Chapter 5 Echoes Between the Keys

The notes weren't flawless, but they were familiar-like a language Amira had once been fluent in. Her fingers stumbled over a few transitions, but the melody slowly stitched itself together, coaxed from the hollows of memory and silence.

She didn't hear the footsteps behind her.

Not until the final note faded, and a voice-low, deliberate-cut through the quiet.

"You play."

She stilled.

Elias stood near the doorway, one hand in his pocket, the other holding a glass of what looked like scotch despite the hour.

"I used to," she said, slowly rising from the bench.

"You didn't mention it."

"You didn't ask."

He didn't smile, but something in his eyes flickered. "What piece was that?"

"An original. Sort of. I used to improvise as a teenager. Make things up when I couldn't afford sheet music."

"That was... good."

Coming from him, that almost sounded like a compliment. Almost.

Amira tilted her head. "Why do I feel like you're trying to sound human?"

He ignored that. "The room is soundproofed. Almost entirely."

She glanced around. "Because of secrets or because of bad musicians?"

He didn't answer, which she took to mean both.

"I didn't know you had a music room."

"I forgot it existed. It was my mother's idea."

"Totally forgot someone like you has a mother?"

Elias arched a brow. "Everyone has a mother."

He drained the last of his drink. "She's... persistent."

Before she could ask more, he was already turning away.

Typical.

Still, something about the moment lingered. He hadn't interrupted her. Hadn't made a remark about time or duty or appearances. He had just... listened.

For a man who controlled everything, that said a lot.

**

Down in the kitchen, Ivy was arguing with the blender.

"No, you overpriced scream machine, we are not doing this today."

The smoothie exploded-again.

Mrs. Santiago, passing by, gave her a look that could wilt spinach.

"Fix it."

"I'm trying, but this blender has a personal vendetta."

"Ivy..."

"I know. 'Professionalism, Ivy. No sass in the kitchen, Ivy.' But when the machine starts throwing fruit grenades, I draw the line."

The housekeeper muttered something about amateurs and left.

Ivy wiped mango from her face and turned to the kitchen window-just in time to see Elias walk past with a weird look on his face.

Was that... contentment?

She frowned.

"Either the world's ending or someone gave him decaf."

**

Upstairs, Amira wandered into the library, partly to escape her own thoughts, partly because the house still felt like someone else's skin wrapped around hers. It was too polished. Too curated.

She let her fingers trail across the spines of books-titles about power, legacy, law, biographies of men who conquered nations and women who ruled empires.

One title caught her eye: The Art of War.

She smirked.

"Fitting," she murmured, sliding it out.

Behind the book was something odd-thin, folded paper wedged between the pages. A letter? A note?

She pulled it free.

Unfolded it.

No words. Just a sketched piano. Simple. Delicate. With a name scrawled in the corner.

Seraphina.

She stared.

The sketch looked old-faded at the edges-but not ancient. Recently touched. Carefully hidden.

Elias's hand?

Who was Seraphina?

Before she could wonder further, the door creaked.

She quickly replaced the paper and shut the book.

Not today. Not yet.

**

Later, during lunch-which was more of a strategic war between formal dining and actual conversation-Ivy was assigned to serve at the table.

Amira sat on the left end, Elias at the head, Damien seated like he was about to grill them all under interrogation.

"Lovely meal," Ivy said loudly, setting the salad tongs down with flair.

Elias didn't look up. Damien chuckled.

Amira gave her a grateful glance.

"Tell me," Damien said, the snake with a smile. "How's married life?"

Amira didn't blink. "As thrilling as expected."

"I bet. Must be weird-adjusting to all this."

"You mean the wealth or the tension?"

Damien grinned. "Both."

Elias stabbed a piece of roasted carrot a little too hard.

Ivy cleared her throat. "So, Elias, did you enjoy your morning stroll?"

He paused. "You were spying?"

"Let's just say I have a sixth sense for moody rich people."

Damien nearly choked on his wine.

Elias said nothing, but his eyes lingered on Amira a moment longer than they should've.

**

That night, Amira returned to the music room.

The lights were dimmer now, the piano waiting.

This time, she played deliberately. Smooth, emotional, a little sad.

When the door creaked open again, she didn't stop.

Elias stood in the shadows.

Said nothing.

She kept playing.

The silence between them said more than words could.

And when she finally rose and started to leave, brushing past him gently, he didn't move. He just watched her go, a muscle ticking in his jaw.

**

Back in her room, Amira closed the door.

Opened the drawer.

Pulled out the sketch she'd taken after all.

Seraphina.

Whoever she was... she had something to do with the piano. And Elias.

And Amira intended to find out what.

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