The private ballroom lay draped in midnight velvet and candlelight, a hushed sanctuary of memory and music. Crystal chandeliers floated overhead like frozen droplets, and the scent of polished wood mingled with faint traces of iris and sandalwood. The stage at its center held a single grand piano—Dawn Shen's instrument—its lacquered surface reflecting the flicker of candles.
Ivy Shen stood in the wings, heart hammering. Her gown—pale silver silk—draped her like moonlight, but the weight of expectation pressed on her shoulders. Tonight was Lucian's memorial concert for Dawn, and he had commanded Ivy to perform. She was to play Dawn's signature Chopin nocturne, the piece Lucian claimed no one but his sister could ever render with true feeling.
Backstage, Dr. Hazel Lee appeared beside Ivy,
