Finding Rhythm

EPISODE 4: SAVE THE SIREN

WEEKS PASSED, and every Friday, like clockwork, I found myself at the speakeasy, just captivated in the dark, smoky atmosphere waiting for her to come on stage. Her voice was nothing I had ever encountered before. She bore her very essence, and I wanted to always hear that voice.

This particular Friday, I was heading back to the speakeasy, as usual, sitting in the back seat of my black car. The lights of the city were blurring into streaks of gold and white as we drove through the streets. Nicholas, my chauffeur, was a man of few words, which was perfect with me. It played well to my advantage.

I was lost in thought, wondering what emotions Aria would express today and if I’d feel the intensity today. I didn’t know Aria personally, but through her music, I discovered her. She was not a very expressive person, but she had a lot of things she wanted to say back to people, she had a lot of people she wished to hurt. But she never acted on her true emotions. She could only turn the other cheek or vanish. She felt it was unfair she was born weak and not brave.

Suddenly, some ruckus caught my attention, snapping me out of my thoughts. I reached for my holster, carried on the small of my back.

Her porcelain skin, etched with a delicate crimson birthmark, glowed with an ethereal radiance. The mark, like a splash of wine on snow, intensified her allure. Her small, aquiline nose and large, expressive hazel eyes lent her face a captivating asymmetry. Her raven hair, with its silky waves, framed her features with a dramatic elegance. At five-eight, she possessed a statuesque figure, her curves both graceful and alluring.

Aria stood there arguing with a group of rough-looking men. I recognized them to be gang members, they were manhandling her, their hands gripping her roughly, and they barked threats at her. She looked small and vulnerable against them. She was crushed with fear, weeping on the ground.

I watched her from the comfort of my car. I wondered what song she would perform now. How would you handle them Aria? How would you crush them to death while they looked into your eyes? Get up, girl!

I was enraged as I watched them shove her against the wall, punching her belly and spewing threats before they let her go. They ran from the scene, leaving her leaning on the wall, trying to regain her strength before she went in to perform.

One would think she would hurry home for safety because she was spooked, but I knew she wouldn’t. I had my holster holding my pistol behind me, and she had her music.

I watch as she goes into the diner that houses the speakeasy.

“Nicholas,” I said, keeping my voice low but firm, “find out what just happened. I want to know everything.”

“Yes, sir,” Nicholas replied with no hesitation. He knew better than to question me when I used that tone.

I wasn’t in love with her, not in the way men usually fall for women. It wasn’t even her beauty that clutched onto me, although she was undeniably striking.

But it wasn’t her appearance that had me returning every Friday.

It was her voice.

That voice had a way of shutting down my thoughts, it drowned out all the noise that usually suffocated me. Aria’s voice was like experiencing a spa for the mind, every note she sang was a massage, and every verse was a release of tension. I needed that escape. I craved it, and to be honest, I wanted to own it.

Two days later, Nicholas came to me in my study, where I was having a quiet time, reading proposals from businesses looking to invest in my new market venture.

“I have some information on the situation that occurred at the speakeasy,” he reported.

With an open-hand gesture, I motioned for him to keep speaking.

“She was doing some dirty work for some gang members to pay off some debt at a casino, selling drugs for them, and she was robbed of the bag. It’s a sum of thirty thousand dollars, she passed her deadline for repayment.”

That was not a chicken change for someone in Aria’s position, that much was obvious.

What I heard didn’t surprise me—that she was in trouble. There were a lot of talented and beautiful people around the world who had financial burdens draining their lives.

But for Aria, I wanted to intervene. I saw a window of opportunity to gain what I desired.

That Friday, I waited behind after her performance. I could see the exhaustion in her eyes and the way she forced a smile as she collected her flowers off the ground and thanked her audience. I could see beyond that made-up, brave face. She was struggling, and it was only a matter of time before she drowned in her debt.

As the crowd began to thin, I made my move. I approached her as she packed up her things. She looked up at me, her hazel eyes widening slightly with surprise.

“Aria,” I said casually. “We need to talk.”

She hesitated, her expression wary. “About what?”

“About your situation,” I replied, watching her closely for any sign of resistance. “I know about the debt you owe those men. Thirty thousand dollars is a significant amount.”

Her eyes flashed with a mixture of anger and embarrassment, she quickly looked away, busying herself with her belongings. “That’s none of your business,” she muttered.

“On the contrary,” I replied smoothly, “I’m making it my business. I’m offering you a way out.”

She froze, her hands stilling as she slowly looked back at me. “What do you mean?”

“I’ll pay off your debt,” I told her, keeping my tone precise. “Every penny. But in return, you’ll marry me.”

She scoffed and returned to packing her bag. “That’s not how marriage works. You have to get to know the person and date for a while,” she replied with a bit of attitude.

“Except, I don’t want to get to know you. It’s a contract marriage.”

She stared at me like I had just said the most absurd thing she had ever heard, “A contract marriage?” she repeated in disbelief.

“Yes,” I confirmed, meeting her gaze. “You’ll live with me, sing for me whenever I ask, and in return, I’ll not only clear your debt but also give you access to a black card that you can use as you please.”

She looked like she was struggling to process what I was saying. “You want to own me?” she asked, her voice trembling slightly with a mix of anger and fear.

“I’d rather you think of it as a mutually beneficial arrangement,” I replied calmly. “You need money, I need your voice. You’ll be living with me until I feel your debt has been fully repaid.”

I could see the wheels turning in her head as she considered my offer. She was furious, but she was also desperate, and that desperation made people consider options that they would normally turn their noses up at.

But to my surprise, she played it cool and respectfully turned me down. “I appreciate the offer, but I can’t accept that. I’ll find another way to pay off my debt.”

Her words were polite, but there was a defiance in her eyes that intrigued me. She was stronger than I had given her credit for, but I could also see that she was on the verge of breaking.

I smiled, a slow, knowing smile that seemed to unsettle her. “Your apartment rent is up in a month, right?”

She couldn’t hide her shock, she clearly hadn’t expected me to know that detail. I could see the anger building behind her calm posture, but she remained silent, at a loss for words.

I enjoyed the tension in the air. She was cornered, and we both knew it. She could refuse me now, but when her situation became worse, she would have no choice but to accept my offer. And when she did, I would have what I wanted—her voice.

“Think it over,” I said casually, my tone light like I hadn’t just said the most daring thing to her. “I’ll be here when you’re ready to talk.”

I left her there stunned and speechless. Her eyes burned into my back as I walked away from her.

I knew she would come around eventually. They always did. And when she did, she would be mine.