Pov (Kira)
The second night was harder. The third was a blur. By the fifth night, my life had become a strange routine. I would sleep all day in my small apartment, wake up to check on Leo, who was acting weird and wouldn't look me in the eye—and then wait for the black car.
Every night was the same. The quiet drive. The dark elevator. The pitch-black room.
And the piano.
Tonight, the air in the room felt heavy, like it does right before a storm. I sat on the bench, and my fingers found the keys easily. It scared me how natural it was getting. I didn't even wait for him to tell me to start. I just started playing.
I put everything I felt into the music. I played the songs my father taught me, the ones that used to sound like sunshine, but I twisted them. I made them sound sharp and broken. I wanted to hurt Julian with the music. I wanted him to feel how much he had ruined my life.
For hours, the only sounds were the piano and the quiet clink of Julian's glass. He sat in the same spot every night—a ghost in the dark, judging me.
My fingers began to ache. My back felt stiff. It felt like I had been playing for years.
"You're playing with anger tonight," his voice came out of the dark. He sounded closer than usual. "It makes you sloppy."
"Maybe I am a sloppy person," I snapped, dropping my hands. The silence that followed was loud. "Why am I really here? You're rich.
You can hire the best players in the world. Why make me play in the dark like a prisoner?"
"Because they play for money," Julian said. I heard the floor creak as he stood up. "You play for your life. There's a hunger in your music, Kira. I can't find that anywhere else."
"You're cruel," I whispered.
"I'm a man who knows what he likes."
I heard his footsteps. He was moving behind me, circling the piano like a shark.
"I'm done for tonight," I said, standing up fast. My legs were cramped and my head was spinning.
The room was so dark I lost my way instantly. I took one step and my foot caught on the edge of a thick rug.
"Ah!"
I tripped, reaching out my hands to catch myself before I hit the floor. But I didn't hit the cold marble.
I hit something warm and solid.
Two strong arms wrapped around my waist, pulling me hard against his chest. I gasped, my hands landing on his shoulders. His shirt felt like soft silk, but his muscles felt like stone.
"I've got you," he murmured.
His breath hit my forehead. My heart stopped for a second, then started racing. I felt a spark between us that was terrifying. I should have pulled away. I should have fought him. But I felt heavy, like I couldn't move. In the dark, nothing else mattered. There was only the smell of his cologne—like oranges and spice—and the heat of his skin.
My fingers curled into his shoulders. "You're real," I whispered.
"Did you think I was a ghost, Little Shadow?"
His hands moved. One slid up my side, his thumb brushing my ribs. It sent a shiver down my back that wasn't about fear. It was a slow ache I didn't want to feel.
"You act like one," I whispered. "Cold. Hidden. Always in the dark."
"The dark is safer for us," Julian said. His voice was a low growl that I could feel in my own chest.
He leaned down until his lips were right by my ear. "Do you know what I see when I close my eyes, Kira?"
"What?"
"I see the way you looked at me at the party. Like you wanted to burn the world down just to see me melt. It was the most honest thing I've seen in years."
He put his hand on the back of my neck, his fingers tangling in my hair. He tilted my head back. I should have screamed, but the sound that came out of me was a soft whimper.
"You hate me," he whispered, his lips brushing my skin. "And yet, your heart is beating so fast I can feel it against mine."
"It's... it's just fear," I lied. My voice was shaking.
"Is it?"
He moved his face closer to mine. I felt his nose brush against mine. The tension was so tight I thought I would snap. I wanted him to kiss me. I wanted to know if he was as cold as everyone said.
"Julian," I whispered.
The second I said his name, he stiffened. It was like I had thrown cold water on him. He let go of my waist immediately.
"The night isn't over," he said. His voice was suddenly cold and distant again. "Go back to the piano."
He pushed me back toward the bench. I stumbled, feeling the cold air hit me where his warmth had just been. It hurt to lose that heat.
"Play," he commanded.
I sat down, my hands were shaking so much I couldn't find the keys at first. My skin was still buzzing from his touch.
I started to play, but the music was different now. It wasn't a fight anymore. It was a secret.
I played until my fingers bled, and for the first time, the silence from his corner didn't feel like he was judging me.
It felt like he was drowning right along with me.