Page 41 of The Cruel Heir

My arms wrapped around my waist, as I leaned against the railing, my mind spiraling through everything I’d endured, and everything I couldn’t forget.

Sterling was the storm I was drawn to; unpredictable, dangerous, and completely off-limits. Even before the wedding, before my world unraveled, he’d always hovered just beyond my reach.

Everyone whispered about him, how he tore through halls with a wildness that left bruises, but no one ever suspected the quiet way he watched me. The way he listened when I didn’t speak.

Before everything, before I became the scandal, before I was reduced to a servant in my father’s kingdom of pretense, there had been a moment. One I never talked about. One I couldn’t forget, even if I tried.

I hadn’t touchedmy violin in months. Not since the whispers started. Not since the laughter and rumors stripped the music room of its comfort, leaving only shadows and silence behind.

The last time I tried performing publicly, someone switched out my sheet music before a recital. Laughter echoed through the auditorium as I stumbled through the piece from memory, the stolen sheet music mocking me with its absence. The orchestra director never looked at me the same again.

Sterling had seen it all from his corner of the back row. Arms crossed. Silent. Watching me fall.

So when he slipped into the room that day, I expected more of the same.

I’d tucked myself into the farthest corner with my violin in my lap, not playing, just holding it, like a memory I didn’t wantto let go. The bow rested loosely in my fingers. I hadn’t had the courage to use it.

I started to hum instead. Low. Quiet. A melody only I knew.

“You used to be louder,” came a voice from the doorway.

I startled.

Sterling stepped inside, eyes locked on me like he’d caught me doing something forbidden.

“I didn’t think you noticed,” I said, my voice small.

He walked slowly toward me, his presence heavier than usual, but not in the usual suffocating way. “I noticed. You were the only one in here who wasn’t pretending.”

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. Not with the way my throat closed up.

“You still sound like yourself,” he added. His voice had softened, gravel edged with something almost tender.

I swallowed hard. “I don’t feel like myself.”

He crouched beside me then, close enough for me to feel the warmth of his breath as he looked up at me, eyes softer than I’d ever seen them. “Don’t stop humming,” he said. “You sound like…”

He trailed off, like he didn’t want to admit whatever it was.

“Like what?” I asked, too afraid to hope.

“Like something I forgot I needed.”

The air between us stilled.

My fingers trembled around the neck of my violin. His hand lifted to my face, brushing a curl from my cheek, the touch almost reverent.

I held my breath.

For a moment, just a moment, I let myself believe he saw me. Not someone to belittle or tease. Me.

Then the door banged open.

Chadwick.

He stepped in, with the smooth arrogance of someone who knew the world belonged to him, and hated anyone who didn’t bow to it.

“Well,” he drawled. “Isn’t this adorable?”