Chapter 489
Chapter 489:
Lucian stood. He grabbed her hand and pulled her to her feet. He raised their joined hands in the air, accepting the adulation.
“You won the attention,” he whispered, his grip crushing her knuckles. “But I won you p>
He turned her toward him, his other hand snaking around her waist, pulling her flush against his hard body.
It looked like a romantic embrace. It felt like a shackle.
Skye looked over his shoulder, into the blinding lights of the crowd.
And then she saw it.
Far back, near the edge of the fountain, a figure in a dark hoodie turned away. He raised a hand and adjusted his cap.
Two fingers tapped the brim twice.
Two taps. The signal they’d agreed upon weeks ago at the safe house. I see you. Hold on.
Skye’s breath hitched.
Alistair was there. He had seen the show. The rescue was active.
Lucian pulled back, looking down at her. He saw the flash of relief in her eyes and frowned. He whipped his head around, scanning the crowd, but the figure was gone.
“What did you see?” Lucian demanded.
“Nothing,” Skye lied, a genuine, dangerous smile touching her lips for the first time in days. “Just my audience p>
The adrenaline crash hit Skye the moment the heavy oak doors of the villa slammed shut, sealing out the desert night. Her legs felt like lead, and the lingering vibration of the piano keys still ghosted in her fingertips. She wanted to collapse. She wanted to curl up on the cold marble floor and sleep.
But Lucian wasn’t done.
He didn’t take her to the guest room. He didn’t take her to the wine cellar. He gripped her elbow and marched her down a hallway she hadn’t explored yet. The air here was cooler, smelling of lemon polish and old wood.
He kicked open a set of double doors.
Skye stumbled inside. It was a music room, acoustically treated, the walls lined with soundproofing panels covered in cream silk. In the center of the room, bathed in the light of a crystal chandelier, sat a Steinway Model D concert grand piano. It was black, polished to a liquid shine, a beast of an instrument.
But it wasn’t the piano that made Skye’s stomach turn.
𝗦𝘁𝗈riе𝘴 𝘵𝘩а𝘵 𝗐𝗶𝗹𝗹 𝘩𝗈𝗈k 𝘺ou 𝘰𝗇 𝘣еlno𝘷e𝘭ѕ.𝗰𝗈𝗺
It was the dress hanging on the wall behind it.
It was a silver evening gown, shimmering like moonlight on water. It was displayed on a dress form like a religious relic. It was vintage, the style reminiscent of a bygone era, delicate and haunting.
“Take off the red,” Lucian commanded, releasing her arm and walking to the wet bar in the corner. “It’s too… loud. It insists upon itself p>
Skye stood her ground, crossing her arms over her chest. “I’m tired, Lucian. I played your game. I won your crowd. I want to sleep p>
Lucian poured himself a drink, the amber liquid splashing against the crystal. He didn’t turn around. “You misunderstand the nature of our transaction, Skye. You bought yourself time, not rest p>
He turned, taking a slow sip. His eyes were flat, devoid of the manic energy from the plaza. This was worse. This was the cold, clinical detachment of a man dissecting a frog.
“Put on the silver dress,” he said softly. “It belonged to the only woman who ever understood the true cost of perfection. She died before she could finish her concerto. You are going to finish it for her p>
Skye looked at the dress. It wasn’t about a fiancée or a lover. It was about his obsession with a ghost, a mythologized figure of artistic martyrdom that he worshipped. He wanted to drape Skye in the shroud of his dead idol.