My Student Stole My Fiancé - Chapter 8: Chapter 8

The room buzzed with hushed whispers as people exchanged shocked glances or hid their faces in disbelief. Each murmur only fueled Mia's growing confidence in her apparent triumph.
To her, I must have looked utterly defeated—humiliated beyond words.
The violin lay discarded on the floor, its strings snapped, its neck cracked. It had been destroyed on purpose, rendering it useless.
I glanced at the group leader and shook my head. Mia didn't even bother hiding her smugness anymore—her lips curled into a self-satisfied smirk, her eyes gleaming with unmistakable victory.
"What a shame," she sighed, lowering her head to retrieve her own instrument from its case. With exaggerated grace, she sauntered over to me, her voice dripping with false sympathy. "Coach Claire, I suppose I'll be filling in for you today."
The tension in her words was so thick the air itself seemed to freeze. Even the faintest rustling around us died into silence.
"Are you even worthy?"
I kicked the broken violin toward her feet. The impact made her flinch, her face draining of color.
My words—sharp, mocking, laced with contempt—cut deep.
"Find me a spare violin. Don't worry."
At my response, the group leader finally exhaled in relief, immediately barking orders to scramble for a replacement.
Mia's smile stayed plastered on, but her voice oozed sarcasm. "The new violin will need tuning. Even you, Coach Claire, won't be able to—"
"It's you who can't make it work," I cut in coolly. Stepping closer, I tilted my head up, meeting her gaze with a smirk of my own.
She towered over me, but in that moment, I made her feel small.
"After all, I did say it before—you're a woman with no talent."
Her smile cracked. The corners of her mouth twitched, her eyes narrowing into slits of pure rage—like she wanted to rip me apart.
I knew her too well. She was mediocre at best, a leech who fed off others' skills, always coveting what wasn't hers.
Her hand flew toward my face—but I caught her wrist mid-air.
"Mia, I don't fall for the same trick twice. I know you inside out… but you don't understand me at all."
Her fingers trembled, but my grip didn't budge.
"Oh, and," I leaned in, my voice dropping to a whisper, "you do realize there's a CCTV camera behind you, right?"
Mia's composure shattered. Her arm went slack, throwing her off balance. She stumbled, collapsing onto the floor in a heap.
I looked down at her—pathetic, helpless, a far cry from the arrogant woman she'd been moments ago.
For a second, I almost pitied her. Pity for her delusions, for the way she'd convinced herself she was winning—only to have every word, every move, recorded for the world to see.
Then Lennon arrived.
One glance at the scene, and he understood everything.
His face twisted in disgust as he yanked Mia away, handling her like something foul he couldn't wait to be rid of.
As he passed me, he hesitated, turning back slightly.
"Claire, don't let her affect us."
Us?
I almost laughed.
He was throwing Mia under the bus to prove his loyalty to me—but the way he did it was so cheap, so transparent.
Still, I smiled sweetly. "Okay."
But I knew what he really meant.
It couldn't affect "our proposal ceremony."
The performance was electric. The orchestra played with such intensity that the audience erupted in cheers, demanding encore after encore.
When the conductor signaled for silence, a strange thrill shot through me—a current of energy, silent but exhilarating.
Then Lennon appeared onstage, flowers in hand, and the illusion shattered.
A glint of silver caught my eye.
His cuffs.
The same cufflinks I'd thrown in his face.
Slowly, he walked toward me, dropped to one knee, and began the oldest, most sacred proposal—