"Did you know something, Victoria?"

Amy Sinclair's piercing gaze met Victoria Langley's as she spoke with deliberate precision. "If I lose, you hand over the Celestial Nocturne to me."

Samantha Reynolds' face darkened immediately.

"Amy, are you obsessed with taking things that don't belong to you?"

The Celestial Nocturne, much like the necklace Victoria wore, was a cherished heirloom from Amy's late mother. But the violin stood in a class of its own—priceless in both monetary and sentimental value.

Victoria was playing her cards brilliantly.

If she lost, the necklace would simply return to its rightful owner. But if she won? She'd gain something extraordinary for nothing.

Ignoring Samantha, Victoria kept her eyes locked on Amy.

"Ms. Sinclair, do you have the courage?"

"Absolutely," Amy replied, subtly restraining a furious Samantha. "With so many witnesses here, I doubt we need any formal agreement to hold us accountable, do we?"

Nathan Prescott smirked. "Just don't whine when you lose."

Amy glanced at the clock—no time for petty arguments. She met Victoria's challenge head-on. "Let the results speak for themselves."

Margaret Blackwood, observing the scene, muttered under her breath, "Digging your own grave."

Charlotte Blackwood cast Amy a sympathetic look.

Amy nodded. "Then it's settled. Oh, and one more thing—"

Before she could finish, Victoria interrupted, "Ms. Sinclair, you're not thinking of backing out now, are you?"

The mere thought of competing had Victoria inwardly celebrating. She could humiliate Amy and claim the Celestial Nocturne in one masterstroke. The anticipation was intoxicating.

But Amy's voice sliced through her triumphant thoughts.

"Of course not," Amy said coolly, her gaze drifting to Victoria's stained dress. "And Ms. Langley, aren't you going to change out of that ruined gown and compensate me?"

Victoria faltered, caught off guard by the sudden return to the original issue. Was Amy stalling?

"Ms. Sinclair," Victoria began, "we're not the same size. This dress was custom-made for me. Even if I gave it to you, it wouldn't fit, and besides, I've already worn it—"

"Alexander mentioned an assistant would bring you a replacement, likely something even more exquisite than what you're wearing now."

"Why don't you pick a new one from those options, Ms. Sinclair?"

Amy studied her. "So after all this, you still refuse to change?"

Victoria frowned. "It's not that I don't want to, it's just—"

"Fine, no need to explain," Amy cut her off. "We're running out of time. Let's not waste another second."

Turning to Samantha, Sebastian Kingsley, and Oliver Kingsley, Amy said, "Let's go."

Samantha, still seething, understood the urgency of wrapping things up. With a sharp exhale, she headed for the exit.

Victoria smirked, thinking she'd escaped unscathed after ruining Amy's dress.

But then—

Amy snatched a glass of juice from the table and hurled it straight at Victoria's face.

"Ah!"

Victoria gasped as the sticky liquid splashed across her skin, dripping onto her pristine white gown, staining it a vivid, sickly yellow. Pulp and fibers clung to the ruined fabric.