Alpha's Discarded Luna (Talia) novel Chapter 281

Alpha’s Discarded Luna

Chapter 278

Aires‘ POV

The shadows near the grand limestone pillars of the ballroom afford me a clear view of the disaster unfolding in the center of the hall. I stand perfectly still, my fingers curling tightly into the fabric of my suit pockets, my heart racing against my ribs like a trapped beast.

The air in this room is thick with the scent of old money, expensive wine, and the suffocating, predatory gossip of high society. But right now, my focus is entirely locked onto the circle of flashing cameras and whispering elites.

Onto Talia.

She stands inches away from Cassian, her posture so rigid and regal she looks like a sovereign queen standing beforera petulant rebel. The pale, fragile woman I tried to shield in the hospital driveway just days ago is entirely gone. In her place is an icy, unyielding force. Even from this distance, I can feel the sharp, electric current of her fury slicing through the ambient noise of the gala

Cassian’s mocking smirk remains pinned to his face, his chest puffed out with the unearned confidence of a prodigy who has never known the true weight of a struggle, beside him, Imema Stands with her hands clasped together, her wide eyes reflecting

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claims where it actually matters. Not with your mouth, Cassian. On the stage.”

Cassian blinks, his aristocratic jaw tightening slightly as his smirk falters. “The stage? You cannot be serious. You think a common amateur like you deserves to share a platform with me?”

“I am not asking to share it,” Talia replies, her words clipped, precise, and dripping with an icy disdain that mirrors the way she dismissed me at the hospital. “I am challenging you. A live piano duel. Right here. Right now. On the gala’s main stage.”

A collective gasp ripples through the high–society crowd. The critics instantly lean forward, their eyes gleaming with the predatory hunger of vultures scenting fresh blood. The media personnel scramble, shifting their heavy lenses toward the grand Steinway piano gleaming under the spotlights at the front of the hall.

A few feet away from the confrontation, I spot Raymond. His sharp eyes are wide with tight, suffocating anxiety, his jaw clamped so hard a muscle twitches in his cheek.

His body is leaning forward, his hands half–extended, completely ready to step across the boundary and intervene to pull her out of the trap. He wants to protect her, wants to be her shield.

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“A duel? Is she entirely mad?” a wealthy pack matriarch snickers behind her lace fan. “An uneducated housewife

challenging Master Gerard’s prized pupil? This isn’t just foolish; it is a public suicide.”

“She is entirely out of her depth,” a corporate sponsor agrees, a patronizing chuckle escaping his throat. “The girl has been blinded by a few viral videos. She has no idea what true

technical perfection looks like. She is walking straight into her own social execution.”

The waves of mockery and absolute skepticism roll through the ballroom, but Talia doesn’t flinch. She stands entirely unmoved by the collective doubt of the room. Her frozen expression remains locked onto Cassian, her gaze so fierce it practically forces the arrogant prodigy to take a half–step back to maintain his composure.

“A challenge,” Cassian repeats, a dark, ugly laugh bubbling up from his chest as his arrogance snaps back into place. “You truly want to humiliate yourself in front of the entire city? Very well, Serena’s brat. But a duel requires stakes. And I do not waste my fingers on a match that yields nothing.”

“Name your terms,” Talia says instantly. There is no hesitation in her voice, No fear. Only an absolute, burning resolve that makes my chest tighten with a terrifying mix of awe and dread.

gugian paces a small circle around her, his eyes flashing with 76.

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declaration, witnessed by every critic and lawyer in this room, swearing that you will never touch a piano again for the rest of your miserable life,” Cassian dictates, his voice dripping with venomous pleasure. “You will abandon your ridiculous artistic illusions and crawl back into the obscurity where you belong.”

Beside him, a faint, victorious smile cracks through Imema’s mask. She thinks the trap is complete. She thinks Talia is about to be systematically erased from the social fabric.

“And when I win?” Talia counters, her voice sharp and unyielding, entirely rejecting the premise of her own defeat.

Cassian laughs out loud, a sound of pure derision. “When you win? Highly improbable. But name your foolish price.”

“When I win,” Talia states, her voice dropping into a dangerous, lethal register that vibrates through the silent hall, “you will issue a formal, written public apology to my mother’s memory. You will print it in every major musical journal and newspaper in the country, admitting your words tonight were nothing but the pathetic envy of a mediocre technician who could never touch the soul of her masterpiece.”

The absolute audacity of her terms leaves the room paralyzed. The silence that follows is suffocating. Even the critics look shocked by the sheer weight of the fatal stakes on the table.

hstand frozen in the darkness, my breath trapped in throat 6

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A trace of familiarity whispers again, sending a violent shiver down my spine. The confusion in my head grows heavier, a suffocating fog of doubt. Is she truly an amateur walking into her destruction, or am I about to witness the unveiling of something magnificent?

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