To Sebastian, Liliane's return had always been inevitable. Expected, even.Gideon was briefly surprised—but not for long. He was good at reading people. Too good, perhaps.
Still, he couldn't shake the feeling that Boss had wanted more than to be right. That a part of him had hoped she wouldn't return—just so he'd have an excuse to chase her.Gideon brushed the thought aside. Paranoia. Occupational hazard. Too many years reading between lines that weren't there.
Liliane, meanwhile, wasn't playing games.If no one was locking her in, she'd live like nothing had changed.Dinner at the campus cafeteria.Library for an hour.Home by 8:30.Shower.Then—like always—downstairs to the piano.
Hanon drills.Schumann's Butterflies.A Chopin waltz or two.
Sebastian had known she played. He'd seen the grand piano tucked into the corner of the living room like a relic—untouched, sacred. He'd imagined her there, hands gliding over the keys. But imagination failed him.
She sat beneath the gauze-draped moonlight in an ivory silk dress, the fabric so light it blurred where skin ended and shadow began.A breeze stirred the hem. It looked unreal.She looked untouchable.
Her fingers moved with quiet certainty.He didn't recognize the piece.Didn't care.She was the music.And from the far side of the room, beyond her notice, he stood still. Watching.
No—studying.
Every curve. Every breath. Every rise and fall of melody, like the notes existed only for her.
If she turned now—if she caught the look in his eyes—It would frighten her.Not because it was cruel.But because it was… absolute.
He loosened his collar. Stepped forward half a pace.Just enough to cast a shadow.It stretched across the floor, reaching the hem of her dress like something sentient.Heat.Hunger.Shape.
No.Not now.Not yet.If he gave in, even a little—he wouldn't stop.
The music broke."Practicing this late?"
His voice slipped into the silence like a low chord. Unexpected. Too close."You should rest. School tomorrow."A pause. Then, softer—"I'll bring you some warm milk."
Liliane turned, fingers still touching the keys.She hadn't heard him enter.
She nodded quietly, gathered her things, and retreated upstairs.
She didn't lie down.Not yet.She knew he would come.He always did what he said.
An hour later—Three quiet knocks. No answer.He opened the door anyway.
Liliane had just reached for it when she saw him already inside.She stepped back, startled.
He said nothing.Just handed her the mug.Sat down at the edge of her bed like he belonged there.
"Didn't expect you to play that well.""Thank you." Her voice was soft. She curled her fingers around the warmth.She wasn't sure what surprised her more—his compliment, or that he somehow knew this was her nighttime habit.
"That last one... what was it?""I played a few things."
"Grade ten pianist?" he teased.
She nearly choked on her sip, laughing."There are different systems—ABRSM, RCM... Levels aren't everything."
The lamplight softened her smile.His hand hovered—then ruffled her hair."Then you're a ten in mine."
"I've been playing since I was three.""That doesn't sound easy."
He pictured it:Other children in their mother's arms.Her—tiny, alone, at the keys.
"Beauty doesn't come cheap," he murmured.
"I like it," she said simply.
Something in him tensed.He glanced at her empty cup.Stood up.
She blinked.Before she could ask, he leaned forward again—his hand brushing her hair one last time."Get some sleep."
Then—click.Lights off.Door closed.
Liliane stood in the dark, barefoot, breath still tinged with milk and confusion.So... that was it?He really just brought me milk?
Outside the door, the bodyguard flinched as Sebastian stepped out.There was a storm darkening his face.
A sharp snap of fingers."You," he said without looking. "Come here."
The man stepped forward immediately.Sebastian's hand hovered midair—caught between decision and restraint.
Liliane's smile lingered behind his eyes. Soft. Drowsy. Real.Too real.
No. Not now. Not here.He inhaled slow and sharp, forcing the heat low in his chest to cool.
"Call Elias.""Yes, sir."
A moment later, the line connected."You said the guy who jumped me—you found him?"
Sebastian's voice dropped two degrees. Icy. Exact.
"Yeah," Elias replied, distracted. "Still alive. Stashed in the basement."
The man had been caught the day after the incident, hiding in a rundown motel. Elias had asked what to do.Boss hadn't even looked up—just handed him a file and walked away.
"You run his background?""Drifter. Petty crimes. Wanted for killing a woman a few towns over. Thought you were easy prey."A chuckle. "Guess he picked the wrong sheep."
Sebastian's voice was flat. "Bring him here. Carefully. No blood on the floor.""Understood."
When Elias arrived, he wasn't alone.Silas came with him.
Gideon's stomach turned.He pulled Elias aside. "What the hell is he doing here?"
Silas. The executioner.
Even a man like Gideon—five years undercover, soaked in betrayal—avoided him."Precaution," Elias shrugged. "Didn't know what Boss had planned."
Sebastian said nothing as they brought the man in.He didn't have to.One glance was enough.
Even Gideon felt it—a shift in the air. Cold. Dangerous.
But something didn't add up.The threat was neutralized.The files were back.The job was done.
So why drag in a half-dead thief in the middle of the night?
Unless...
This wasn't about him at all.
Gideon thought back to the girl in the silk dress.To the piano. The moonlight.She hadn't gone straight to bed.And Boss hadn't gone far.
No release. No outlet.This was displacement.
A darker kind.He took a gamble.
"Boss… if there's someone you need found, I can handle it. You don't have to—""Get out."
Flat. Final.Gideon didn't argue.
That night, the house was quiet.On the surface.Underneath—it seethed.
Liliane didn't sleep well.No nightmares.No sounds.
Just the overwhelming sense that someone might be watching.
By morning, she was exhausted.
Still, she moved through her routine.Shower. Uniform. Breakfast.
But the house… was empty.No patrols. No bodyguards trailing behind her.
A fragile breath of freedom.
It didn't last.
As she reached the stairs, something outside caught her eye—
Two men in black, dragging a massive bag across the courtyard.Heavy. Slumped.
Her heart stuttered.The shape. The weight.It looked like a body.
Her mind flooded with crime scenes. Tarps. Shovels. Late-night graves.
Calm down.It could be anything.
But her hands shook.
At the bottom of the stairs, voices drifted from the hallway.Sebastian's voice. And others.
She stopped.Slipped back into the shadows.
Waited until they passed.
Then she moved.Left—dining room.Right—entertainment room.
She turned right.
The room was soundproof.A home theater—perfect for privacy.
Or...
Dismembering a body.
The metallic scent hit her first.Not imagined. Not subtle.
Real.
She walked faster.The doors were open.
Inside—
Two bodyguards rolling up a bloodstained tarp.
Another man cleaning the table with gloved, red-streaked hands.A stainless steel tray beside him—filled with… tools.
Serrated. Stained.Wrong.
One of them looked up."Miss Liliane," he said, casually.
Like they were cleaning up brunch.She felt the world tip.
Another man stepped forward."The cleaning isn't done. Wouldn't want you stepping in anything dangerous."
He smiled."Breakfast is ready."
No option to say no.They walked her out.
She glanced back once—The room behind her was spotless.Like nothing ever happened.
She sat at the breakfast table, pale as milk.
Sebastian touched her forehead."You didn't sleep well?"
She flinched."I'm fine."
"If you're sick, skip class."He smiled gently. "One day won't matter."
Liliane stared at him.Silk shirt. Polished cuffs. Gold-rimmed glasses.
He didn't look like a killer.But she'd seen the blood.
She barely touched her food before grabbing her bag and leaving.
Sebastian watched her go. Then turned to Silas."What happened this morning?"
Liliane's head spun through class.She couldn't focus.
She kept looking at her phone.Weighing fear against something else—something sharper.
They had killed someone.In her house.On her floor.
Used her family's carpets. Her father's theater.
They had to go.
After class, she climbed to the rooftop terrace.Empty. Quiet.
She stared at her phone.
Her hands trembled.Call.
She took a breath.And another.
Then—before her courage could vanish—She hit the emergency dial.
"XXX Police Department. How can we help you?"
A calm male voice.
"I… I…"
Too fast. Too much.Where did she even start?
"There's… a gang. In my house."
"Are you safe right now, ma'am?""Yes. I'm not at home.""Where are you?""Uh… XX Conservatory of Music.""Okay. Please state your full name and date of birth.""I'm Liliane…"