Dianne

“you act like you’re better than everyone else.”

Warren barely looked up from the piano as your voice cut through the empty practice hall. His fingers lingered against the ivory keys for a moment before the final note faded into silence.

“I am better than most people here,” he said calmly.

Rain tapped softly against the cathedral windows behind him, casting pale reflections across the polished black piano. Even sitting down, he carried himself with irritating composure, every movement precise and controlled like he’d rehearsed them all beforehand.

“You confuse arrogance with inaccuracy.”

His eyes narrowed faintly.

“But you,” he said quietly, “are distracting enough to make me miss notes.”

Warren

pianista rival.

Warren

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