The Violinist They Destroyed

Aria lost her ten fingers and her entire future to a pair of fake lovers in her past life.

Reborn before the crucial music competition, she abandons her role as a shadow pianist and picks up her abandoned violin again.

With bleeding fingers and a death wish for revenge, she teams up with Adrian, the ruthless piano tyrant of Juilliard Prep.

They burn down the perfect reputation of the hypocritical genius who once ruined her.

Broken strings can be re-tuned. Broken talent always plays louder than lies.

"Aria, don't throw a tantrum over something like this, alright?"

I snapped my eyes open.

A second ago, I was rotting away in that moldy basement, forced to watch a steel pipe shatter my ten fingers, inch by agonizing inch. Now, I turned my head and stared at the man sitting beside my hospital bed.

Julian wore that crisp white shirt, his blond hair falling softly across his forehead. The look he gave me was the same as always—a flawless mix of deep affection and helpless indulgence. Except, his right wrist, the one meant to wield a violin bow, was currently wrapped in thick bandages.

"I know you blame me." Seeing me awake, he reached out with his left hand to brush the stray hairs from my forehead.

I violently jerked my head away.

His hand froze in mid-air. "Earlier at the school gates, when that out-of-control pickup truck came barreling toward us, Chloe was terrified stiff. You know she's been frail since we were kids. If I hadn't lunged over and shielded her with my hand, she would have died."

I watched his achingly sincere performance, a cold sneer rising in my chest.

"I know how important these hands are to a violinist," Julian continued, his eyelashes fluttering down to mask his expression. "But Chloe and I grew up together. I couldn't just stand there and let her die. You can understand that, right?"

I bit down maliciously on the inside of my bottom lip.

In my past life, it was this exact gentle facade that fooled me. I actually believed he was a man of loyalty and deep feeling. Even when he ruined his heavily insured hands for his so-called "childhood sweetheart," I had willingly sacrificed everything to be his safety net.

"Aria, my hand is injured, and there can't be any mistakes in tomorrow's preliminaries." Julian pushed a printed sheet gently across the bed toward me. "Call your grandfather. Tell him to fly in the best doctor from New York. And in the meantime... I need you to be my full-time piano accompanist."

He locked his gaze onto my eyes. "You gave up the violin and switched to piano specifically for me, didn't you? Just so you could always stand by my side on stage. I can't do this without you now, Aria. As long as you use the piano to cover the flaws in my right hand's bowing, I'll secure the principal spot. Then, we can finally have our future."

In the life before, for the sake of "our future," I had signed that paper with red-rimmed eyes. I drained my family's connections to heal his hand, willingly sitting in his shadow to play his accompaniment for three long years.

And the result? Propped up by my flawless cover, he became the academy's untouchable violin prodigy. And the very first thing he did upon fully recovering was shatter all ten of my fingers with his own hands, just to earn a smile from Chloe. He made sure I could never touch a piano key again.

"For our future," he murmured, handing me the pen.

I looked down. He was so incredibly certain of my love, so convinced that I, a mere accessory fit only to play his background tracks, could never refuse his charity.

I didn't take the pen. Instead, I grabbed the printed document with both hands. The sharp rip of tearing paper was deafening in the quiet room.

The tenderness on Julian's face instantly calcified.

"Aria?" His brow furrowed in disbelief. "Are you out of your mind? You're throwing away our entire future just because you're jealous of Chloe?"

I raised my hands and hurled the shredded paper—pieces lined with the blood and tears of my past life—directly into his face.

"Put away that disgusting act." I stood up, looking down at his stunned face. "Find your own doctor. Beg for your own accompanist. And don't you dare touch me with the hand you used to protect someone else. It makes me sick."

I turned on my heel and walked straight toward the door.

"Aria!" Julian roared behind me, his voice shedding its velvet covering. "If you walk out that door today, do you think you have any other choices?! You practiced piano for three years just to accompany me! Without me, you couldn't even touch the edge of a stage!"

"Then open your eyes wide and watch." I yanked the door open without a second of hesitation.

Chloe was standing right outside. She held a cup of artisan coffee—for Julian, I wagered. Seeing me step out, she froze for a heartbeat before a sweet, practiced smile bloomed on her lips.

I had seen that expression too many times in my past life. She always aimed that smile at Julian, and Julian always fell for it, entirely convinced she was truly as fragile and kind as she looked.

"Aria," she said, offering the cup slightly toward me. "Julian said you were finally awake, so I brought you..."

"Don't need it." I shoved right past her.

Behind me, Chloe pushed her way into the infirmary. "Julian, does your hand still hurt...?"

I strode down the chaotic, noisy hallway, leaned against a quiet corner, and slowly raised my left hand.

It was utterly complete. Pale. No dripping blood. No shattered bones.

But when I pressed my thumb hard against the tip of my left index finger, my heart plummeted into my stomach. Playing the piano required agility and strength in the finger pads, not the thick, hardened calluses unique to a violinist pressing down on steel strings. Three years away from the violin had left my fingertips smooth and tender, stripped clean of any trace of muscle memory.

Julian was right. Without him, I couldn't even touch the edge of a stage right now. In an academy crawling with elite musical monsters, even if I walked in holding a priceless Stradivarius, I would be laughed out of the room like a clown.

I slowly balled my hands into tight fists.

In this life, I would not be anyone's shadow. I would not sacrifice the glory of a genius violinist for a liar's sake. Even if I had to grind these soft fingertips bloody against the strings, I would reclaim the instrument that belonged to me. I would make him listen as my notes absolutely drowned out his.

I turned and walked toward the underground storage room at the very end of the corridor.

Locked inside there was a violin, waiting quietly beneath a thick layer of dust.