"The first performance sets the tone," Samantha had remarked, reclining in her seat with a knowing smirk. "The judges are still alert, so as long as you don't falter and deliver a few standout moments, you're guaranteed high marks. Even if someone matches your skill later, surpassing the opener's score is nearly impossible."

And she was right. One after another, the next half-dozen acts took the stage, yet none managed to eclipse that initial high score.

Samantha frowned as she watched. "Wait, isn't this a talent competition? Why is everyone just playing instruments? Where are the singers? The dancers?"

Singing and dancing were talents too, weren't they?

Sebastian, who had been lounging with detached amusement, finally spoke. "For families like ours, singing and dancing are considered... pedestrian. Our children are raised with refinement—Mozart mastered by seven, Debussy by ten, and at least competent watercolors before adolescence. Not because we'll ever use these skills, of course. But discernment is what separates us from the common crowd."

Samantha nodded, comprehension dawning. "Ah. Of course."

On stage, a symphony of instruments unfolded—pianos, harps, organs, cellos, violins—an eclectic fusion of East and West, classical and contemporary.

One parent, visibly aware of the stiff competition, fumbled through a violin piece, barely scraping eighty points.

Samantha watched with keen interest.

Time slipped by until a teacher approached Amy and her son, Oliver. "Oliver and family, you're up next. Please head backstage."

"We're ready," Amy replied smoothly, taking Oliver's hand as they moved toward the wings.

Samantha grinned after them. "Amy, go out there and own it! Take what's yours—no mercy!"

Amy flashed a confident smile. "Naturally."

She had every reason to hold nothing back—especially with her mother’s necklace at stake.

Backstage, the air hummed with tension as the remaining families prepared. The competition was winding down, the highest score still sitting at 98.

As Amy entered, she felt the weight of curious stares—some indifferent, others dripping with condescension.

In high society, where pedigree and prestige dictated worth, someone like Amy—lacking both a distinguished lineage and an elite education—was an anomaly. She was often dismissed, treated with more disdain than even the newest social climbers.

Unfazed, Amy settled beside Oliver and began tuning his violin.

"Well, well, if it isn't Amy," came a voice laced with mock surprise. "You actually showed up! I half-expected you to feign illness and bolt."

Amy didn’t need to look up to recognize Nathan’s sneering tone. She flicked a glance his way, noting him standing beside Victoria, violin in hand.

She met his gaze for only a second before turning away, as if he were nothing more than air.

Nathan’s eyes darted to the door—no Alexander, no Liam. Perfect. A smirk curled his lips as he leaned toward Victoria. "Since she enjoys making your life difficult... let’s return the favor."

Victoria bit her lip, feigning hesitation. "Nathan, don’t go too far."

"Relax," he murmured. "I know exactly what I’m doing."

With that, Nathan sauntered toward Amy, his steps deliberate.