Edinburgh to NYC

The Dissonant note

"Sir, I apologize, but the consortium heads have arrived," Levi’s voice was tense as he stood at the studio doors. "They are demanding an audience regarding the market shifts."

Jayden’s expression didn't flicker. He looked at Emma—pinned against the wall, her eyes wide—then back at Levi. He straightened his jacket, his presence instantly re-assuming its lethal, corporate armor.

"I will be there in five minutes," Jayden said. He leaned down, his face dangerously close to Emma’s. "We aren't finished, Emma. You and I have a score to settle. Stay in your room. Do not test my patience again."

He turned and strode out, his footsteps echoing like gunshots in the vast studio. Emma didn't wait. As soon as the sound of his departure faded, she scrambled out of the East Wing, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird. She fled to her room, needing the safety of the silk sheets and the locked door.

When she entered, Ruth was there, tidying the vanity and prepping a bath. The porcelain tub was already filled with steaming, fragrant water, scattered with petals—a luxury that felt jarring given the turmoil of her mind. Emma sank into the water, hoping to wash away the memory of the blood-stained canvases, but the silence of the house only amplified her unease.

Afterward, lunch was a solitary, suffocating affair in the formal dining hall. She expected Jayden to join her, but the seat at the head of the table remained empty. He was a ghost in his own home.

"Ruth," Emma asked, feeling the walls closing in. "Can I go to the lawn? Just for some air?"

Ruth’s face tightened with genuine regret. "I am sorry, miss. Orders are orders. You are to remain inside."

Denied the sun, Emma drifted through the corridors. The mansion felt like a sprawling, impossible maze—a labyrinth of stone and shadow. Just as she considered retreating to her room, a soft, haunting melody drifted through the air. It wasn't the cold, sharp sound of business or the heavy silence of the staff; it was a piano, played with a sorrowful, aching beauty.

She followed the sound to a grand hall in the southwest wing. Peeking around the heavy velvet curtain, she saw him.

Jayden sat at a concert grand piano. His eyes were closed, his shoulders slumped in a way she had never seen. The music was a slow, agonizingly sweet tune that seemed to bleed from his fingers.

He is so talented, Emma thought, entranced. How can a man so cold possess such a gentle soul?

But as she watched, the music began to change. The slow, melancholic rhythm twisted into something frantic, harsh, and dissonant. Jayden’s brow furrowed, his jaw clenching. He was remembering—not the beauty, but the cracks. He saw his parents, the constant, jagged edge of their failing marriage, and himself—the only thread keeping the fragile Morgan glass from shattering. Then, the memory shifted, sharpening into a vision of the High Bridge. The shock of the gunshot, the look in Emma’s eyes as she tried to end him.

CRACK.

Jayden struck a final, violent chord that vibrated through the floor boards. He went deathly still, his head tilting toward the door. He didn't need to see her to know she was there. He *felt* her.

Emma didn't wait for him to turn. She fled, her slippers silent on the marble, back toward the safety of the main floor.

---

Dinner was a quiet affair, but the tension was thick enough to choke on. When Jayden entered, the air in the dining hall seemed to vibrate. He walked toward the head of the table but, to Emma’s surprise, he sat in the chair directly to her right—the head chair, close enough that she could feel the heat radiating from him.

The staff served them in complete silence. Emma picked at her food, the clinking of her silver against the china sounding like a siren in the quiet room. She couldn't take it anymore.

"Why?" she burst out. "Why are you keeping me alive? You say I owe you, but I do nothing here except roam like a ghost. What is the point of this?"

The maids standing along the wall froze, their eyes widening in terror. No one ever spoke to Mr. Morgan like that.

Jayden didn't look up from his meal for a long time. Finally, he turned his head, his icy blue eyes fixing on her. His voice was a low, dangerous rumble. "And sneaking into random rooms?"

Emma paled, dropping her gaze to her plate. He knew.

The remainder of the meal was consumed in a heavy, suffocating silence. As Jayden stood to leave, Emma felt a desperate urge to break the ice, or perhaps just to reclaim a shred of her humanity.

"Good night," she whispered.

Jayden paused. He stood with his back to her, his hand gripping the edge of the table. For a second, he looked as if he might turn around, as if there was a question burning on his tongue—but he couldn't. He stopped, his shoulders rising and falling with a sharp breath, and then he simply walked away, leaving Emma alone in the cavernous, quiet room.

Emma rose as well, her head spinning slightly. The exhaustion of the day was catching up to her. She retreated to her room, but as she reached for the handle of her door, a sudden, stabbing pain erupted in her chest—right over the site of her recent surgery. It felt as if a cold, serrated blade was twisting beneath her ribs.

She gasped, her knees hitting the floor with a dull thud. Her vision blurred, the edges of the room turning dark. She clawed at her chest, struggling for air, but the pain only deepened, radiating through her lungs like liquid fire.

"Miss Emma!"

Ruth, who had been nearby, rushed forward, her face pale with panic. She saw Emma trembling, her knuckles white as she gripped the doorframe. Ruth didn't hesitate; she sprinted toward the main study, her frantic footsteps echoing through the hall.

Jayden was at his desk, still reviewing documents from the day's meetings, when the door burst open.

"Sir! It’s Miss Emma—she’s collapsed!" Ruth cried, her voice trembling. "She’s in pain, sir, real pain near the incision... she can barely breathe!"

The heavy pen in Jayden's hand snapped in half.

He didn't say a word. He surged out of his chair, his stride long and lethal, moving faster than Ruth could follow. He reached the hallway just as Emma’s head dropped against the cool wood of the door.

"Emma?"

His voice was no longer cold or distant. It was raw, stripped of the "corporate armor" he had worn all day. He dropped to his knees beside her, his hands hovering, terrified to touch her, yet desperate to save her.

"Emma, look at me," he commanded, his voice shaking. He gathered her into his arms, his touch surprisingly gentle as he cradled her against his chest. As he felt the frantic, irregular rhythm of her heart against his palm, the cold, composed billionaire vanished. There was only a man terrified of losing the only thing that made his life meaningful.

"Levi!" Jayden roared, his voice booming through the mansion, shaking the very foundations of the maze. "Get the doctor here *now*! If he isn't here in ten minutes, burn the bridge and bring him by force!"

He pulled her closer, pressing his forehead against hers, his eyes dark with a mixture of helplessness and fury. He wasn't just a guard anymore; in the dim light of the hallway, he looked like a man who would tear the entire world down just to keep her heart beating.