THE SOUND OF YOU

CHAPTER 3

Maya did not speak for several seconds.

She looked at Mark.

Then at the unfinished room.

Then back at him.

"You said you won't always be able to hear it."

Mark's expression closed immediately.

"I did."

"What does that mean?"

"It means exactly what it sounds like."

"That's not an answer."

"I know."

Maya folded her arms.

She had spent enough time around musicians, engineers, and stubborn clients to recognize when someone was avoiding a question.

Mark Sterling was avoiding several.

"Is this why you're rushing the project?"

"Yes."

"How long?"

His jaw tightened.

"Does it matter?"

"It matters if you're asking me to design something around a deadline."

"Six months."

Maya stared at him.

"Six months until what?"

Mark turned toward the equipment.

"Until my hearing becomes unreliable."

The words landed quietly.

Almost too quietly for what they meant.

Maya watched him carefully.

"Unreliable isn't the same as gone."

"No."

"So you can still hear."

"Yes."

"But it's getting worse."

"Yes."

"Progressively?"

Mark nodded.

Maya felt something shift inside her.

This wasn't a rich man's strange obsession anymore.

It was a race.

"What's the diagnosis?"

His eyes moved toward her.

"That's personal."

"Fair."

She looked around the room.

"Then here's what I need to know. Are you expecting me to work with your hearing as part of the design?"

"I expect you to build the room for the person I am now."

"And not the person you'll be in six months?"

"I don't know who I'll be in six months."

Maya didn't know what to say to that.

She turned toward the far wall.

"What have your engineers done so far?"

"Everything they were told."

"That's not what I asked."

Mark's mouth twitched slightly.

"Nothing good enough."

Maya walked farther into the room.

The floor changed beneath her feet.

Wood.

Then stone.

Then carpet.

She crouched beside a section where several materials met.

"Who designed this?"

"My architectural team."

"Why?"

"They're good."

"That's not what I asked either."

Mark was quiet.

Maya stood.

"You're trying to solve an emotional problem with technical precision."

His eyes narrowed.

"Explain."

"You want the room to preserve how sound feels to you. But you've designed it like a laboratory."

She pointed toward the wall.

"Too much hard surface."

Then toward the ceiling.

"That diffuser is positioned badly."

She moved toward a corner.

"And whoever installed those panels was more concerned with eliminating reflections than controlling them."

Mark watched her.

Maya could feel it.

He wasn't used to people criticizing his decisions.

Especially not in his own house.

She expected an argument.

Instead, he asked, "What would you change?"

She smiled faintly.

"Almost everything."

Lucas, standing near the doorway, looked down to hide another smile.

Mark didn't.

"Good."

Maya blinked.

"Good?"

"I didn't hire you to agree with me."

That was the first thing he had said that she genuinely liked.

She walked to the center of the room.

"Then I'll need access to the original architectural plans, material specifications, previous acoustic tests, and the equipment your team has already used."

"You'll have them."

"Complete access?"

"Within reason."

"Whose reason?"

"Mine."

"Then we'll have a problem."

Mark stared at her.

Maya stared back.

Neither moved.

Finally, Mark said, "What else?"

"Your medical limitations."

His expression hardened.

"No."

"Then I can't do the job properly."

"You don't need my medical records to design a room."

"I don't need your records. I need to know what frequencies are becoming difficult for you to perceive."

"You can test me."

"That's what I intend to do."

Mark nodded once.

"Fine."

Maya was surprised by how quickly he agreed.

Then he added, "But nothing leaves this property."

"Understood."

"And nothing goes to your staff."

"That's going to be difficult."

"Why?"

"Because I run a business. I have employees."

"Then limit what they know."

Maya studied him.

"You're very controlling."

"So I've been told."

She shook her head.

"I'll need one more thing."

"What?"

"The authority to reject materials, designs, and equipment if I believe they compromise the acoustic result."

Mark didn't hesitate.

"Granted."

Maya frowned.

"Just like that?"

"You're the specialist."

"Most billionaires don't hand over control that easily."

"I'm not most billionaires."

"No," she said. "I've noticed."

Something almost like a smile appeared on his face.

Then it disappeared.

"Tomorrow."

Maya looked at him.

"What?"

"Start tomorrow."

"I haven't signed yet."

"You will."

She raised an eyebrow.

"Confident."

"Yes."

"Annoying."

"I've been told that too."

Maya turned toward Lucas.

"I need the contract."

"You'll have it tonight."

She stopped.

"Tonight?"

Mark looked at her.

"You said you're worried about your business."

Her expression changed.

He noticed.

Of course he noticed.

"You went through my company."

"I researched you."

"Why?"

"Because I don't hire people I know nothing about."

The answer should have made her uncomfortable.

Instead, it made her curious.

"What else did you find?"

Mark's eyes remained on hers.

"Enough."

There it was again.

That word.

Enough.

Maya hated it.

She picked up her bag.

"I'll see you tomorrow."

Mark nodded.

"Maya."

She turned.

"Yes?"

His voice softened.

"Don't tell your mother about the project."

Her stomach tightened.

"What?"

"I don't want her worrying about you."

"You don't know my mother."

"No."

"Then don't tell me what she should worry about."

Mark held her gaze.

"I wasn't trying to."

"Then what were you trying to do?"

He didn't answer.

Maya left before she could become more irritated.

But halfway down the hall, she stopped.

Something wasn't right.

She looked back.

The door to the sanctuary was still open.

Mark stood inside alone.

He had turned toward the wall.

His hand was pressed against his ear.

Not casually.

Desperately.

Maya watched him for a moment.

Then he lowered his hand.

She walked away.

…

By the time Maya reached Detroit, it was almost eight.

Sarah was still at the shop.

She was sitting behind the front desk, eating noodles from a plastic container while working through invoices.

"You survived."

Maya dropped her bag onto a chair.

"Barely."

Sarah looked up.

"How was the billionaire?"

"Annoying."

"Handsome?"

Maya stared at her.

"Sarah."

"What?"

"That's not relevant."

"So yes."

"I didn't say yes."

Sarah smiled.

"Sit."

Maya ignored her and walked toward the workbench.

"He's losing his hearing."

Sarah's smile disappeared.

"What?"

"Progressive hearing loss."

"Seriously?"

"Apparently."

Maya pulled off her jacket.

"He wants the room finished before it gets significantly worse."

Sarah was quiet.

"That's actually sad."

"I know."

"What caused it?"

"He wouldn't tell me."

Sarah studied her.

"Did you ask?"

"Yes."

"And?"

"He said it was personal."

Sarah nodded.

"Fair."

Maya started sorting through the papers she had brought home.

"The room is wrong."

"Wrong?"

"Technically wrong. Whoever designed it focused too much on isolation. They're trying to remove sound instead of shaping it."

Sarah leaned over.

"And you can fix it?"

"I think so."

"You sound excited."

Maya stopped.

She hadn't realized she was smiling.

"I'm not excited."

"You are."

"I'm interested."

"Same thing."

"No."

Sarah grinned.

"So you're taking it."

Maya looked down at the contract.

"I think I am."

"And the money?"

Maya's expression softened.

"The money will help."

Sarah didn't push.

She knew what that meant.

Maya's mother's medical expenses had been eating through everything.

Rent.

Supplies.

Shop repairs.

Savings.

Every time Maya thought she was finally getting ahead, another bill appeared.

She picked up the contract.

"I'll sign tomorrow."

Sarah nodded.

"Good."

Maya looked at the first page again.

Then she froze.

"What?"

Sarah noticed immediately.

Maya turned the page.

There, near the bottom of the project specifications, was a phrase that made her pulse jump.

Original acoustic structure to be preserved where possible.

She read it twice.

"What's wrong?" Sarah asked.

"This isn't a new room."

"What?"

Maya pointed at the document.

"They're building something inside an existing structure."

Sarah frowned.

"So?"

"So Mark told me the room was being designed from scratch."

"Maybe he meant the interior."

"No."

Maya's eyes narrowed.

There was something underneath the project.

Something old.

Something deliberately left in place.

She grabbed her laptop.

"I need the architectural plans."

Sarah watched her.

"Tonight?"

"Tonight."

---

The plans arrived at 11:47 p.m.

Maya opened them.

She spent almost an hour comparing the current design with older structural drawings.

Then she found it.

A section of th estate had been constructed decades before Mark was born.

The sanctuary wasn't simply being added to the house.

It was being restored around something that already existed.

Maya zoomed in.

There was a narrow corridor behind the northern wall.

It didn't appear in the modern floor plan.

She checked the older drawings.

There it was.

A small acoustic chamber.

No description.

No room number.

Just a handwritten notation beside it.

R.L. — preserve original channel.

Maya stopped breathing.

R.L.

Richard Lin.

Her father's initials.

She leaned closer to the screen.

"No."

Her father's work had been connected to Sterling Audio.

She knew that.

But she'd never known he had worked on Mark Sterling's family estate.

Never.

She opened another file.

Nothing.

A third.

Nothing.

Then she noticed a strange discrepancy in the measurements.

The wall thickness didn't match.

There was a space behind it.

Maya stood so quickly that her chair rolled backward.

She grabbed her coat.

Sarah hard already gone home.

The shop was silent.

Maya looked at the clock.

12:16 a.m.

She should wait until morning.

She knew that.

But if her father's initials were hidden inside that room, she wasn't sure she could sleep without knowing what was behind the wall.

She picked up her keys.

Then her phone rang.

Unknown number.

Maya answered.

"Hello?"

No one spoke.

She frowned.

"Hello?"

A thin sound came through the line.

Static.

Then breathing.

Maya's stomach tightened.

"Who's this?"

The call ended.

She stared at the screen.

A second later, a message appeared.

Stop digging into Sterling.

Maya read it twice.

Then a second message arrived.

Your father already paid the price.

She felt the blood drain from her face.

For six years, she had wondered whether her father's death had really been an accident.

Now someone had just given her an answer.

And a warning.

Maya slowly lowered the phone.

Across the room, her father's old tools sat exactly where she had left them.

For the first time in six years, she wondered if the truth about Richard Lin had never been buried at all.

Maybe someone had simply been waiting for her to uncover it.