My Student Stole My Fiancé - Chapter 4: Chapter 4
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I clenched my jaw against the pain and sucked in a sharp breath, my eyes flicking past Lennon to land on Mia. "Why would I be scared of someone with no real talent?"
Mia's face went rigid, her wounded expression vanishing in an instant.
Her lips quivered as she glared at me, fury burning in her eyes. Then, before I could react, she lunged forward and struck me—hard.
Slap!
The blow sent me reeling. I stumbled back, my ears ringing, the world tilting for a second.
A sharp pain shot through my lower back as I hit the ground. When my vision cleared, I saw it—the violin case overturned, its delicate strings snapped under the wreckage.
And just like that, her face changed again. The fire in her eyes melted into something fragile, trembling. She rushed toward me, voice shaking.
"Coach Claire, I—I didn't mean to! I didn't want to—"
A bitter smile tugged at my lips. Without a word, I pushed her away, my gaze locking onto hers with something hollow—something like pity.
The room fell dead silent. Finally, Lennon couldn't stay still any longer.
He moved toward me, slipping an arm around my waist. His fingers brushed my tangled hair back, his other hand pressing gently against the ache in my lower back.
"Does it hurt here?" he murmured, his breath warm against my skin, sending an unwelcome shiver down my spine.
For a stupid, fleeting second, I let myself believe it—that his tenderness was still mine. That all his recent coldness was just him wanting me to fight for him harder.
My voice softened. "I didn't neglect you—"
But before I could finish, he pulled away, his expression calm but pleading. "Just… don't argue with her, okay?"
I stared at him, my chest caving in.
When had his love stopped being mine?
I felt like a butterfly sealed in its own cocoon—trapped, suffocating.
Tears spilled over before I could stop them, hitting the floor with quiet, pathetic splashes.
"Get out," I whispered, my voice cracking. I couldn't look up.
I kept my head down until the soft click of the door told me I was alone. The room was too big, too empty.
I pressed a hand to my chest. The ache there was worse than any bruise.
I took a leave of absence from the orchestra and checked into a hotel.
Lennon's messages kept coming—asking about my back, where I was staying, if I was healing.
I scoffed every time I read them. Too little, too late.
The violin Mia had destroyed was the first one Lennon ever gave me—handmade, bought with nearly everything he had at the time.
I hadn't wanted to play it, afraid to damage it. But he'd just laughed, ruffling my hair. "Claire, you dummy. I'll only be happy if you use it. I'll get you a new one every year."
He never did.
There was always an excuse. Too busy. Forgot. Or—more often—he was at Mia's performances instead.
Now, the broken violin lay on my hotel bed, its snapped strings mocking me.
I'd believed in an unshakable love with Lennon. I'd trusted the bond between Mia and me—coach and apprentice. But now, it all felt like mud underfoot, trampled and worthless.
I'd poured years into students who turned on me. I'd loved a man who betrayed me right under my nose.
I squeezed my eyes shut. No more tears. They weren't worth it.
Later, during a rehearsal, I spotted Lennon in the audience.
Our eyes met. His smile flickered—surprise, then recognition. Then, grinning, he jumped down from the stage.
"Claire! Where've you been? Why haven't you answered my texts?"
I didn't hesitate.
"Lennon, we're done."
Mia's face went rigid, her wounded expression vanishing in an instant.
Her lips quivered as she glared at me, fury burning in her eyes. Then, before I could react, she lunged forward and struck me—hard.
Slap!
The blow sent me reeling. I stumbled back, my ears ringing, the world tilting for a second.
A sharp pain shot through my lower back as I hit the ground. When my vision cleared, I saw it—the violin case overturned, its delicate strings snapped under the wreckage.
And just like that, her face changed again. The fire in her eyes melted into something fragile, trembling. She rushed toward me, voice shaking.
"Coach Claire, I—I didn't mean to! I didn't want to—"
A bitter smile tugged at my lips. Without a word, I pushed her away, my gaze locking onto hers with something hollow—something like pity.
The room fell dead silent. Finally, Lennon couldn't stay still any longer.
He moved toward me, slipping an arm around my waist. His fingers brushed my tangled hair back, his other hand pressing gently against the ache in my lower back.
"Does it hurt here?" he murmured, his breath warm against my skin, sending an unwelcome shiver down my spine.
For a stupid, fleeting second, I let myself believe it—that his tenderness was still mine. That all his recent coldness was just him wanting me to fight for him harder.
My voice softened. "I didn't neglect you—"
But before I could finish, he pulled away, his expression calm but pleading. "Just… don't argue with her, okay?"
I stared at him, my chest caving in.
When had his love stopped being mine?
I felt like a butterfly sealed in its own cocoon—trapped, suffocating.
Tears spilled over before I could stop them, hitting the floor with quiet, pathetic splashes.
"Get out," I whispered, my voice cracking. I couldn't look up.
I kept my head down until the soft click of the door told me I was alone. The room was too big, too empty.
I pressed a hand to my chest. The ache there was worse than any bruise.
I took a leave of absence from the orchestra and checked into a hotel.
Lennon's messages kept coming—asking about my back, where I was staying, if I was healing.
I scoffed every time I read them. Too little, too late.
The violin Mia had destroyed was the first one Lennon ever gave me—handmade, bought with nearly everything he had at the time.
I hadn't wanted to play it, afraid to damage it. But he'd just laughed, ruffling my hair. "Claire, you dummy. I'll only be happy if you use it. I'll get you a new one every year."
He never did.
There was always an excuse. Too busy. Forgot. Or—more often—he was at Mia's performances instead.
Now, the broken violin lay on my hotel bed, its snapped strings mocking me.
I'd believed in an unshakable love with Lennon. I'd trusted the bond between Mia and me—coach and apprentice. But now, it all felt like mud underfoot, trampled and worthless.
I'd poured years into students who turned on me. I'd loved a man who betrayed me right under my nose.
I squeezed my eyes shut. No more tears. They weren't worth it.
Later, during a rehearsal, I spotted Lennon in the audience.
Our eyes met. His smile flickered—surprise, then recognition. Then, grinning, he jumped down from the stage.
"Claire! Where've you been? Why haven't you answered my texts?"
I didn't hesitate.
"Lennon, we're done."
End of My Student Stole My Fiancé Chapter 4. Continue reading Chapter 5 or return to My Student Stole My Fiancé book page.