The sounds sing through my muscles, anger knotting tighter with every violent stroke across the strings, rage pressing harder against my ribs as I play.
Each sweep of the bow expresses the war inside me, each violent tremor of the strings drowning out the desire I have for him.
My arms ache andmy fingertips burn.
Still, I play harder, faster, losing myself in the one thing that still belongs to me.
When the final note fades, my breathing comes in ragged bursts and my hands tremble from the effort to hold myself together.
Then I glare at him, his arms folded across his broad chest and his gaze so heavy it pins me in place.
"Wow… That's the first real thing I've seen you do since we married," he says, the words hitting harder than any threat he could have thrown. "It was beautiful, Livvie. Passion clashing with violence, fury, and grace, all wrapped into a musical masterpiece."
He pauses, his dark gaze raking over me like he’s trying to memorize the way I look right now, trembling with the force of what I unleashed.
"You didn’t just play the violin. You fucking commanded it."
I lower the instrument, his praise catching me off guard, the final note still vibrating faintly against the strings.
The warmth of his words spark in my chest, sliding into the cracks I’ve fought so hard to keep sealed.
He saw me. Not the polished facade I was forced to be in my parents' company or the pawn they shoved into a marriage contract.
Kingston could have walked out. Tossed a half-hearted compliment over his shoulder and left me to stew in my fury alone.
But he didn’t. He stayed to listen. And that tiny flicker of attention, soft and real blooming inside me, is the worst thing ever.
I hate that a Viacava has the power to make me feelseenwhen every instinct I have screams to stay hidden. I jerk my chin up and keep my expression blank, desperate to smother the warmth spreading under my skin before it roots deeper.
"I didn’t play for you," I snap. "I play for myself. No one else.”
“Well, I enjoyed it nonetheless.”
“Get out, Kingston.”
Rather than respond, he prowls toward me in a few slow strides, and before I can stop him, his hand closes over the neck of my violin. He plucks it from my grasp like he’s taking a toy from a kid and turns his back on me without a word.
Rage flares hotter than before.
"Give it back!" I snap, chasing after him, my fists clenching at my sides. "You don't get to take everything from me, Kingston!"
He says nothing, his pace unhurried. I follow, practically vibrating with anger, through the hallways of the penthouse, past towering windows and sleek marble floors, until he stops in front of a door I don't recognize.
Kingston glances over his shoulder, catching the fire in my eyes, and for a second, a smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth.
Without a word, he pushes the door open and steps aside.
The breath catches in my throat before I can stop it.
Inside, the room’s decor takes me by surprise.
Sunlight pours in through tall windows, the golden glow sprawling over polished wooden floors, built-in shelves, and a music stand.
Soundproof walls curve around the space, built for performance and creation.
Forme?
He holds out the violin with one hand, offering it without looking at me.
