Contract Marriage with My Secret Partner in Crime-Chapter 61: Her Music

As soon as Zephany and Kendrick stepped into the grand hall, a wave of soft music and dim, golden lights greeted them. The chandeliers overhead sparkled like captured stars, their glow bouncing off the polished marble floor.

Rows of velvet-cushioned seats filled the space, already occupied by elegantly dressed guests murmuring among themselves.

At the far end of the hall, a raised stage stood proudly, bathed in warm lighting. A grand piano sat at the center, gleaming under the spotlight, waiting.

Zephany’s breath caught. Her hand, laced with Kendrick’s, trembled slightly. She tried to steady it, but Kendrick noticed. He looked down at her, brow furrowed, but didn’t say anything. He simply squeezed her hand gently.

No one turned to look at her. No whispers followed her name. No gasps or pointing fingers. No recognition in anyone’s eyes.

Twelve years.

Back then, her hair was a natural, long, dark wave that flowed like a river down her back. Now it was dyed a deep, striking red. Her once ever-present aura of youth and fame had long faded into the shadows of time.

They walked quietly toward the far corner of the room, finding two empty seats. Zephany sat without a word, her eyes scanning the room subtly, as if trying to find something—someone.

She hadn’t had the chance to investigate properly. Everything had moved too fast. The only thing she could do now was stay alert and watch. She needed to be ready for any small window of opportunity that might help her carry out her mission.

Kendrick sat beside her, glancing at her sideways. Her silence lingered, thick like a fog. He thought back to what she said in the hallway—something vague, but heavy. Something about her past.

He didn’t know what it meant, but whatever it was, he hoped it wasn’t something painful.

After a few minutes, the host stepped onto the stage. A tall man in a fitted tuxedo, his voice smooth and charming.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he greeted, his arms spread slightly as if to embrace the whole crowd. "Thank you for gracing this special night with your presence. It is my honor to introduce the first performance of the evening. She has dominated the piano scene across the country for more than a decade—known not just for her technique, but for the heart she puts into her music."

The crowd broke into applause.

"Tonight, she will be performing a newly composed piece—one she wrote specially for this event. For you."

More applause.

A young woman stepped onto the stage.

She was elegant. Poised. Graceful in every step.

Her long white gown flowed with her movement. Her chestnut hair was swept into a loose bun, soft curls framing her delicate face. She looked to be around Zephany’s age.

She gave a small nod to the audience before turning to the piano. As she lowered herself onto the bench, her fingers brushed over the keys lightly, almost reverently.

Zephany stared.

She used to be that girl.

The one the crowd waited for.

The one whose fingers would dance on the keys, whose soul would pour into every note.

A musical prodigy. Able to compose and play not just the piano, but several instruments. But the piano had always been her favorite.

It was the instrument she used to play with her mother. Her mom would sit beside her, guiding her fingers, humming melodies as they played together.

A tear slid down Zephany’s cheek.

Kendrick noticed. He didn’t say a word. He just gently squeezed her hand again.

Zephany blinked, caught off guard by the sudden warmth in his touch. She looked at him. He smiled softly, as if saying, It’s okay. I’m here.

Something fluttered in her chest.

She turned her gaze back to the stage, the young woman now pressing the first few notes.

The melody was soft at first, like a whisper in the dark.

It grew slowly, like a story unfolding.

The audience was silent, mesmerized.

The notes danced like fireflies, playful and warm.

Then it shifted. The tempo quickened. The chords became bolder, deeper.

Like a heart racing.

A chase.

Then silence.

Followed by a sudden, high note, like a gasp.

Then lower, slower again, heavy and lingering.

Like sorrow.

The emotions behind the notes wrapped around the room, pulling everyone in.

A woman a few seats away placed a hand over her chest, lips parted in awe.

A couple leaned closer to each other, their fingers interlaced.

Even Kendrick seemed absorbed, his shoulders slightly leaned forward. fгeewebnovёl.com

But Zephany didn’t move.

She couldn’t.

She sat frozen.

Her eyes wide.

Because she recognized it.

Not the exact piece.

But parts of it.

A segment from a melody she once composed, hidden in the layers of the new arrangement.

A signature note pattern that only she used.

Someone was using her music.

Someone remembered.

Her breathing quickened.

Kendrick turned to her, concerned. "Zephany? Are you alright?"

She nodded stiffly. "Y-yeah. Just... overwhelmed. It’s beautiful."

Kendrick studied her for a moment but didn’t press further.

Onstage, the young woman ended the performance with a soft decrescendo, the final note lingering like a sigh.

The crowd erupted into applause. Cheers. Standing ovation.

But Zephany remained seated, her hands cold.

Something wasn’t right.

She clapped slowly, forcing her expression to stay calm.

But inside, questions swirled.

How did she get that melody?

Was it just coincidence?

Or...

She needed answers.

She had to find a way to speak to that woman.

But she had to stay in character. Clumsy, shy, weak.

Not the Zephany from before.

Not Eclipse.

Just the soft-spoken journalist with a quiet smile.

Kendrick leaned slightly toward her. "You sure you’re okay? You looked like you saw a ghost."

She blinked up at him and gave a small smile. "Maybe I did."

He chuckled gently. "Remind me not to sit beside you in haunted theaters then."

Despite herself, she smiled.

But the chill in her spine didn’t go away.

Something from the past was starting to unravel.

And she wasn’t sure if she was ready for it.