Chapter 6
1797words
"What is this?" she asked vigilantly, clutching a mug with cartoon patterns tightly in both hands.
"An opportunity," Serafina answered calmly, her gaze passing over her to look at the photo on the wall of her with her daughter, where the child smiled with innocent delight. "An opportunity for those with true talent to not be buried by lies."
Elena's eyes flickered, she knew who Serafina was talking about. Cassandra Sterling, the woman who had taken her position as lead soprano and made her a laughingstock throughout the New York opera world. Jealousy and resentment had long taken root in her heart.
"I don't understand what you're saying, Mrs. Vanderbilt." She was still being stubborn, but the hand holding her cup had begun to tremble slightly.
Serafina leaned forward and gently tapped the USB drive with her fingertips. "In here are the backstage recordings of Cassandra rehearsing 'Turandot,' and of course, recordings of her 'voice double'—the true artist who hides behind the scenes and sings every high note for her."
Elena's breath stopped instantly. She jerked her head up, her eyes blazing with an astonishing light, a complex emotion mixed with shock, ecstasy, and fear. She knew what this meant. This was a bomb that could completely destroy Cassandra's entire career.
"Why... why are you giving this to me?" she asked in a hoarse voice, her greedy gaze fixed firmly on the USB drive.
"Because you need it more than I do, Elena," Serafina leaned back into the sofa, her tone casual. "You're the victim, and your exposure is the extension of justice. As for me, I'm just an ordinary spectator who appreciates true art."
She pronounced the word "justice" very lightly, precisely unlocking the shackles of Elena's desire. She needed a dignified reason to cover up her darkest desire for revenge, and Serafina had just given her one.
"Think about your daughter," Serafina finally added. "Do you want her to live in a world where success can be achieved through deception?"
This was the last straw that broke the camel's back. Elena's gaze became firm and ruthless. She reached out and grabbed the USB drive, clutching it tightly in her palm as if she were holding her own destiny.
The performance at the Lincoln Center Opera House was extremely successful. When Cassandra Sterling appeared on stage in her magnificent costume to take a bow, thunderous applause continued endlessly, with rose petals falling like rain in front of the red velvet curtain. She savored her moment of glory with a perfect, restrained, and noble smile on her face.
Serafina sat in a private box on the second floor, coldly observing it all. She didn't applaud, just held a glass of champagne, watching the woman on stage basking in a false halo.
Just as the applause reached its peak, an unexpected change occurred. In the theater's surround sound system, the enormous applause was suddenly cut off by a rough yet clear recording.
"...The vibrato in the C High part needs to be more stable, dear. You sing well, but not enough like me." A woman's voice, languid and arrogant, unmistakably Cassandra's.
Immediately after, came the humble response of another young girl: "Alright, Professor Sterling, I'll try again."
Then, a flawless, heavenly aria resonated throughout the entire theater, which was precisely the most brilliant passage that Cassandra had just "sung" on stage.
The entire theater instantly fell into a deathly silence. Everyone was stunned, and murmurs began to stir in the audience. On stage, Cassandra's smile froze, and the color rapidly drained from her well-maintained face, turning paper-white.
A figure rushed onto the stage—it was Elena. Holding a small playback device in her hand, she stood under the spotlight and loudly announced to the bewildered media and audience: "Ladies and gentlemen, what you just heard is the true 'Princess Turandot' of tonight! And this Ms. Cassandra Sterling standing before you is nothing but a despicable fraud!"
The flashbulbs exploded in an instant, exposing Cassandra's terrified, desperate face with nowhere to hide. She stumbled backward, trying to escape, but tripped on the flower petals beneath her feet and fell awkwardly to the ground. The once-exalted opera diva was now left with nothing but naked shame.
Serafina knew she was finished. Starting tomorrow, the overwhelming scandal would destroy her reputation, and the sponsors who once adored her would quickly distance themselves. Vanguard Academy invested in by Thorn Capital would also see its stock price plummet due to the heir's massive scandal.
She turned around without looking back at the chaotic farce unfolding on stage and walked straight out of the box. The first target had been eliminated.
However, Serafina's satisfaction from revenge didn't last long. When she walked out of the opera house, Logan Grant's nondescript Ford pickup was parked by the roadside. He was leaning against the car door, his ridiculous Polo shirt looking completely out of place at the entrance of Lincoln Center among the perfumed and well-dressed crowd.
"Is it over?" he asked, his usual playful smile gone, his eyes terrifyingly intense.
"What's over?" Serafina feigned confusion.
"Your appetizer," he opened the car door and gestured for her to enter. "Now, come with me somewhere. We need to talk about the main course."
Serafina didn't refuse. She instinctively felt that what he was about to say would completely change their relationship.
The car headed east, leaving behind the glittering lights of Manhattan, and finally stopped in front of a dilapidated apartment building in Queens. The streets here were damp and dirty, with air mixed with the smell of food garbage and cheap perfume, a world away from what Serafina was familiar with.
"Where is this?" she asked with a frown.
"Anya's home," Logan turned off the engine, his voice low. "Her home in America."
Serafina's heart suddenly tightened. They entered the creaking apartment building, climbed to the third floor, and Logan used a key to open a door. The room was small but kept extraordinarily neat. A single bed, a desk, and a closet were almost all the furniture. A few posters of classical musicians were attached to the wall, and an open sheet of music sat on the desk.
There were traces of Anja's life everywhere here - quiet, simple, yet full of longing for the future. Serafina felt a moment of suffocation.
"Why did you bring me here?" She forced herself to remain calm.
Logan didn't answer her. He walked to the desk, pulled open a drawer, and took out a photo frame. He turned to face her and handed the frame to her. In the photo was a brightly smiling Anya, and beside her stood an equally young boy who had shaved his head due to chemotherapy. That boy was the young Logan.
"Five years ago, I had leukemia and needed a bone marrow transplant," Logan's voice was calm yet full of strength. "The doctors said I had less than a ten percent chance of finding a matching donor. I thought I was doomed. Until Anya appeared. She was in the international bone marrow registry, the only person in the world who was a perfect match for me."
Serafina's mind went blank.
"She saved my life, Serafina," Logan's eyes blazed with fire, both anger and sorrow. "From the day I received her bone marrow, I swore that she would be my own sister. I owe her my life."
His disguise was completely torn apart in this moment, that carefree gym teacher disappeared, and standing before Serafina was an avenger carrying a deep blood feud.
"So, you approached me, approached those children, all to avenge Anya?" her voice was dry.
"I thought you would avenge her!" he suddenly raised his voice, stepping closer to her. "She was your daughter! Your own flesh and blood! You watched her being bullied, driven to death, yet you remained indifferent! You were too busy with your parties, your investments, your perfect life!"
His accusation left Serafina unable to refute, because on the surface, what he said was not wrong.
"You think I did nothing?" she finally spoke, her voice cold.
Logan sneered, took a small voice recorder from his pocket, and pressed the play button.
A clear and fragile girl's voice sounded in the room—it was Anya.
"...Logan, brother, I think I messed up. They all hate me, calling me a liar... I don't know what to do. Mom... she seems like she doesn't want me anymore..." Suppressed sobbing came through the recording. "If one day I'm gone, will you miss me?"
The recording ended, leaving the room in dead silence. Anya's last fragile question precisely pierced through the hard shell that Serafina had built with coldness and rationality. She closed her eyes, but couldn't stop the tears from falling.
"Now, tell me," Logan's voice sounded in her ear, cold and resolute, "were you unmoved by her death?"
"I was never unmoved," Serafina opened her eyes, for the first time removing all pretenses before him, revealing the wasteland within that had long been scorched to ashes by hatred. "I sent her away to protect her, but I was wrong. From the moment she died, my only purpose for living has been to make everyone who hurt her pay a thousand times over."
She told him her plan, from turning Elena against them, to dismantling the Tower Elite Club, to the final revenge blueprint targeting Julian and the entire Thorn family.
Logan listened quietly, the anger in his eyes gradually replaced by a complex emotion mixed with shock and understanding. He finally realized that the woman before him was not cold-blooded and heartless, but had forged all her grief into a weapon of revenge.
"Cassandra is just the beginning," Serafina said. "Those children are merely the interest. My target is Julian Thorne, and all the dirty foundations behind this empire."
"There's more than one culprit," Logan said gravely. "What drove Anya to her death was an entire chain of interests. You alone are not enough."
He extended his hand to Serafina, his gaze firm.
"Let's join forces," he said. "I'll be responsible for digging out those dogs hiding in the shadows, and you'll be responsible for destroying their world. For Anya, we'll send every single one of them to hell."
Serafina looked at his outstretched hand, a warrior's hand, full of strength and determination. In Anya's small room filled with memories, two previously unrelated paths of vengeance finally converged.
She didn't hesitate, reaching out and gripping his hand tightly.
"Good," she said. "Let them burn in hell."
