“You were kidnapped once, which has opened the door for others to think they can do the same. You need to be under high security for a long time.”
I blink. “You’re saying my life is on the table for your enemies?”
His jaw clenches. “That’s the result of one mistake.”
He caresses my cheek. “But don’t worry. I won’t let it happen again.”
I nod. I know he won’t let that happen again. With the security I carry, no one can even think of coming close to me.
After spending time with Mom and Dad, I head to my room. After a long shower, I climb into bed.
I check my phone and find a string of messages from Avi. She’s sent me recordings from the concert live footage with her commentary in voice messages.
“You look so beautiful, babe. Isn’t this the skirt we ordered from London? I think I need to wear mine, too.”
Another message, five minutes later: “Hey, I know this one. It’s called ‘Moonlight,’ right?”
She sent the recording of the second piece I played.
“I’ve never heard this one before. When did you compose this elegy?”
Twenty minutes later, she sends a video—of herself and the music.
“What the hell are you playing, woman?”
She’s sobbing. “Why the fuck is this so painful?”
She shows me the TV screen, then her face again.
“Why is this so fucking sad?”
The last video is from the standing ovation, her sobbing voice in the background.
“She played a lament. You should’ve come earlier, it was so sad.”
“Stop crying.” I hear Zo’s voice, then the camera shakes and goes dark.
But just before the recording cuts, I see a flicker of something on the screen.
Frowning, I open the browser and search for tonight’s concert recording. I scroll to the end, where people are standing and clapping. I see the flicker again when the camera pans over the audience. I rewind ten seconds, slow the speed to quarter, and pause.
Everyone is standing—except one man. He’s sitting in the front row, his eyes fixed on the stage like he’s frozen in the moment.
My eyes sting.It’s him. He was there. He sent the rose.My heart wasn’t lying.
I scroll back, scanning every shot of the audience. He appears one more time—sitting the same way, eyes locked on the stage, motionless as a statue.
His image isn’t clear enough to see his expression, but I can tell, he’s not fine. My chest tightens. I caress the screen, as if I could touch him through it.
I open the drawer in the bedside table and take out the rose. I touch its petals lightly. They look like they’ll fall apart if I’m even a little careless.
Is he still in the city?The thought steals my breath.
I take a long, shaky breath, then put the rose back in the drawer. I rise from bed, reach into my closet, and pull out a long brown coat, layering it over my pale pink shirt and trousers. I slip into thick socks and shoes, then step out of my room.
I grab my phone from the bed and check the time. It’s past ten. Mom and Dad must be asleep by now.
I send a text to Dad as I walk out of my room. “I’m going to the park for a walk.”
