"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 mont 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 rember quite clearly, the piece was originally mine. I simply asked for your opinion and made so 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, co 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 vehently accusing 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 beca instantly red and she didn’t dare et 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 claid: "No problem, I can write it for you. Just tell , 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 sothing, and laughed: "Are you saying I’m deliberately making things difficult for you? Isn’t it you who claid that the award-winning arrangent was your own work? Giving you a chance to prove yourself is also a mistake?"
Ghania Quinlan gritted her teeth: "Writing an arrangent also requires the right environnt and inspiration, you think it’s like doing howork, that you can just write it offhand. Can you write sothing in such a short ti?"
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 fragnts of the arrangent 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 so abilities in this field. As soon as the fragnts from Nathalie Quinlan’s phone played, she was certain there was sothing wrong with Ghania Quinlan’s Grammy Award-winning arrangent. It must have used soone 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 arrangent fragnts sowhere before..." Ivy Wilmar said softly, almost whispering into Myles Sullivan’s ear, afraid that others might overhear.
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