Her Silent Symphony, His Ruthless Claim

Chapter 5

The USB drive was folded inside my fist so tightly that its edges had printed themselves into my palm. I had played the melody a hundred times in my head since midnight, every note a step closer to a cliff, and gosh.. I still could not tell whether I was rehearsing a performance or a funeral.

In the mirror, a stranger in a black coat stared back at me with my mother's eyes. "Breathe sweetie," I mouthed to her. "Just breathe." She did not look convinced. I slid the drive and my phone into my pocket, smoothed my hair with hands that refused to be steady, and listened to the building hold its breath, every second dragging me closer to the hour that would either free me or bury me.

At exactly eight o'clock, the apartment door unlocked in silence. Caelan stood there clad in a pitch-black tailored suit that made him look like a cold-blooded angel of death. His gaze swept over my appearance from head to toe, appraising my readiness, ensuring I had fully transformed into the obedient puppet meant to be manipulated today.

"It's showtime, Wren," he murmured low, leaving zero room for argument. His fingers curled around my wrist-tight, fiercely possessive, yet simultaneously sending an alien, scorching vibration across my skin.

The limousine ride to the main Ashford Sound Group building felt like marching toward a scaffold. The silence wrapping us inside was heavy enough to cut with a blade. Caelan shot me a brief glance through his dark sunglasses, completely oblivious to the fact that tucked inside my coat pocket lay two ticking time bombs ready to detonate his entire family empire this morning: the USB drive from Mr. Pierce and the cracked phone flashing a warning message from "Mother."

Upon arrival, the grand auditorium was already swarming with senior executives, wealthy investors from across the city, and a relentless flurry of media camera flashes. Off to the side, Saffron stood sporting a forced, triumphant smile; she still harbored the delusion that her threats from last night had crushed my spine.

"Go on, Wren," Caelan's voice rasped right against my ear, freezing yet absolute in its demand as we stepped near the stage wings. "Show the world who truly owns that melody."

I drew a long breath, gathering every ounce of lingering courage, and stepped up onto the stage. Towering spotlights instantly slammed into my face with blinding brilliance, turning the sea of humanity below into a shifting, pitch-black abyss waiting to swallow me whole. In the front row, Caelan sat with rigid posture, locking his piercing gaze on me. Beside him, board members and investors held their collective breath.

I settled onto the polished black grand piano bench. My sweat-slicked fingers brushed the freezing ivory keys.

The mysterious message that popped up on my phone echoed a stern warning in my mind .: "Trust no one ... That melody is a warning."

Then, my eyes drifted back to Caelan-the man who had abducted and caged me, yet concurrently, a man trapped within the cage of his own father's lies. He had no inkling that the crown of power he prided himself on was stained with the blood of my parents.

Caelan gave a microscopic nod with his chin, a silent command for me to commence playing the fatal score he handed over last night.

I closed my eyes for a heartbeat, then reopened them. My fingers struck the initial key.

No. That was not the ruthless melody Caelan demanded. Nor was it the flat disaster threatened by Saffron.

I began channeling the authentic lullaby-a pure, tender symphony of childhood memories once taught by my mother in our obliterated living room. Yet, gradually, I warped those notes, reshaping them into a piercing, haunting composition echoing across the entire hall. Instantly, Caelan's brows shot upward. His features stiffened. Executives in the front row began murmuring in genuine confusion.

Before anyone in the hall could intercede, my trembling hand dove into my coat pocket, retrieved Mr. Pierce's USB drive, and jammed it rapidly into the compact data port wired directly to the piano's primary sound system.

Click.

The audio file bypassed the piano entirely, flooding the high-powered auditorium speakers with a retro-recorded dialogue from the past-undeniable digital proof detailing how the traffic accident fourteen years ago had been orchestrated by Caelan's late father to hijack copyrights and silence my family permanently.

Chaos erupted inside the auditorium in an explosive instant. Investors bolted from their seats, shouting in fury, exchanging looks of pure horror. Saffron shrieked hysterically from backstage, attempting to sprint forward, though security personnel stood paralyzed amidst the panicking crowd.

I looked up from the keyboard. In the front row, Caelan surged up so violently his mahogany chair toppled backward with a resounding crash. His face was drained of color-not the wrathful glare of a betrayed dictator, but the soul-shattering shock of a man abruptly realizing the most revered figure in his life, his own father, was a cold-blooded murderer.

Our eyes locked across the swirling eye of the storm. Raw wounds, heavy betrayal, and absolute devastation radiated clearly from his pupils.

The auditorium's main lights suddenly blacked out entirely.

Total darkness swallowed the hall amid the hysterical screams of people fleeing for safety.

Someone leaped agilely onto the stage from behind the heavy velvet curtains. Before I could cry out or flee, strong hands clamped tightly over my mouth, while another arm hooked violently around my waist, dragging me blindly into the blackness of backstage.