She is the top ballet dancer in the country, ranked in the top five internationally, how could she be defeated by Vera Sheridan, who suddenly appeared, is older, and once had a limp?
Vivian Langdon cannot imagine, nor accept such a result!
On the other end, her biological mother Shannon Zane gently comforts her, "Vivian, your worth doesn’t need to be proven by a competition. If you can’t participate in Lorraine, so be it, you’ll always be Mommy’s most cherished treasure."
In the background, faintly cos the sound of a child’s crying.
Vivian Langdon seems to hear a joke, corner of her mouth is full of sarcasm, she lifts her eyelids.
"Cherish ? Then use your skills to get into Lorraine!"
"This is my only request!"
Shannon Zane is shocked.
Vivian Langdon grips the phone tightly, biting her teeth to deliver a low, sarcastic remark, "Just this one small thing, yet you, a high and mighty lady, can’t handle it?"
"Isn’t it true that now you rely on your son to secure your footing?"
Shannon Zane, now forty-three years old, had a son through IVF to consolidate her status in her husband’s family despite her age.
Facing the demands and accusations of this illegitimate daughter, guilt and powerlessness intertwine, she can only promise, "Vivian, Mommy... will find a way."
"Don’t use ’find a way’ to fool !" Vivian Langdon narrows her eyes, her tone darkening a bit, "If you can’t get the spot, just wait for my corpse!"
As soon as the words fall, she imdiately ends the call and turns off the phone.
...
The theater is packed.
Old Madam Grant has specifically brought her great-granddaughter Nora Grant, the elderly and the young sit side by side in the best seats for viewing.
Little Nora swings her legs with excitent.
Nathan Grant lazily leans on the seat next to them, responsible for looking after the elderly and the young.
Not too far or too close, Old Madam Yates is also sitting upright.
To fully support her granddaughter, she has personally co today, flanked by two elegant daughters-in-law, the family mbers exuding grace, drawing frequent glances from those around.
There seems to be an invisible boundary between the two families, clearly delineating them.
On the other side of the audience, Owen Sheridan and Maeve Holloway have long taken their seats, with expressions full of barely contained anticipation.
Not far away, Mrs. Payne, escorted by bodyguards, walks to the VIP area, greeting Chloe Everett and Mrs. Crowe, high-profilely demonstrating their support for Vera Sheridan.
As the competition ti approaches, everyone begins taking their seats.
At that mont, there is a stir at the entrance.
The crowd turns to look.
Noah Grant has arrived.
The man is in a well-fitted dark suit, tall and imposing, exuding an intimidating aura.
His steps are steady as he walks through a passage automatically made by staff, nods slightly to acknowledge a few nobles who rise to greet him, his watch reflecting a cold gleam with his movents, and then he heads straight to the VIP area, taking a seat in the center of the Grant family’s area.
His strong presence commands attention across the theater.
Old Madam Yates can’t help but cast her gaze toward Noah Grant, wanting to see what sort of person this Second Young Master Grant, who disdains her granddaughter, truly is.
With just one glance, a stunning gleam crosses her sharp eyes.
Extraordinary deanor, truly a dragon among n.
No wonder Vivian is so fixated on him.
But unfortunately... his taste is sowhat lacking. To cause such a rift with his own mother over a remarried woman is indeed perplexing.
As Old Madam Yates is about to withdraw her gaze, she inadvertently catches sight of an exceptionally handso and sowhat familiarly striking side profile.
She instinctively grips the armrest of her chair and steadies her reading glasses with her other hand for a closer look.
The young man has an outstanding aura and is looking at his phone.
Old Madam Yates quickly recalls that this is the prodigious young architect Owen Sheridan.
Recently awarded the highest honor in architecture, the "Pritzker Prize."
She had also visited his iconic buildings and marveled at his talent, yet had not associated this na with Vera Sheridan.
It turns out they are siblings.
Looking at Owen Sheridan’s deanor, Elder Yates feels an indescribable familiarity, her heart trembling slightly...
Perhaps it’s admiration for his talent.
Old Madam Yates withdraws her gaze.
The competition is about to begin.
Noah Grant’s phone silently vibrates, he glances at the screen and then rises, heading towards the theater’s smoking area.
The call connects, and a police officer’s lowered voice cos through:
"President Grant, the car crash at the foot of the cetery hills has been confird as not an accident. The two biker gang mbers intentionally created a diversion to draw Owen Sheridan away, creating an opportunity for ’Darknight’s Justice’ to act."
Noah Grant listens silently, the cigarette between his fingers unlit, a cold curve forming at the corner of his mouth.
"Further investigation shows that these two have had contact with Vivian Langdon. The arrest warrant is now issued, should we proceed imdiately?"
Noah Grant bites the cigarette, the lighter ignites a blue fla, lighting the cigarette.
Dim light outlines his sharp side profile.
He takes two deep drags, slowly exhaling smoke, eyes fixed steadily, voice unwavering:
"Wait until the competition ends."
The call ends, and Noah Grant returns to the theater just as the spotlights co down.
On stage, Vera Sheridan is unlike any ti in his mory.
She’s no longer the sorrowful White Swan Odette, nor the heartbroken Giselle.
At this mont, she is the phoenix reborn in "Breaking the Cocoon."
A dark blue reford ballet dress, like butterfly wings soaked in moonlight, the silver lines embroidered with intricate oriental patterns, shimring with each of her spins.
She incorporates the grace and fluidity of Peking Opera water sleeves into ballet, the long silk ribbons fluttering like flowing water, like a startled swan.
This is not the Western swan; this is an Eastern butterfly, breaking through all shackles, dancing elegantly!
Noah Grant watches her on stage, his chest vibrating.
Audience mbers are equally astonished, especially Old Madam Grant, Mrs. Payne, and other Peking Opera enthusiasts; they never expected ballet could be perford this way, and so seamlessly fused!
The judges keep their eyes fixed on the performance.
Vera Sheridan’s self-created piece "Breaking the Cocoon," impeccable in skill and interpretation, highlights the charm of East-West fusion.
This is the dancer’s most heartfelt homage to her cultural roots, showcasing the aesthetic power of the East with fearless innovation to the world.
Only such a dancer can represent the country on the international stage.
In contrast, though Vivian Langdon’s performance is considered perfect, flawless technique, ticulously designed emotional portrayal...
What she performs is routine and crafted, but lacks soul.
Her dance lacks the life force of breaking the cocoon, rely a flawlessly executed, yet grandly hollow exhibition.
The judges already have their answers.
Moreover, with one win and one draw in the first two rounds, Vera Sheridan already has the upper hand.
All performances conclude.
The four dancers take the stage again, holding their breath as they await the final scores.
Vera Sheridan stands calmly in the center of the stage, makeup exquisite, a faint, serene smile on her lips, confident and composed.
Vivian Langdon stands right by her side, chin slightly raised, maintaining her usual pride, though internally in turmoil.
At this mont, the entire room falls silent, so quiet you could hear a pin drop.
The massive screen flickers, and finally, the scores explode onto the scene!
Everyone’s gaze turns to the screen, mouths dropping in shock to form wide ’O’s when they see the top na!
The four contestants on stage also slowly turn to the big screen.
From the audience cos a loud shout: "Conspiracy!"
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