

As I approach the heavy oak doors, the thunderous, complex chords of a classical concerto bleed through the wood. The notes are fast, aggressive, and blindingly perfect. It is the

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music of a man who views himself as a god among mortals.

I stand in the doorway for a moment, watching him. Cassian sits at the grand piano, his back rigid, his fingers flying across the keys with a terrifying, mechanical precision. He is a legendary piano prodigy, a man whose ego is as massive as his technical skill.

But more importantly, I know his history. I know the dark, festering wound that lies right beneath his brilliant reputation. Cassian was exactly ten years junior to Serena- Talia’s late, legendary mother.

Throughout his youth, no matter how many awards he won,

no matter how perfectly he played, he always stood in Serena’s magnificent shadow. The critics always compared him to her, calling him a brilliant technician but claiming he lacked the soul, the ethereal magic that Serena possessed. He hated her for it. He fiercely envied her legacy, a resentment that never truly died even after Serena passed

away.

The final, dramatic chord echoes through the room, vibrating against the glass windows. Cassian lifts his hands from the keys, his chest rising and falling as he takes a sharp, proud

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“Brilliant,” I say, stepping into the room while clapping my hands softly. I offer him a wide, admiring smile, my eyes shining with rehearsed wonder. “Absolutely brilliant, Cassian. I feel like I am standing in the presence of royalty.”

Cassian turns his head slowly, his sharp, aristocratic features twisting into a condescending smirk when he recognizes me. He takes a silk handkerchief from his pocket and begins wiping his fingers, his movements lazy and entitled.

“Imema,” he says, his tone dripping with the casual arrogance of his elite status. “To what do I owe the pleasure? I assume you didn’t break into my private practice room just to offer empty flattery. I am a busy man. Master Gerard expects perfection for the upcoming seasonal showcase.”

“Oh, I would never dream of wasting your precious time,” I reply, my voice dropping into a soft, subservient purr as I walk closer to the piano, resting my hand lightly against the polished black wood. “I am actually here because I am deeply concerned. Concerned about the state of classical music in our circle, and concerned about how the legacy of your great Master is being insulted by outsiders.”

Cassian’s eyebrows narrow slightly, his interest piqued

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despite himself. He sets the handkerchief down, leaning book against the piano bench. “Insulted? Who would dare insult Master Gerard’s circle? Speck clearly, Imema

“It is Talia,” I say, letting a heavy, sorrowful sigh escope my lips. I cast my eyes downward, playing the part of a distressed, helpless friend perfectly. “Talia Johnson. She is Rafael’s associate, an uneducated, unrefined housewife who has suddenly decided she can play the piano. She is riding on a wave of cheap, viral internet popularity, using her late mother Serena’s name to garner sympathy and sponsors. The blogs are calling her the new definition of musical genius. It is… offensive, really. To think that someone with no formal training, someone who spent years washing dishes and cleaning floors, is being put on the same pedestal as a true prodigy like you.”

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