"Do not insult my intelligence." Victoria cuts her off. "Your duties do not include touching this instrument. Ever."
Judge Montgomery clears his throat, stepping from the shadows. Victoria's demeanor transforms instantly, her anger concealed beneath a practiced social smile. "Judge Montgomery! We weren't expecting you until this evening."
"I prefer to assess the performance space beforehand," he replies, his gaze moving between Victoria and Elsa with undisguised interest. "I was just enjoying some unexpected music."
Victoria's laugh is brittle. "Oh, you must mean Sebastian. My son is the highlight of our competition. His technique is unparalleled for his age."
"Indeed." Montgomery's eyebrow raises slightly. "I look forward to hearing him."
Victoria ushers him away, throwing a warning glance at Elsa over her shoulder. "The staff quarters are downstairs, Elsa. I suggest you return to where you belong."
As they leave, Judge Montgomery looks back, his perceptive eyes meeting Elsa's for a brief, significant moment.
In the privacy of a seldom-used office, Elsa fills out the competition application form with trembling hands. Every question feels like a trap, especially the sections requesting previous training and performance experience. She hesitates, pen hovering over the paper, before writing simply: Self-taught. Private study for 10 years. She seals the envelope and places it on the stack of outgoing mail, heart pounding with the recklessness of her action.
Hours later, Victoria sorts through the correspondence at her desk, her perfectly manicured nails slicing efficiently through envelopes. When she reaches Elsa's application, she studies the handwriting with narrowed eyes. Victoria's face hardens as she reads the contents.
With deliberate slowness, she tears the application into precise quarters, then eighths, watching the pieces flutter into her wastebasket. Her lips curve into a cold smile as she picks up her phone.
"Charles, it's Victoria Harrington. About that scholarship competition... I want to ensure the selection process properly reflects the values and standards of our foundation."
The next day, Elsa's makeshift keyboard—paper keys carefully drawn on cardboard, laid out on her bed—sits before her as she practices silently. Fingers dancing above the surface without making a sound, through headphones connected to nothing, she hears the music in her mind, eyes closed in concentration.