My Great Escape Led Me to You (Emily Blair) novel Chapter 254

Even with a dozen security guards wrestling to restrain him, Larry Mitchell’s eyes burned red with rage as he thrashed wildly—on the floor, in their grasp, doing everything in his power to break free.

Despite their numbers, the guards struggled to fully control him, each wary of hurting him and holding back just enough that, every so often, Larry managed to slip from their grip.

No one thought to cover his mouth. So Larry bellowed toward the stage, his voice hoarse and furious: “Emily Blair’s spot in the semifinals is rigged! The judges are in cahoots with her—this whole thing’s a sham!”

His shouts nearly drowned out Emily Blair’s piano, echoing through the auditorium.

A ripple of astonished gasps swept through the contestants waiting in the wings. Some looked on with gleaming eyes, barely suppressing their schadenfreude; a few even seemed tempted to clap and cheer him on for saying what they wished they could.

The air buzzed with frantic whispers and the commotion at Larry’s end, making it impossible for Emily Blair’s performance to be heard in the tranquil atmosphere a piano recital required.

Arianna George’s expression grew stormier by the second. Lips pressed into a thin line, she snatched up her phone and called the head of security.

He answered, breathless and deferential. “We’re handling it right now, ma’am. We’ll have him out of here in no time. He won’t cause any more trouble, I promise.”

“Do it now,” Arianna snapped, twirling a pen between her fingers.

“Yes, of course, right away,” he stammered.

As soon as she hung up, the security chief shot a grim look at his team, nodding meaningfully. Immediately, another guard lunged forward, pinning Larry with all his weight. Two hands clamped over Larry’s mouth, finally silencing him.

On stage, Emily Blair’s face remained serene, her fingers gliding over the keys in a seamless, lyrical cascade of notes.

To the audience, she seemed unruffled by the chaos—composed, focused, an island of calm in a sea of disruption. But only Emily herself could feel the sweat slicking her palms.

Larry’s outburst had shattered the order of the recital. His howls, the thuds and scuffles, and the buzz of gossip from the crowd—all conspired to sabotage her performance. Piano music demanded silence, demanded concentration, not only from the performer but from the judges tasked with scoring her.

No matter how even and controlled her playing, no matter how hard the judges tried to listen with fairness, there was no way the noise wouldn’t seep in and taint their impression. Her score would inevitably suffer for it.

That, more than anything, explained the heavy cast to Arianna George’s features.

Now, with Larry finally subdued but the atmosphere in tatters, Arianna knew the judges’ opinions would be colored by the memory of chaos. Emily’s score would likely be lower than ever.

Her chances of advancing to the finals were slim.

What a waste. If not for Larry’s outburst, Emily might have made it through on skill alone.

Arianna picked up her pen, ready to mark an uninspired score in the first column of the sheet. But then, just as she was about to write, a subtle shift rippled through the music on stage.

It was slight, but unmistakable—and, to Arianna’s trained ear, electrifying.

She looked up in surprise, eyes widening.

Emily Blair’s features remained as tranquil as ever, her hands moving just as they had before.

But Arianna heard it: the delicate, brilliant change, quiet but extraordinary, that set Emily’s playing apart at last.