Chapter 488
Chapter 488:
The night is cold, the game is rigged…
The crowd quieted. The circle around her expanded. People stopped walking. The phones that had been recording a “crazy woman” were now recording a performance.
Skye opened her eyes. She saw them: thousands of eyes, reflecting the neon lights of the Strip, all fixed on her.
She walked toward the center of the plaza, where a white grand piano sat on a raised platform, usually reserved for scheduled performers.
She climbed the steps. The piano bench was cold. She sat, placing the stolen mic on the stand.
Her fingers touched the keys.
She transitioned from the jazz melody into something more aggressive. A tango. Sharp, staccato notes that sounded like footsteps in a dark alley.
High above on the terrace, Lucian watched. The smirk was gone. His eyes were dark, unreadable.
He saw what she was doing. She wasn’t just performing; she was broadcasting. She was turning herself into a spectacle so bright that Alistair, who had to be watching from the shadows, couldn’t miss her.
Lucian pushed off the railing. He walked down the stairs, his movements fluid and predatory. The crowd parted for him instinctively, sensing the aura of dangerous power that radiated from him like heat.
Skye felt him approach before she saw him. The air seemed to grow heavier.
She didn’t stop playing. She dared him to drag her off the bench in front of five thousand smartphones.
Lucian didn’t drag her.
He stepped onto the platform and sat next to her on the bench.
The crowd gasped. It looked like part of the show. The billionaire and his muse.
“You play too loudly,” Lucian murmured, his voice low enough that the mic didn’t pick it up.
“And you talk too much,” Skye shot back, her fingers flying across the high octaves.
Lucian reached out. His hand didn’t strike her. It landed on the lower keys.
He began to play the bass line.
Skye faltered for a microsecond. She had forgotten he could play.
ѕ𝗎р𝗉𝗼𝗋𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝗲 𝗮𝘶𝘁𝘩о𝘳 b𝗒 r𝖾аd𝘪𝗻g o𝗻 𝘣𝗲𝘭ոо𝗏e𝗹𝘴.𝗰𝘰𝗆
He picked up her rhythm instantly, but he twisted it. He turned her defiant tango into a dark, oppressive waltz. His notes were heavy, dominating, forcing her melody to bend to his will.
It was a battle. A musical dogfight.
Skye sped up, adding trills and complex runs, trying to break free of his rhythm.
Lucian matched her speed, his large hands spanning intervals she couldn’t reach, boxing her in with chords that sounded like slamming doors.
Their shoulders brushed. The contact sent a jolt through Skye, not attraction, but pure, adrenaline-fueled fear. He was too close. He was invading her art, the one place she thought was safe.
The crowd was mesmerized. They didn’t see the war; they saw passion. They saw a man and a woman in perfect, terrifying sync.
Lucian leaned in, his lips grazing her ear as his fingers hammered a brutal crescendo.
“You think this is freedom, Skye? This is just a larger cage. Look at them. They aren’t your saviors. They’re just the audience for your execution p>
Skye slammed her hands down for the final chord.
Lucian hit the low note at the exact same instant.
The sound resonated across the plaza, vibrating through the pavement.
Silence.
Then, an explosion of applause.
Skye sat there, chest heaving, sweat trickling down her back. Her hands trembled.