Revenge in Silk and Diamonds

(Lena’s Point of View) The drive back after the party felt muted. Adrian looked off, jaw firm, eyes far away. City lights moved on his face like gold threads, showing each silent thought. I thought about asking what he felt, but his quietness made me pause. Back at the tall flat, he went to his study, not saying anything. I saw the door shut and heard the soft lock click. I should feel normal about his barriers and quiet, but tonight felt new between us. I walked gently in the living room, the floor echoing my steps. The space seemed unusual with its order, each thing placed just so, colors aligned as if made on intentionally. But here longer, I saw small signs. The mug with old coffee in the kitchen each day. The mark on the couch where he would sit. The light smell of coffee that stayed after he left. This wasn't a heart. It was just a cover for his ghost. I tried not to mind. He still hurt my dad's work, and signed away jobs like marks on paper. But acting like I hated him was now harder than acting like I loved him. The sun peeked in, Adrian had vanished before my waking eyes. His plate sat untouched, coffee still warm on the stove. I took a cup and drifted to the living room, letting my sight swim across the space once more. That's when my gaze fell on a door down the hall. It was there always, but locked tight every time. But today, the lock seemed like it was playing loose. A pull took hold. I knew it was wrong. If he knew, I’d lose much more than just his trust, but something wild in me could not stop.. I pushed the door open an inch in slow movement. The room was hushed, lit gently by a gentle window's glow. Unlike the penthouse, this room felt very lived in. A piano loomed near the middle, covered in dust so fine. Sheet music lay scattered on top, some pages old and frayed. Books were piled up, too, nothing like his office books. The spines were bent, pages marked with ink. I edged up to the piano and let my hand float over the keys. A soft note sang out, hushed yet full of charm. A photo sat near, masked by the book of songs. I snatched it up almost before I knew it. It showed Adrian, years back, smiling wide, with a lady, whose eyes were kind. They seemed light, carefree. A side I'd never seen on him before. While I was looking around , a voice ripped through the quiet room. “What do you want in my private room?” I stopped cold. Adrian stood at the door, his face strange, his eyes darker than I’d known them. “I—I didn’t mean anything really—” He came closer, eyes so sharp. “This room is my private space.” “Yep,” I blurted, dropping the picture fast. “The door wasn't stuck, so I just thought I could sneak in.” “Sneak in for what?” His voice was even, but it made my heart race quickly. “Do you Think you'd just snoop around my stuff?” “I wondered,” I shared, trying not to tremble. “You share zero things about yourself. You want me to act like I do, but you hide every single piece of you.” A strange look crossed his face fast, before I could guess it. He took a deep breath and said, “That's the whole game, Lena. You’re not meant to know me.” His words hurt more than I wished they did. I crossed my arms tightly on my chest. “ Do you think being secretive will keep you safe, but it just makes you feel lost and lonely.” He stared at me. Then, quietly, he added, “You don't know anything about my loneliness.” I didn’t speak back. He turned away quickly as his hand touched the photo and shut the piano's top. “Stay away from here,” he said, his voice cold. Then he walked off, leaving the air full with something big and hanging. The day dragged by slowly, I tried to read, to clear my head, but my thoughts went back to that photo,the lady, his smile and the keys. That night, I saw him in the room, sitting still with some whiskey. The town glowed below us, and the rain hit the glass in soft waves. I waited before I talked. “Was she someone special to you?” He didn't glance up. “You don’t stop asking, do you?” “Not when it means much,” I said. He turned his head slowly, his eyes looked sad. “It was way back then.” “Who was the girl?” He gazed into the glass, paused, then he spoke up. “My sister, you know. Emily was her name.” Those simple words did catch me off guard. “She played piano so well,” he mumbled. “She filled this house with sound. Joy. Tunes. And then one day, it stopped like that.” His voice softened low. “Car accident took her life quickly. I should've been driving, not her.” My throat felt so tight. I wanted to speak , but I discovered that I could not. He glanced at me and for the first time, the fake mask was gone and his eyes felt so warm. They were so warm that they looked so real. “I quit locking the room two days ago,” he said softly. “Maybe I wished that someone would find it.” I was lost for words. So I just sat quietly beside him,while it rained heavily around us. After some time, he set the glass down and leaned back. “You recall her, I think. You have that way of viewing the earth.” “Am I being complimented now?” I then asked. He almost had a real smile. “Perhaps so.” The quiet that filled the air wasn’t bad this time. It felt… calm. Odd, yet it felt so calm. I found I was staring hard at his strong jaw, the dark eyes, the sad vibe making him less star and more man. He seemed to notice this act. “What now?” was his question. “Nothing,” I told him fast, turning away. But it was not nothing. It was a slow, real pull that I did not care to name. Days passed on, and some change took place. We fought still, faked it for show, yet the room between us felt less keen and real. He began to speak slightly more, yet just enough. I found out he loved his black coffee though he loathed dark chocolate. He stayed up too late reading old reports, not from need, but he just hated sleeping. He kept his piano room locked not just from sorrow—but it was guilt. I just loathed the fact I understood him. One night, after a charity dinner where we smiled, I saw him by the window. City lights washed his face, like a softer feeling in his eyes. “You know,” I said, coming near him, “for one who says they hate pretense, you spend time acting like you’re fine.” He stared at me, brow raised up high. “You spend too much time pretending that you do not value my thoughts. “Touché.” We paused, quiet once more. The city seemed distant, a dream neither wished to leave. Then he spoke words that made my breath still. “At times I think about what might happen if we met in some other way.” The words felt simple, yet stung more than they truly should. I stared at him, searching all of his face. “Perhaps we might not have liked each other.” “Perhaps,” he said. “Or maybe there was some chance for the two of us.” The air got heavier now. His stare stayed longer than it should have done. I felt the pulse in my throat, loud and fast. Before I could respond, his phone began to ring, breaking tension. He took it from his pocket, his face shifted so fast. “What now?” he asked in sharp, clear words. I discovered that his countenance changed as he listened. Then, without saying a word, he took his jacket and walked out of the room. “Adrian?” I yelled to his back. “What just took place?” He gave no reply at all to me then. I went to the lift after him, my heart going nuts. He faced me then, his eyes blacker than dark coal. “Lena, stay right here.” “No way. Just tell mea” He stopped me, his tone rough and scary. “Do not come with me.” The doors shut fast before I could ask one more thing. I was still there, just looking at empty space. My head spun fast. He seemed scared stiff, not mad but scared. And Adrian Cross was brave; fear was not his thing. I went to the suite, my pulse beating speedly. The rain came down in heavy down pour, beating on the glass. Something felt off. Real bad stuff was coming. And this bad thing had just jumped right in our way.