Her Silent Symphony, His Ruthless Claim

Chapter 2

I did not sleep. Every time I closed my eyes, the words on my cracked screen rearranged themselves behind my eyelids, and every time I opened them, the ceiling of Odessa's house seemed to press a little lower. By morning my hands had stopped shaking only because they had run out of strength to do it. I followed a silent assistant down a corridor of frosted glass, my footsteps small and apologetic beside her sharp ones, counting the doors we passed the way other people count prayers.

She stopped before a wooden door heavy enough to belong in a cathedral and turned to me with something that was almost pity. "He does not like to be kept waiting," she said quietly, "and he likes it even less when he is disappointed." I lifted my chin the way I had learned to, since a voice was the one thing I could never raise, and I stepped forward as she opened the door, feeling the whole weight of the building lean in at my back.

The heavy wooden door of Caelan Ashford's private office slammed shut, locking the rest of the world outside. The room smelled of expensive scotch, dark coffee, and raw intimidation.

I stood near the corner, hugging my arms tightly against the chill of the centralized AC. My heart was still hammering against my ribs. But right now, I had a more immediate threat to face: the man sitting behind the massive mahogany desk, staring at me like a predator assessing a trapped mouse.

Caelan didn't speak for a long time. He simply twirled a black fountain pen between his long fingers, his cold blue eyes locked onto mine.

"Let's get one thing straight, Wren," Caelan's voice cut through the silence, smooth yet laced with poison. "I don't care about your tragic past, your broken throat, or whatever misery your sister-in-law puts you through. In this building, you exist for one reason only: your brain."

He slid a blank sheet of manuscript paper and a pen across the polished desk toward me.

"Prove it," he commanded, leaning forward, resting his chin on his interlocking fingers. "You claim you wrote that melody. Write another one right now. Right here in front of me. If it takes you more than ten minutes, or if it lacks the soul of the last one, I'll kick you out, and I'll make sure Saffron never sees a recording booth again."

I stared at the blank paper. The pressure in the room was suffocating. Ten minutes. Without my old piano, without my quiet room at midnight, under the heavy, scrutinizing gaze of the most ruthless producer in the industry.

My hands trembled as I stepped forward. I picked up the pen.

Write. My mind echoed the command.

I closed my eyes for a fraction of a second, letting the bitter taste of my current life-the humiliation, the silence forced upon me, the crushing weight of survival-guide my hand. I didn't think about notes academically; I felt them as a physical ache. I began to write, my pen scratching rapidly across the paper, translating my silent screams into sweeping crescendos and melancholic rests.

Five minutes passed in absolute silence, save for the scratch of ink.

Caelan had stood up from his chair. He walked silently around the desk, stopping just inches behind me. I could feel the heat radiating from his body, his presence completely dominating my space. He looked over my shoulder, reading the notes as they formed under my trembling fingers.

The sharp, cynical look in his eyes slowly shifted into something unreadable. A heavy silence stretched between us.

When I finished the final bar, I dropped the pen, breathless, and stepped back.

Caelan reached out, picking up the paper before the ink had even fully dried. His eyes scanned the notes, and for a fleeting second, his expression softened-just enough to reveal the true music lover hidden beneath the cold businessman.

"My God," he whispered, almost to himself. "You really are ... a genius trapped in a cage."

He lowered the paper and slowly turned his gaze to me. The distance between us was dangerously close. I could see the fine details of his sharp jawline, the intensity in his eyes.

"You passed the test," Caelan murmured, his voice dropping an octave, losing its harsh edge and turning into something low and hypnotic. "Starting tonight, you move into the staff quarters on the top floor of this building. You belong to Ashford Sound Group twenty-four hours a day."

My eyes widened in shock. Move here? Away from Odessa's house? It was a chance to escape my abusive home, but it also meant walking deeper into the lion's den.

Before I could even process his demand, Caelan stepped closer, cornering me against the bookshelf. He reached out, his warm fingers gently brushing a stray lock of hair behind my ear-a touch so shockingly intimate that my breath hitched.

"Don't look so terrified, little mute," he breathed against my ear, sending a shiver straight down my spine. "You might be my prisoner, but I take very good care of my most valuable assets."

Before I could push him away, the heavy oak door burst open without warning.

A figure stood in the doorway, breath coming in ragged gasps, her face flushed with uncontrolled anger. Saffron. My niece stood there, her sharp eyes widening as she took in how close my position was to Caelan-far too close.

"Caelan?" Saffron's voice shook, not with fear, but with a fierce jealousy that burned her pride. She stepped inside, ignoring the cold, annoyed glare Caelan gave her for invading his privacy.

"What is this mute girl doing in your private office? And why were you touching her?"

Saffron's gaze shifted to me, filled with a hatred that had been ingrained since we were children. She always wanted to be the center of attention, and seeing me-the person she was supposed to look down on forever-in this position made her face look terrifying with envy.

"She is nobody, Mr. Ashford! She's just a parasite in our house!" Saffron shouted hysterically, pointing right at me.

Caelan didn't flinch. He looked at Saffron with a gaze far flatter and more indifferent than the one he gave me.

"She is my most important asset now," Caelan answered coldly.

"And far more talented than you, who can't even sing a single note properly."

Saffron froze, her lips trembling violently. That insult was more painful than any physical slap. She stared at me-a toxic look that promised to make my life much worse than before.

"Get out, Saffron," Caelan ordered without hesitation, his voice icy and lethal. "Or I will make sure your family is thrown out of that house today."

With ragged breaths and eyes full of deeply rooted hatred, Saffron turned and slammed the door shut. The suffocating silence reclaimed the room.

I tried to pull away from Caelan's grasp, but he only pulled me closer. His warm breath brushed against my neck as he whispered softly, "You belong to me now, Wren. Remember that."

I looked up, meeting his eyes with a mix of fiery anger and terror. I thought my suffering today was heavy enough, but as I glanced toward the tightly shut door, I realized one thing.

Saffron hadn't truly left. Through the frosted glass of the office door, I could see her silhouette still standing there like a statue-watching us with malicious intent.

Caelan noticed where I was looking. He smirked faintly, as if enjoying the torment radiating from my niece's face behind that door. He grabbed my chin, forcing me to look back at him, trapping me entirely within his power.

"Let her watch," Caelan whispered, his voice sounding like a promise of destruction. "Let her know that starting tonight, you are no longer a servant she can trample on. You are something she will never, ever be able to touch."

Beyond the door, Saffron's silhouette clenched her fists so tightly her knuckles turned white. She wouldn't let this end here. And I knew that when that door finally opened again, the real war was just beginning.