Chapter 25

The elite circles of San Francisco were small, despite their differences.

Tristan Whitmore and Sebastian Hart were acquainted through these inevitable social intersections.

When Sebastian spotted Tristan, Nathan Blackwood naturally came into view as well.

Sebastian tipped his glass slightly in acknowledgment. "What a pleasant surprise, Mr. Whitmore."

Noticing Evelyn Sinclair and Isabella Montgomery seated with Sebastian, Tristan assumed they were together. He nudged Nathan toward their table. "Let's join them for a game. You don't mind, do you, Mr. Hart?"

Sebastian didn’t answer immediately. Instead, his gaze flicked to Evelyn. "My queen, shall we entertain them?"

Evelyn rose gracefully, her expression indifferent. "Suit yourselves. I'm heading downstairs for the live performance."

Isabella was quick to follow. "Yes, let's go. The air up here is getting stale."

Natalie Beaumont grabbed three bottles of premium whiskey. "I'm coming too!"

Nathan’s eyes lingered on Evelyn’s retreating figure before he turned back to Sebastian. "Mr. Hart, what exactly is your relationship with Evelyn?"

Sebastian tilted his head, a smirk playing on his lips. "Friends."

"How could someone like her be friends with you?" Tristan scoffed, but Nathan cut him off sharply.

The stage was set for two performers, though the band usually consisted of three. Yet, the duo commanded the crowd effortlessly, their energy electric.

Isabella was lost in the music, screaming near the stage, oblivious as Natalie whisked Evelyn backstage.

"Three minutes left in this set," Natalie said urgently. "Demon had an emergency appendectomy. Without the violin, the next song falls flat. You’re the only one who’s played with them before—you have to step in."

Evelyn blinked. "Me?"

"They’re counting on you. Don’t you miss this?"

The pounding rhythm tugged at memories—wild, untamed. A slow smile curved Evelyn’s lips. "Fine. Let’s do it."

The crowd roared as the band transitioned. Bodies swayed, drinks raised. No one noticed the woman slipping onto the stage, violin in one hand, her flowing dress gathered in the other.

The lights dimmed, leaving a single spotlight.

Monster and Phantom—the band’s core—grinned when they saw her. Phantom launched into a deep, resonant bassline. The magic of this piece lay in the interplay between bass and violin, a dance of fire and silk.

Phantom’s fingers flew, the melody surging through the room.

Then—

The violin sang.

Rich, bold, alive.

Gasps rippled through the audience. The woman on stage was a vision—fearless, commanding. Her bow moved with precision, each note piercing the air.

The drums crashed back in, perfectly synchronized. The contrast—thunderous percussion against the violin’s liquid gold—was breathtaking.

Two minutes.

That was all it took.

The crowd erupted, louder than before.

"GODDESS!"

"VIOLIN QUEEN!"

Upstairs, Nathan Blackwood stood frozen, his shock laid bare.