Her Silent Symphony, His Ruthless Claim

The lobby of Ashford Sound Group was built for people who were meant to be heard. Everything in it seemed to hum as I trailed three steps behind Odessa, as I always did, my small notebook pressed to my ribs like a second secret heartbeat, and I kept my eyes on the floor so that no one would see how badly I wanted to belong to that sound. The elevator swallowed us in mirrors. Odessa's perfume smelled sharp with powder and spite, it filled the little steel box while the numbers climbed, and I caught my reflection wedged beside hers, a pale, smudged shadow that looked as if it would break if anyone spoke to it too loudly. I looked away before it could ask me anything. When the doors slid open onto a corridor, her fingers closed around my elbow, and her lips barely moved as she leaned in close. "Don't you ever dare to look him in the eye, Wren. A defective person like you only belongs in the shadows. Remember your place-you are nothing but trash hitching a ride in my husband's house." The sharp whisper from my sister-in-law, Odessa, felt more painful than the old scar ravaging my throat. I bowed my head, clutching the fabric of my worn-out uniform, as we stood in front of the magnificent door of Ashford Sound Group studio. Inside, the future of my niece, Saffron, was at stake. Or more accurately, Odessa's insane ambition to turn her talentless daughter into a star just to gain social status. The soundproof door opened. A cold, harsh curse froze the air in the corridor. "Trash. I'm wasting my time listening to this flat, pathetic voice! If you can't hit that note in one more take, get out of my office and don't ever come back. I don't run a charity for those who only rely on their looks." Caelan Ashford stood in the center of the room, his back turned to us. He was a man accustomed to getting everything with the snap of his fingers. His frame was sturdy, draped in a fitted black shirt that radiated an aura of power, making everyone in the room feel insignificant. He didn't look our way, but his mere presence was enough to make my courage wither. Odessa shoved me forward so hard I nearly stumbled onto the thick-carpeted floor. "Forgive us, Mr. Ashford. Saffron just isn't feeling fit today. She's terribly nervous to be in front of a producer of your caliber." I stepped forward hesitantly, trying to tidy the scattered microphone cables. I knew my job here wasn't to sing, but to be a servant. To fetch coffee, organize scores, and ensure no one discovered that for years, I had been the one perfecting the melodies behind Saffron's recordings. By accident, the toe of my shoe bumped into my small notebook that had fallen from my cardigan pocket. Sheets of musical notation-compositions I had hidden in the shadows-scattered across the floor. They weren't just numbers; they were the screams of my heart that could never be spoken. I tried to gather them as quickly as possible, but I was too slow. Caelan turned around. His hawk-like eyes swept the room as if he could see right through my existence. He looked down and picked up one of the sheets that landed right at the tip of his polished shoe. "Who wrote this?" his voice was low, dangerous. I froze, my tongue paralyzed. The familiar pain struck my throat-a physical reminder of the vocal cords ruined years ago. I wanted to answer, but my damaged throat only produced a strained, raspy sound, like the grinding of rusted metal. I panicked, trying to reach for the paper, but Caelan moved swiftly, pinning me into the corner of the room with his tall, imposing frame. "I asked you a question," he hissed, his gaze locked onto mine. The distance between us was so small I could smell the expensive sandalwood and musk cologne he wore. "A mute servant like you couldn't possibly write a composition this complex. Who did you steal this music from? Did you copy it from another company's archives?" I trembled, not out of fear of his threat, but because the intensity of his stare felt like it was stripping my soul bare. "Answer me," he demanded, his fingers gripping my chin to force me to look at him. His grip wasn't rough, but it was incredibly dominating. "Silence won't help you. I hate music thieves. If I find out you stole this, I'll ensure you never step foot into this industry again." In that moment, a flash of memory appeared in my head-a memory about the massive Ashford family corporation that my father used to talk about. A company that was ambitious, cold, and ruthless. I didn't know that the man in front of me was the heir to the most influential music empire, but my instincts screamed that he was the natural enemy of someone as weak as me. I pulled away slightly, then grabbed the paper from his hand with shaking fingers. I snatched a pen tucked into Odessa's pocket-who was now frozen in the corner-and wrote one large word on the notation paper: Me. Caelan went silent. He stared at the writing, then back at my face with an unreadable expression-a mix of disdain, skepticism, and dark curiosity. He flipped the paper, seeing a melody far superior to the song Saffron had been singing. "You?" he laughed coldly, devoid of humor. "You wrote a melody with this much depth, yet you can't even speak a single word properly?" I nodded firmly. My eyes stung with tears, but I refused to look down. Caelan released my chin. He walked to his desk, took a glass of water, and stared at me through the studio mirror. "The music industry is about voice, about the emotions that are shouted out loud. But this melody ... it has an honest sadness. A sadness that none of these spoiled girls trying to be stars in this studio possess." He spun his chair, looking at me with a gaze that made me feel exposed. "Good," he whispered right in front of my face, his voice sounding like a verdict. "From this moment on, you will write for me. Every song for the artists under my label must pass through your hands. And in exchange, I will ensure you never escape this studio. You are my property now." I was stunned. I didn't realize that behind this professional agreement, I had just stepped into a lion's den. ***** "Don't argue," he added, as if reading my hesitation. "Because if you refuse, I will ensure your sister-in-law no longer has a place to live, let alone the dream of launching her daughter's career. Well?" I swallowed hard. This was a chance to survive, even if it meant becoming a puppet in this cold man's hands. I didn't know what awaited me, I only knew that I had just walked into a lion's den. A den filled with ambition and cruelty. I nodded slowly. A sign of surrender. Caelan walked closer, then whispered something right into my ear, his voice icy yet lethal. "Remember this, little mute. You are not my colleague. You are company property. If by eight o'clock tomorrow morning you aren't at my desk with a song better than the trash you wrote today, I'll ensure you not only lose your voice, but also the only place you call home." He turned away, leaving me still trembling in the middle of the studio. Odessa pulled my arm roughly, dragging me out of the room, but my gaze remained fixed on Caelan's rigid, arrogant back. As the studio door closed, my phone buzzed violently in my pocket. A text from an unknown number appeared on the cracked screen: "Don't ever play with fire with the Ashford family, or you will end up just like your parents-buried beneath the ruins of the past." My heart stopped. My breath hitched. Who sent this message? What did "ruins of the past" mean? Was my parents' death truly an accident, or was there something darker hidden from my view? My hands trembled more violently. In front of me, Caelan was the man who held control over my life. In my pocket, a mysterious threat haunted me. I had just realized that I wasn't just entering a lion's den; I was stepping onto a path toward a truth that could shatter what was left of my sanity.