My Student Stole My Fiancé - Chapter 3: Chapter 3
You are reading My Student Stole My Fiancé, Chapter 3: Chapter 3. Read more chapters of My Student Stole My Fiancé.
The walls of my old coach's violin studio were plastered with my posters—proof of the legacy I'd left behind.
"If you want to join the orchestra, your pitch still isn't good enough."
The girl froze mid-bow, her fingers hovering over the strings. Then she turned toward the voice, and the moment our eyes met, recognition flickered in hers.
Her lips parted in a whisper. "Claire…"
Maybe it was the raw longing in her gaze, or how much she reminded me of myself at that age, but something made me act on impulse.
"I'll be visiting my coach next month. Prepare in advance, and I'll guide you."
She nodded eagerly, like a kid handed an unplanned scoop of ice cream. Finally, she gathered the courage to murmur, "Thank you, Miss Dawson."
From that day on, I started coaching Mia more often.
Slowly, the way she addressed me shifted—from the formal Miss Dawson to Coach Dawson, until one day, it simply became Coach Claire.
But Lennon wasn't thrilled when I skipped yet another date for her.
"That girl's talent is mediocre at best. No amount of coaching will change that." His voice was sharp. "And today, of all days? Our anniversary, and you'd rather spend it with her?"
At the time, all I could think about was Mia's upcoming exam.
I promised Lennon I'd make it up to him, brushing off his frustration.
Mia worked relentlessly, and eventually, she passed the audition, securing her spot as a second violinist in the municipal orchestra.
The day I introduced her to the ensemble, Lennon happened to be there.
He sat cross-legged at the center of the stage, meticulously polishing his flute. His gaze flicked toward Mia—cold, dismissive—but he said nothing.
Mia hesitated, shrinking back, but I steadied her with a hand on her shoulder and nudged her forward.
Fear still flickered in her eyes, but she swallowed hard and stepped toward him.
"Mr. Sullivan, I'm Coach Claire's apprentice. Please guide me in the future."
Lennon didn't even glance up, his fingers still gliding over the flute.
After a long silence, he finally spoke. "No need. The violin and I don't collaborate."
Then, from across the room, he gestured lazily toward me, his voice laced with a warning. "But as a second violinist, your job is to assist the first."
I'd assumed the tension between them would last forever—that I'd always be the one smoothing things over.
But then, something shifted.
Mia stopped flinching when Lennon looked at her.
And Lennon? His usual sharp edges softened—just a little—when he spoke to her.
"Coach Claire, if you don't like it, I'll leave right now."
Her voice trembled, tears glistening at the corners of her eyes. "But please don't misunderstand Mr. Sullivan…"
One look at her—so fragile, so achingly sincere—and any man would melt.
"Let's go outside first." Lennon's expression darkened as he pulled Mia to his side, shrugging off his coat and draping it over her shoulders.
Then he shot me a look, his lips curling into a smirk. "Claire, you're getting old, and your temper's only getting worse. Try to be a little more patient."
His arm tightened around Mia as he added, "I'm always worried some young talent will steal your spot in the orchestra."
As he spoke, he leaned in, his lips grazing Mia's damp hair—casual, deliberate, a provocation meant for me.
I knew exactly what he was implying. Not long ago, I'd refused to recommend Mia for the orchestra's promotion.
Lowering my gaze, I murmured, "Mia's skills still need improvement…"
"She's your own apprentice." Lennon cut me off, his tall frame looming as he grabbed my chin, forcing me to meet his eyes.
Years of playing had roughened his hands, the calluses scraping against my skin.
"Claire, your memory must be failing you. You're the one who's ignored me countless times for her. And now you want to feign some high ground?" His grip tightened. "Are you afraid Mia will take your place?"
His stare was ice, but his lips curved—teasing, taunting.
"If you want to join the orchestra, your pitch still isn't good enough."
The girl froze mid-bow, her fingers hovering over the strings. Then she turned toward the voice, and the moment our eyes met, recognition flickered in hers.
Her lips parted in a whisper. "Claire…"
Maybe it was the raw longing in her gaze, or how much she reminded me of myself at that age, but something made me act on impulse.
"I'll be visiting my coach next month. Prepare in advance, and I'll guide you."
She nodded eagerly, like a kid handed an unplanned scoop of ice cream. Finally, she gathered the courage to murmur, "Thank you, Miss Dawson."
From that day on, I started coaching Mia more often.
Slowly, the way she addressed me shifted—from the formal Miss Dawson to Coach Dawson, until one day, it simply became Coach Claire.
But Lennon wasn't thrilled when I skipped yet another date for her.
"That girl's talent is mediocre at best. No amount of coaching will change that." His voice was sharp. "And today, of all days? Our anniversary, and you'd rather spend it with her?"
At the time, all I could think about was Mia's upcoming exam.
I promised Lennon I'd make it up to him, brushing off his frustration.
Mia worked relentlessly, and eventually, she passed the audition, securing her spot as a second violinist in the municipal orchestra.
The day I introduced her to the ensemble, Lennon happened to be there.
He sat cross-legged at the center of the stage, meticulously polishing his flute. His gaze flicked toward Mia—cold, dismissive—but he said nothing.
Mia hesitated, shrinking back, but I steadied her with a hand on her shoulder and nudged her forward.
Fear still flickered in her eyes, but she swallowed hard and stepped toward him.
"Mr. Sullivan, I'm Coach Claire's apprentice. Please guide me in the future."
Lennon didn't even glance up, his fingers still gliding over the flute.
After a long silence, he finally spoke. "No need. The violin and I don't collaborate."
Then, from across the room, he gestured lazily toward me, his voice laced with a warning. "But as a second violinist, your job is to assist the first."
I'd assumed the tension between them would last forever—that I'd always be the one smoothing things over.
But then, something shifted.
Mia stopped flinching when Lennon looked at her.
And Lennon? His usual sharp edges softened—just a little—when he spoke to her.
"Coach Claire, if you don't like it, I'll leave right now."
Her voice trembled, tears glistening at the corners of her eyes. "But please don't misunderstand Mr. Sullivan…"
One look at her—so fragile, so achingly sincere—and any man would melt.
"Let's go outside first." Lennon's expression darkened as he pulled Mia to his side, shrugging off his coat and draping it over her shoulders.
Then he shot me a look, his lips curling into a smirk. "Claire, you're getting old, and your temper's only getting worse. Try to be a little more patient."
His arm tightened around Mia as he added, "I'm always worried some young talent will steal your spot in the orchestra."
As he spoke, he leaned in, his lips grazing Mia's damp hair—casual, deliberate, a provocation meant for me.
I knew exactly what he was implying. Not long ago, I'd refused to recommend Mia for the orchestra's promotion.
Lowering my gaze, I murmured, "Mia's skills still need improvement…"
"She's your own apprentice." Lennon cut me off, his tall frame looming as he grabbed my chin, forcing me to meet his eyes.
Years of playing had roughened his hands, the calluses scraping against my skin.
"Claire, your memory must be failing you. You're the one who's ignored me countless times for her. And now you want to feign some high ground?" His grip tightened. "Are you afraid Mia will take your place?"
His stare was ice, but his lips curved—teasing, taunting.
End of My Student Stole My Fiancé Chapter 3. Continue reading Chapter 4 or return to My Student Stole My Fiancé book page.