The next morning, I woke up to sunlight streaming through windows that didn't open and the sound of someone moving around in the kitchen.
For a moment, I forgot where I was. Then it all came rushing back—the blood ritual, the mate bond, Marcus's thinly veiled threats. I was a prisoner in a gilded cage, sharing space with a man who made my blood sing every time I looked at him.
I padded out to the living area in Kai's borrowed pajamas, expecting to find him making coffee. Instead, I found a woman in her fifties arranging fresh flowers in a crystal vase.
"Oh!" She looked up, startled. "You must be Ruby. I'm Mrs. Chen, the housekeeper. Mr. Blackwood asked me to help you get settled."
"Settled?"
"In your new apartment, dear. This was just temporary accommodation." She gestured around Kai's room like it was a hotel suite. "Your permanent quarters are ready now."
I looked toward the couch where Kai had spent the night, but there was no sign of him. The blankets were folded neatly, and his pillow was placed precisely at one end. Like he'd never been there at all.
"Where's Kai?"
"Mr. Roswell has been moved to the adjacent unit. For propriety's sake, Mr. Blackwood thought it best that you have separate living spaces."
Separate but adjacent. That didn't sound like Marcus was trying to keep us apart—more like he wanted to see what would happen when we were close but not too close.
Mrs. Chen led me down the hallway to another door, this one marked 7B. She swiped a keycard and ushered me inside.
If Kai's room had been nice, this place was palatial. Floor-to-ceiling windows with a view of the city, a full kitchen with granite countertops, a living room that could have been featured in a magazine. The bedroom had a king-size bed with Egyptian cotton sheets and a walk-in closet bigger than most people's apartments.
"Mr. Blackwood had some clothes delivered," Mrs. Chen said, opening the closet to reveal an array of designer outfits in exactly my size. "He thought you might need a more... appropriate wardrobe for your new position."
New position. Like I was starting a job at a normal company instead of being held captive by a supernatural crime lord.
"What kind of position?" I asked.
"Security consultant, I believe. You'll be working closely with Mr. Roswell on various projects." Mrs. Chen's smile was perfectly pleasant and completely empty. "I'm sure he'll explain everything."
She handed me the keycard and a folder thick with information—building policies, security protocols, meal schedules. Like I was checking into a luxury prison.
"If you need anything, just call the front desk," she said. "Breakfast is available in the dining hall until ten, or you can order room service."
After she left, I explored my new cage. The windows were reinforced and didn't open, as expected. The balcony door was locked, and when I tested it, an alarm chimed softly. A warning.
But it was the wall between my apartment and Kai's that caught my attention. It was thinner than the others, probably meant to house utilities. Which meant sound would travel.
I pressed my ear against it and heard nothing. Either Kai wasn't in his apartment, or he was being very quiet.
I spent the morning reading through the information Mrs. Chen had left, learning the compound's rules and layout. No leaving without permission. No visitors without approval. No communicating with the outside world without supervision.
By afternoon, I was climbing the walls. I'd always been active, always needed something to do with my hands. Sitting in a luxury apartment with nothing but time to think was its own form of torture.
That's when I heard it.
Piano music, soft and melancholy, drifting through the wall from Kai's apartment.
I pressed my ear against the shared wall again. The music was clearer now—classical, expertly played, with the kind of emotional depth that came from years of practice. But there was something sad about it, something that made my chest tight.
Chopin. Nocturne in E-flat major, if I remembered my college music classes correctly.
I'd never imagined Kai as a pianist. He seemed too physical, too controlled for something as expressive as music. But listening to him play, I could hear layers of emotion in every note.
The music stopped abruptly, and I heard the sound of a piano bench scraping across the floor. Footsteps. Then silence.
I waited for the music to start again, but it didn't. Whatever had made him stop, he wasn't coming back to it.
The rest of the day passed slowly. I tried to read, tried to watch TV, tried to do anything that would distract me from the awareness that Kai was just on the other side of the wall. Every now and then I'd catch a hint of his scent through the ventilation system, and my mark would pulse with warm light.
Dinner arrived via room service—steak, perfectly cooked, with vegetables that probably cost more than most people spent on groceries in a week. I ate mechanically, tasting nothing.
As night fell, I found myself restless again. I'd changed into workout clothes, hoping to find a gym somewhere in the compound, but the building directory only showed common areas on the lower floors. Everything up here was residential.
I was about to try some bodyweight exercises when I heard it again.
Piano music, drifting through the wall. But this time it was different—sadder, more complex. The notes seemed to twist through the air like smoke, carrying emotions I couldn't name.
I recognized this piece too. Chopin again, but not the nocturne from earlier. This was one of his ballades, the fourth one in F minor. I'd heard it once in concert, played by a master who made the piano weep.
Kai was making it weep too.
Before I could stop myself, I was moving toward the front door. The hallway was empty, dimly lit by wall sconces that cast warm pools of light on the carpet. I could hear the music more clearly out here, coming from behind Kai's door.
I knew I should go back to my apartment. We'd agreed to keep our distance, to avoid situations that might strengthen the bond between us. But the music was so beautiful, so full of pain, that I couldn't make myself leave.
Instead, I moved closer to his door.
There was a gap at the bottom, maybe half an inch of space between the door and the frame. If I got down on my hands and knees...
The thought was insane. But the music pulled at something deep in my chest, something that had nothing to do with the mate bond and everything to do with recognizing a kindred spirit in pain.
I knelt down and peered through the gap.
Kai's apartment had the same layout as mine, but mirrored. I could see into his living room, where a baby grand piano sat near the windows. The instrument was beautiful—glossy black wood that reflected the city lights like water.
And at the piano bench sat Kai.
He'd changed out of his usual dark clothes into jeans and a white t-shirt that clung to his shoulders. His hair was messed up like he'd been running his fingers through it, and his feet were bare.
But it was his expression that made my breath catch.
I'd seen Kai angry, confused, controlled. I'd never seen him vulnerable.
His eyes were closed as he played, his whole body swaying slightly with the music. There was something almost reverent about the way his fingers moved across the keys, like he was conducting a prayer instead of a performance.
And on his cheek, catching the light from the city beyond his windows, was the track of a single tear.
The music built to a crescendo, each note more heartbreaking than the last. Kai's face was a study in controlled anguish, like he was pouring every emotion he couldn't express into the keys.
I shifted slightly, trying to get a better view, and my knee bumped against the door.
The music stopped instantly.
I froze, my heart hammering. Through the gap, I could see Kai's hands hovering over the keys, his whole body tense and alert.
"I know you're out there," he said quietly.
Shit.
I stood up slowly, my face burning with embarrassment. There was no point in trying to hide now.
"The door," I said lamely. "I can hear the music through my wall."
"And you thought you'd come investigate?"
"I thought..." I stopped, trying to find words for what I'd been thinking. "The music was beautiful. I wanted to see who was playing."
The door opened, and Kai stood there in his bare feet and rumpled t-shirt, looking more human than I'd ever seen him. His green eyes were slightly red-rimmed, and I could see the faint track of that tear on his cheek.
"You shouldn't be here," he said, but there was no anger in his voice. Just exhaustion.
"Neither should you," I replied. "Mrs. Chen said you were moved to guest quarters. This is too nice for guest quarters."
"Marcus has his reasons for everything." Kai stepped back from the doorway, neither inviting me in nor blocking my view. "Including putting us next to each other."
"What reasons?"
"He wants to see what happens. The mate bond, the way we react to each other... we're an experiment to him."
I could feel the pull between us, stronger now that we were face to face. My mark was warming under my shirt, and I could see the faint glow of his through the white cotton.
"The piano," I said, focusing on something safer than the way his eyes seemed to glow in the dim light. "You're really good."
"I used to be better." He rubbed his right hand absently, and I noticed a faint scar across his knuckles. "It's been a while since I had time to practice."
"What made you start playing?"
Kai was quiet for a long moment, and I thought he wasn't going to answer. When he spoke, his voice was so soft I had to strain to hear him.
"My mother. She was a concert pianist before..." He trailed off, his jaw tightening.
"Before what?"
"Before she died."
The words hung in the air between us, heavy with old pain. I wanted to ask how, when, whether it had anything to do with the scars I'd glimpsed on his arms. But the look in his eyes warned me off.
"I'm sorry," I said instead.
"It was a long time ago." But the way he said it suggested the wound was still fresh. "I should go back to playing. And you should go back to your apartment."
He was right. Standing here in the hallway, close enough to touch, was dangerous for both of us. I could feel the bond humming between us like a live wire, and every instinct I had was telling me to move closer.
Instead, I took a step back.
"Kai?" I said as he started to close the door.
"Yeah?"
"The ballade. The fourth one. It's beautiful, but..." I searched for the right words. "It sounds like goodbye."
His hand stilled on the door handle. "It is goodbye. Chopin wrote it knowing he was dying. It was his farewell to everything he loved."
"Is that why you play it?"
Kai looked at me for a long moment, and in his eyes I saw something that made my chest tight. Not just sadness, but resignation. Like he'd already accepted some terrible fate.
"Sometimes," he said quietly, "goodbye is the only honest thing left to say."
He closed the door before I could respond, leaving me standing alone in the hallway with questions I couldn't ask and feelings I couldn't name.
Back in my apartment, I pressed my ear against the wall again. But the piano was silent now, and I couldn't even hear the sound of footsteps.
I lay in bed for hours, staring at the ceiling and thinking about the tear on Kai's cheek, the way his fingers had moved across the keys like he was touching something sacred. There were layers to him I hadn't expected, depths that called to something in me that had nothing to do with supernatural bonds.
Just before dawn, I heard it again. The piano, soft and mournful in the darkness.
But this time, he was playing something different. Not Chopin, but something else—something that sounded improvised, like he was working through emotions too complex for words.
I listened until the music faded, and when I finally fell asleep, I dreamed of forest-green eyes and the sound of a piano weeping in the dark.
When I woke up, I found a note slipped under my door. Elegant handwriting on expensive paper:
Piano lessons begin tomorrow at 8 PM. Musical education is part of your cultural training.- M
Marcus wanted me to take piano lessons. With Kai.
I crumpled the note and threw it in the trash, but I couldn't stop thinking about those few moments in the hallway when Kai had looked almost breakable.
Whatever game Marcus was playing, I was starting to understand the rules.
The question was whether I was strong enough to play without losing myself completely.
End of Chapter 7