Page 39 of The Sound Between Us (Vinyl Hearts #1)

the reckoning

Seren

Harrison looks like a Renaissance painting when he sleeps. I’ve been awake for the better part of an hour, watching the early morning Tokyo light play across his face.

His hair is messed from sleep, dark curls falling across his forehead. His mouth is slightly open, breathing deep and even. I almost don’t want to disturb it.

Almost.

But my stomach growls, loud enough that I’m surprised it doesn’t wake him. The kind of hungry that makes you contemplate whether room service counts as a life skill.

I slip out of bed carefully, trying not to jostle the mattress. He’s earned this sleep—last night left us both raw and breathless.

The hotel robe is absurdly luxurious, thick terry cloth, and I wrap it around myself before padding toward the door. The marble floor is cold beneath my bare feet, a sharp contrast to the warmth of Harrison’s body still radiating from the bed behind me.

The restaurant is nearly empty at this hour, which suits me perfectly.

A few business travellers hunched over laptops, blue light casting shadows under their eyes.

Some tourists study guidebooks, pages rustling as they flip between recommendations.

The hostess leads me to a quiet table by the window, where I can watch Tokyo wake up.

Eggs.

I reckon eggs are a fearless kind of breakfast.

The city stretches endlessly below, a living circuit board of glass and steel catching the first rays of sunlight. Cars move through arteries of concrete. Horns honk in the distance. Construction crews are already at work, the faint sound of machinery drifting up even to this height.

I’m settling into my chair when I remember Henry’s text. We need to talk.

My stomach drops. I glance around the restaurant, wondering if I can slip back upstairs and order my not-so-fearless eggs as room service.

That’s when I see him. Corner table. Clear view of the entrance. Nursing a hot drink, his hands trembling slightly as he lifts the cup.

Henry notices me the exact moment I notice him.

Bollocks.

I consider my options: bolt for the lifts, claim sudden food poisoning and retreat to the safety of the hotel room, or face whatever conversation he’s clearly been waiting to have.

The problem with running is that Henry has definitely seen me, and cowardice would only delay whatever unpleasantness he has planned.

So I smile politely and make my way over, settling across from him. My hands shake as I pull the robe tighter around myself.

“Seren.” His voice is honey over steel. “Good morning. I was hoping we’d have a chance to chat.”

“Were you?” I keep my voice light. “How serendipitous.”

The server appears with the efficiency of expensive hotels, and I order coffee because I definitely need it.

“I hope you don’t mind me saying, but you were absolutely magnetic the other night.

I’d have told you yesterday, but I couldn’t find you two lovebirds anywhere.

” His smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “That performance—I’ve been in this industry for twenty years, and I rarely see that kind of natural stage presence. ”

“Thank you.” I shift in my seat. Why did I think breakfast in a robe was a good idea?

“Have you given any thought to the future? Professionally, I mean. After the other night, after that response...” He spreads his hands. “The phone’s going to start ringing.”

I laugh, though nothing about this feels amusing. “Henry, my dad has his own label.”

“Yes, but you don’t want to give him all the control, do you?” His smile sharpens. “What happens the next time he pisses you off? What happens when his vision doesn’t align with yours?”

I don’t answer, partly because I haven’t thought that far ahead and partly because the bastard has a point. Dad and I have managed exactly one extended period of getting along, and that’s largely because I’ve been three thousand miles away.

“The thing is, Seren, you’ve shown the world who you are now. That level of attention—it’s a gift, but it’s also a responsibility. You need someone who understands how to navigate it.”

“Someone like you?”

“I’m offering to represent you. I have the experience, the contacts, the understanding of how to build a career that lasts.”

The coffee arrives, steam curling up from the white porcelain cup, and I wrap my hands around the mug. The liquid burns my tongue, but the pain feels appropriate somehow.

“I’ll think about it.”

“Of course.” Henry adjusts his cufflinks, a sharp, precise movement. “You know, your family’s quite the talented bunch.”

My coffee cup freezes halfway to my lips.

“Your sister especially. Hailey, right? Beautiful girl. Very... enthusiastic about her career.”

Something cold spreads through my chest. My ribs feel too tight. “Half-sister.”

“Right. We’ve actually met before, Hailey and I. At a party in the Hills a few months back.” He takes a deliberate sip of his coffee. “She was there with Harrison, actually. Quite the pair, those two.”

The words burrow into my brain. “Harrison was at a party with Hailey?”

“Oh yes. Industry thing. Very cosy, from what I saw.” Henry’s voice is casual, conversational. “Though I suppose that’s between them, isn’t it? What happens at parties in the Hills...”

My hand starts to shake around the coffee cup. “What are you saying?”

“I’m not saying anything, love. Just making conversation.” He leans back in his chair, studying me. “Though I did notice Harrison never mentioned knowing your sister when you two got together. Interesting, don’t you think?”

The restaurant tilts sideways. Every sound becomes too loud—the clink of cutlery, the murmur of conversation, the rush of blood in my ears.

“You’re lying.”

Henry reaches into his jacket pocket, pulls out his phone. “Am I? Because I’m pretty sure I’ve got some photos from that night. Nothing explicit, of course. Just... friendly.”

He starts scrolling through his camera roll, and I can’t. Can’t sit here and watch him produce evidence. Can’t reconcile the man who declared his love to fifty thousand people last night with someone who would sleep with Hailey and never think to mention it .

Can’t breathe.

I’m standing before I’ve consciously decided to move, the chair scraping against marble. The hotel robe feels paper-thin, too exposed.

“Seren?” Henry calls after me as I stumble toward the entrance, his voice carrying just the right note of concern. “Seren, where are you going? I’m sorry if I’ve upset you?—”

But I can’t answer because words have become impossible.

The hotel lobby is marble and crystal and expensive neutrality, designed to soothe.

It doesn’t help.

Nothing helps.

My chest is caving in, and Harrison is upstairs sleeping peacefully, and I don’t know how to reconcile those two truths without breaking apart completely.

I fumble for my phone, scrolling until I find Dad’s number. He answers on the second ring.

“Seren? What’s wrong? It’s barely morning there?—”

“Dad, I need to get home. Now.”

High-pitched. Desperate. I sound unhinged.

“What’s happened? Are you hurt? Is it Harrison?”

Is it Harrison? Harrison who told me he loved me. Harrison who made me feel safe. Harrison who apparently fucked my half-sister and thought it wasn’t worth mentioning.

“I just need to come home.”

“Right. I’ll sort flights. Are you somewhere safe?”

Safe. Twenty-four hours ago I knew what that word meant. Now my skin feels crawling, exposed on all sides.

“I’m at the hotel.”

“Stay there. I’ll call back in an hour.”

I hang up and stare at the phone. I’ve just called Daddy to come save me. Six years old again .

I should go somewhere else. Hide in the lobby. Wait for Dad’s call.

Instead, I find myself walking toward the lifts.

The lift ride takes thirty seconds and feels endless. When the doors open, I walk down the hallway with mechanical precision, someone who’s made a decision they know they’ll regret.

I don’t knock.

The door slams against the wall with enough force to wake half the hotel. Harrison bolts upright, hair sticking up, eyes wide with panic.

“My sister?” My voice cracks. “My fucking sister?”

His face goes white. His mouth opens, then closes. His eyes dart away from mine.

Guilt. Pure, devastating, unmistakable guilt.

“Seren, wait—” He scrambles out of bed, reaching for me.

“Don’t.” I yank my jeans off a hanger with enough force to snap the plastic. “Don’t you dare.”

“It wasn’t... it didn’t mean anything. It was before I knew you, before we were anything?—”

“Before what, Harrison? Before you decided I was worth lying to?” I pull the jeans on, hopping, furious at my own clumsiness. “When exactly were you planning to mention you’d fucked my sister? During pillow talk? A cute anniversary card? Maybe as a wedding toast?”

My voice cracks. Tears burn my eyes, spill down my cheeks before I can stop them.

“It wasn’t?—”

“What was it then?” I grab his tour shirt—the one I wore to bed. “Enlighten me. Paint me a picture of exactly how innocent it was.” My throat closes. “Oh my god, the day we met, when you told me you’d met her... and you said—you said—’not particularly memorable, to be honest.’”

I clamp my hand over my mouth and breathe through my fingers that still smell faintly of coffee and him .

The image is there now, seared into my brain: Harrison and Hailey, her perfect body that’s never seen the inside of a Camden record shop, her designer lingerie perfectly fitted to her sculpted frame.

He runs his hands through his hair. The light catches the gold in it.

“I was drunk. She was drunk. It was one night, two years ago, and it meant absolutely nothing. I barely remember it?—”

“Oh, you barely remember it?” I laugh, high and sharp.

“How romantic. How special she must have felt.” My hands shake as I shove things into my bag.

“You lied to me and she lied to me too. I sat in her goddamn apartment and she warned me—told me not to let Harrison Carter shrink me... because she’d already been there, done that. Done you.”

I’m shoving my feet into boots, no socks, the leather cold against my skin. “But I bet it meant something to her. I bet she’s been laughing this whole time, watching me fall for you whilst she knew exactly what kind of man you really are.”

“That’s not— Seren, please, you have to understand?—”

“Understand what? That you forgot to mention you’d slept with my family?

That it slipped your mind?” I’m gathering the rest of my things now, shoving them into my bag with shaking hands.

“What else have you forgotten to tell me, Harrison? Any other sisters you’ve fucked?

Cousins? Maybe you’ve worked your way through Dad’s entire family tree? ”

“Seren, please?—”

“I’m done.” I turn toward the door, my chest caving in. “I’m done listening, I’m done believing, I’m done being the stupid girl who thought she was special.”

He reaches for me one last time, his fingers brushing my wrist. I freeze. Every cell in my body wants to turn around, to let him pull me close.

Instead, I yank my arm away.

“Don’t touch me. Don’t call me. Don’t follow me.” My voice is steady now, cold. “We’re done. ”

I walk out. The door clicks shut behind me.

In the hallway, my phone buzzes. Dad, probably with flight information.

I don’t look at it. I can’t. The screen is cracked—when did that happen?—spider webs of broken glass cutting across the display.

My hands are shaking. My chest feels hollow. My legs keep moving anyway, carrying me toward the lifts, toward the lobby, toward whatever comes next.

The elevator doors close, and I catch my reflection in the polished steel. Mascara streaked down my cheeks. Hair a mess. Still wearing his tour shirt.

I look exactly what I am: another girl who fell for Harrison Carter’s lies.

Just Hailey did.

Just the others probably did.

The lift descends, and with each floor, I feel myself falling further away from the woman who believed in fairy tales.

By the time the doors open, she’s gone completely.