“Addie?”
I turn, and there she is—Vivienne St. Claire, looking at me like she’s seen a ghost.
I don’t say anything, don’t even try to. The world is muffled, the laughter and clinking glasses, blending into an indistinct hum as my gaze locks onto her. It’s been years since I last saw her—since she was just the Vivi Arion introduced me to, and I was Addie.
Because I am definitely not the girl I was then, and I’ll bet she isn’t either.
Her eyes widen ever so slightly, and her lips part. I know she’s about to say something, but before she can, a voice crackles through the room, amplified by a microphone.
The trance shatters.
“Ladies and gentlemen, your attention, please,” a woman’s voice echoes through the massive room. My eyes snap to the stage then, and for a moment, I’m disoriented—it’s like seeing a future version of Vivienne standing there. The resemblance is uncanny, down to the fiery hair and poised demeanour. Her mother. It has to be. I’ve never seen her before; it’s likely she wasn’t even around back then.
“Thank you all for joining us tonight,” she continues, her voice carrying effortlessly across the room. “As we celebrate another year of this extraordinary event, I’d like to invite someone very special to the stage.”
My stomach knots as her gaze sweeps over the crowd, lingering briefly on Vivienne before landing on someone else. “Kai Steele,” she announces, her smile widening. “To honour us with a performance of Chopin’s Nocturne in C-sharp Minor.”
The room erupts into applause, but I’m frozen. Of course, I’ve heard all about Kai’s talents online. I’ve never heard them for myself though.
The ripple of applause continues as heads turn, searching for Kai. My own eyes dart instinctively to him. He’s standing beside us, his posture as relaxed as ever, but there’s something almost imperceptible in his expression, a fleeting glance between Vivienne and I.
He has clearly seen what just happened.
If he’s confused, he doesn’t show it. The moment his name is called, his mask slips effortlessly into place, and he strides toward the stage without hesitation.
Kai moves with a calm, unhurried grace, his hands sliding into his pockets as he approaches the grand piano. The applause swells as he takes his seat, his fingers brushing the keys. He doesn’t say a word; he doesn’t need to. The room quiets anyway.
And then he begins to play.
The first notes ripple through the hall like the opening of a story. It’s beautiful—achingly so. Kai’s hands glide over the keys with effortless precision, his movements fluid, almost hypnotic. There’s something haunting in the way he plays, a sadness that seeps into every corner of the room, it’s as if he’s poured pieces of himself into the music, and it’s the most perfect thing I’ve ever heard. The melody swells and falls, tender… but also fierce.
I can’t take my eyes off him. The way his brows furrow ever so slightly in concentration, the way his shoulders move with the rhythm—it’s mesmerizing. And it’s not just me. The entire room is caught in the spell he’s woven. Even the clinking of glasses and quiet murmurs have ceased, because in that moment, I realize, it’s simply him and the piano. Nothing else exists.
He’s incredible.
The final note trembles before it fades into silence, and for a moment, no one moves. It’s as if the entire room is holding its breath, frozen in shock and admiration.
I don’t exactly blame them.
His music is the type that haunts you long before it ends, leaving you with a hollow ache deep within your soul. As if you’ve glimpsed something beautiful and tragic, something you can never quite understand.
Then, as if on cue, applause erupts, breaking the spell, but not the ache. Kai could easily make millions just from playing. Because everyone would come to listen, just for that feeling afterwards. Liam leans in closer to me and whispers, “He’s fantastic, isn’t he?”
I don’t answer. I can’t. Words feel inadequate in the face of what I’ve just witnessed. I can only nod, my gaze still fixed on Kai as he stands, nods curtly to the audience, and steps away from the piano.
I swallow hard, trying to compose myself, but the lump in my throat remains.
Will
Nine years ago
I spot the mansion ahead of us, all sharp edges and gothic architecture. My father’s grip on my wrist tightens as we approach the door, his nails pressing into the bruises that hadn’t had a chance to fade yet.
“This is a powerful family,” he mutters. “This is a union spanning decades. Don’t embarrass me.”
I nod, but don’t say anything. There’s no point, unless I’m looking to get myself or my sister killed.
He turns to my sister, his dark eyes narrowing into slits. “Not a word from you,” he snaps. She ducks her head, nodding meekly, her hands twisting in the hem of her too-small jacket. She doesn’t need the reminder.
