Chapter 23: The Silent Note

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The ballroom was thick with tension. Sebastian and Harper didn't move to the corner. They stayed right in the center, like a rock in a stream, forcing everyone else to flow around them.

Waiters nervously offered champagne. Old business partners hesitated, then approached.

"Mr. Sterling," a balding man bowed slightly. "I haven't seen you in months. The market has been... chaotic without you."

Sebastian swirled his sparkling water (he didn't drink alcohol tonight). "Chaos is just opportunity in disguise, Mr. Lee," Sebastian said smoothly. "I trust your lithium mines are doing well?"

Mr. Lee’s eyes widened. "You... you've been keeping track?"

"I may be sitting down," Sebastian smirked, tapping his temple. "But my brain is still standing tall."

Within minutes, a small circle of influential CEOs had formed around Sebastian's wheelchair, ignoring the groom, Julian.

Julian watched from the stage, his face turning red. This was his night. He was the new CEO. Why was everyone still bowing to the cripple?

He grabbed the microphone. The feedback screeched, forcing everyone to cover their ears.

"Ladies and Gentlemen!" Julian shouted, trying to regain control. "Thank you for coming to celebrate my love for Elena! Now, it is time for the First Dance!"

The band struck up a slow waltz. Julian stepped down, took Elena’s hand, and led her to the dance floor. He stopped right in front of Sebastian.

"Sebastian," Julian grinned, his voice dripping with fake pity. "I would invite you to join us, but... well, wheels don't waltz, do they?"

Elena covered her mouth, giggling. "Oh Julian, don't be mean. Maybe Harper can spin him around in circles?"

The crowd went silent. It was a low blow. A cruel, public humiliation.

Sebastian’s expression didn't change. He looked at Julian’s extended hand like it was a dirty rag.

Harper stepped forward. The crystals on her dress caught the spotlight, blinding Julian for a second.

"Mr. Vance," Harper’s voice was sweet like poison honey. "You are right. Sebastian doesn't waltz."

She paused, looking around the room. "Because a King doesn't jump around for entertainment. A King sets the rhythm."

Harper turned and pointed to the magnificent Grand Piano sitting untouched in the corner of the stage.

"Sebastian?" Harper looked at him. "The band is a bit... mediocre. Shall we show them what real music sounds like?"

Sebastian looked at her. He hadn't played in public since the accident. But seeing the fire in her eyes, he felt a spark in his own chest.

"Why not," Sebastian said.

He rolled his wheelchair to the stage. The crowd parted. He maneuvered himself to the piano bench. With surprising upper body strength, he lifted himself from the wheelchair onto the bench. Harper adjusted the microphone stand for him, then stood beside the piano, her hand resting on the lid, looking like a dark, glittering muse.

Sebastian cracked his knuckles. He didn't play a soft love song. He crashed his hands onto the keys.

Rachmaninoff. Prelude in C Sharp Minor.

BAM. BAM. BAM.

The first three notes were like thunder. Heavy. Dark. Powerful. It was the sound of doom. The sound of war.

The cheerful wedding band stopped playing. Julian and Elena stopped dancing. They stood awkwardly in the middle of the floor, frozen by the sheer intensity of the music.

Sebastian’s fingers flew across the keys. He poured all his anger, his pain, his betrayal, and his resilience into the music. The melody was haunting and aggressive. It filled every corner of the ballroom, demanding attention.

He wasn't a broken man. He was a storm.

Harper watched him, mesmerized. His back was straight. His jaw was set. His hands were a blur of power and precision. This was the man she had been caring for. This was the soul behind the scars.

As the song reached its climax—a furious cascade of chords—Sebastian slammed the final notes. The sound echoed into silence.

For three seconds, nobody moved. Then, applause erupted.

It wasn't polite clapping. It was thunderous. "Bravo!" "Incredible!" "He's still got it!"

Businessmen were nodding with respect. Ladies were looking at him with flushed cheeks.

Sebastian shifted back into his wheelchair. Harper was immediately there, handing him a handkerchief. "Show off," she whispered, her eyes shining with pride.

"I tried to keep it simple," Sebastian smirked, wiping his hands.

He turned his wheelchair to face Julian, who was standing alone on the empty dance floor, looking small and forgotten.

"Happy Engagement, Julian," Sebastian said into the microphone. "Consider that my gift. Since you like... drama."

He turned to Harper. "I'm bored. Let's go."

"Yes, Boss."

They left the way they came—like royalty leaving a conquered city. Behind them, the party was dead. Julian Vance had the title. But Sebastian Sterling still owned the room.

(End of Chapter 23)