The Unveiling of Secret Queen

Chapter 992: Nathalie Threw the Paper and Pen Before Her

"Tsk. You wrote this?" Nathalie Quinlan smirked, the curve of her lips both wicked and arrogant.

Ghania Quinlan felt uneasy at her laugh, but at this moment she was cornered with no way out. Even though Nathalie Quinlan’s laugh nearly drove her to explosion, she could only stand her ground and insist without backing down: "Yes, I wrote that piece."

"Nathalie, you should remember quite clearly, the piece was originally mine. I simply asked for your opinion and made some changes. It’s my composition," she reminded her ’kindly’.

The girl didn’t waste words with her. In front of Master Steven, she walked to the bedside table, bent down to pick up a pen and paper, and tossed them onto the hospital bed. Her eyebrows were raised in arrogance, putting it bluntly: "Since you wrote it, come on, write another one."

Ghania Quinlan: "..."

Nathalie Quinlan glanced at her indifferently, and upon seeing her speechless expression, she coolly responded: "What’s the matter? Weren’t you just vehemently accusing me of slandering you, claiming it was all your work? Since it’s all written by you and I’ve just ’polished’ it a bit, it shouldn’t be a problem for you to write another one in front of your teacher."

Master Steven also looked at her, his blue eyes filled with hope. After all, Ghania Quinlan was his student, and whether emotionally or rationally, he still hoped Ghania Quinlan could prove herself.

Feeling several gazes on her, Ghania Quinlan’s pale face slowly turned crimson. Her face became instantly red and she didn’t dare meet those stares, she turned her head away and said in a feeble voice: "My hand is injured."

"Ha!" Nathalie Quinlan didn’t plan to let her go today, she calmly picked up the pen and paper from the hospital bed. Her pose was both beautiful and cool as she claimed: "No problem, I can write it for you. Just tell me, I’ll write it on your behalf."

Ghania Quinlan turned her head, her eyes reddened with anger, fiercely staring at her, and she spoke in a lowered voice: "Nathalie, you’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you!"

"Doing what on purpose." Nathalie Quinlan’s fingers, graceful as white jade, clutched the pen. She looked at her casually, seemingly realizing something, and laughed: "Are you saying I’m deliberately making things difficult for you? Isn’t it you who claimed that the award-winning arrangement was your own work? Giving you a chance to prove yourself is also a mistake?"

Ghania Quinlan gritted her teeth: "Writing an arrangement also requires the right environment and inspiration, you think it’s like doing homework, that you can just write it offhand. Can you write something in such a short time?"

Her intention was to absolve herself.

Who would have thought, the girl in the black T-shirt and duckbill cap replied with frivolous brows, casually answering: "I can."

*

Outside the door, Amadeus Yancey was leaning against the entrance of the ward.

Alfred Garland stood beside him, showing utmost respect but actually blocking others from entering.

Myles Sullivan and Ivy Wilmar were standing nearby.

Myles Sullivan’s face was an ashen blue, while Ivy Wilmar held his arm, seemingly trying to persuade him not to act impulsively. Both of their faces held ugly expressions.

They had all witnessed the dispute between Nathalie Quinlan and Ghania Quinlan inside the ward, including the few fragments of the arrangement Nathalie Quinlan let Master Steven listen to.

Compared with Myles Sullivan, Ivy Wilmar felt a stronger sense of unease.

Being a pianist herself, and with the backing of the Wilmar family, she had some abilities in this field. As soon as the fragments from Nathalie Quinlan’s phone played, she was certain there was something wrong with Ghania Quinlan’s Grammy Award-winning arrangement. It must have used someone else’s work.

Then, with Nathalie Quinlan publicly challenging Ghania Quinlan to prove herself, her unease only intensified.

"I feel like I’ve heard those arrangement fragments somewhere before..." Ivy Wilmar said softly, almost whispering into Myles Sullivan’s ear, afraid that others might overhear.