Chapter 39
MELODY MOCKERY
The piano has been my only real company for hours. The steady weight of keys beneath my fingers is the closest thing I have to control, and I cling to it.
V is seated in the corner, head tipped back against the wingback, eyes closed. His stillness is deliberate, the kind that says he hears everything. It’s not threatening. At least, not anymore.
Colt leans against the wall, arms crossed, standing silent guard. It feels grounding to have him here. Unlike Ralston or Vance, his presence isn’t suffocating. He doesn’t fidget, only glancing at me between songs like he’s ensuring I haven’t disappeared.
The gentle melody winds down beneath my hands, final notes dissolving into the walls. My fingers twitch for the next phrase, desperate to continue. But I lift them, taking in the silence like it’s part of the show.
“You’re doing well,” V says, eyes cracking open. Colt catches my eye and gives me a small, lopsided smile and a little thumbs-up. It’s peaceful, for all of three seconds.
A heavier presence fills the doorway, dripping with unadulterated malice.
Mister M.
His smirk sharpens at the sight of me, a direct target in his line of fire, but his first words are for Colt.
“Enforcers have no place in lessons,” Mister M says lightly, eyes flicking to me. “Especially this one.”
Colt hesitates, jaw tight.
Mister M flicks his fingers in annoyance. “Dismissed.”
I keep my head down. My mouth shut. Colt’s eyes find mine for a moment, helpless and too apologetic. Then he steps back. The whisper of boots echoes down the hall as the door clicks shut behind him.
The room feels smaller without him. The balance tips, not in my favor.
“She’s a natural, isn’t she?” Mister M muses, already moving on. “I just knew the piano would be perfect for her. And as always, I was right.”
V’s mouth curves, but it isn’t a smile. “Oh yes. Brilliant foresight—especially given you filed her as a harpist. She’s playing now because someone fixed your mistake.”
The air between them chills. Mister M’s eyes flash, the grin faltering for just a heartbeat before he smooths it back into place. He circles the room like a shark.
“Let’s put that theory to the test, shall we?” He stalks to the piano, nudging me to the side of the bench with nothing but a flick. He pops his override code into the system, pulling up a piece I’ve never even seen before. Dense, black, far too complicated for sight-reading. My throat closes.
He’s going to humiliate me. Great.
“I don’t know this one,” I try, knowing it won’t work.
“That’s the point,” he says smoothly. He leans close enough that his lips brush my ear. “Play it.”
My hands hover helplessly over the keys. “Sir, I—”
He cuts me down instantly. “Do. Not. Embarrass me.” He turns on his heel, strolling toward a wingback in the corner.
I swallow hard, turning back to the piano. My palms sweat against the ivory. When I press the first chord, the sound rings too naturally, as if my body has played it a thousand times in secret.
It’s like I’m back in the check-in room with V, but worse. The melody is dark and alive, tearing at me while I strain to contain it. My left hand rolls with flourishes I’ve never learned; my right aches with ornamentation I don’t remember choosing. Every note stings like a desperate cry.
I can feel Mister M’s grin from across the room. “There it is,” he murmurs, pleased. “Something real at last.” Nausea claws at my throat from the possessiveness in his tone.
I risk a glance up. V is watching me intently. His mask is cracking, anguish written in his eyes before he forces them shut again, jaw locked tight. The sight steals my breath.
The bridge rises, twisting me inside out.
Every note drags out pieces of me I didn’t give it permission to touch.
I’m shaking, but the music still flowing from my fingers doesn’t care.
The lights flicker overhead as the melody swells one final time.
I lift my hands, breathless. I can’t bear to look at either of them.
Mister M claps mockingly. “Beautiful, little star, but unrefined. All that passion, and for what?” He laughs. Turns to V. “She knows it better than she thinks, wouldn’t you say? It’s like it’s in her bones.”
My fingers twitch. I wish I could slap him.
V says nothing. He steps forward, pressing a bottle of water I didn’t know he was holding into my palm, gloved hand lingering just long enough for me to notice the tremor in it.
“Small sips,” he coaxes. “You did well.” He meets my gaze for half a second, enough for me to catch what he won’t say aloud:
You survived. Don’t give him more.
V schools his features back into something distant. “Posture review tomorrow,” he says briskly. “Don’t be late.” The door shuts behind him, leaving me alone with a man I’m ninety percent sure is a deranged psychopath.
Mister M rises from his chair, his smirk etched in cruelty.
“Don’t let his words flatter you, 214. You’re the last girl I’d put in front of investors.
Pretty music means nothing without substance, and you don’t have it yet.
” He prowls closer, enjoying himself far too much.
“But that can be trained. Broken out of you. Carved, if necessary.”
I wring my hands in my lap, bracing for what’s sure to be a long lecture. His gaze cuts into me like he’s already choosing where to strike.
Before he has the chance, an ear-splitting alarm shrieks through the hall. I gasp, covering my head on instinct. Mister M curses under his breath, snatching the tablet from his belt. His eyes skim the screen, urgent.
“Shit,” he mutters, already moving.
Against my better judgment, I follow. The hallway tilts with his pace, my legs scrambling to keep up.
He veers left, sharp enough to nearly send me careening into the wall.
We round another corner, now face-to-face with the source of Mister M’s panic.
She’s sprawled on the floor, fingers clawing through her hair, a scream tearing through the air until the walls tremble.
Juniper.