Page 26 of The Woman

She was playing my piano.

Pushing to my feet, I swipe my key and phone off the table and rush to my personal elevator. I need to get home and get to the bottom of this.

I’ve been driving all week to feel a sense of control over something in my life, so I head straight for my car in the parking garage.

The drive to my apartment building is as quick as my racing heart, and I’m surprised I didn’t get pulled over and given a few speeding tickets along the way.

There’s an urgent thrill pumping through my veins at the thought of catching her red-handed, confronting her, and finding out how she’ll react.

After parking out on the street, instead of taking the extra time to park in the underground garage, I head straight inside to the elevator.

My instinct is to burst through the door and start demanding answers, but if she hears me coming, she could quickly stop and pretend to be cleaning it again. So instead, I use my key since it’s quieter than the code, and open the door to my apartment as quietly as possible.

The music hits my ears immediately, and I find myself pausing just inside my door for a second. It’s that same tune. The one I thought I heard last time. It seems so familiar in a way, but I don’t know where I’ve heard it before. The faint sounds of it have reached me in my dreams on occasion since that night. It seems to make its way into my very core, eliciting a strange feeling, which is odd considering it’s just music.

Like a predator approaching prey, I slowly prowl toward the living room, keeping my steps light. She’s not expecting me to be here, so there’s no reason for her to be on alert. With her eyes still closed, she pours herself into the melody, and I creep further into the room. There is so much personality in her movements, unlike that empty shell she portrays most of the time.

I stand watching, mesmerized by the music, but also by what I’m seeing and how fucking beautiful she looks in this moment.

I wish I knew where I’ve heard that tune before. But more importantly, I want to know how the hell she knows how to play it.

A moment later, her eyes flutter open as she nears the end of the piece, and the second she sees me, they blow wide open, a small sound escaping her mouth. Her hands fly away from the keys as if she can pretend she wasn’t doing anything, and then she scrambles to her feet, backing up a couple of steps like that space will make a difference. Her chest moves with quick breaths, and I track her tongue as it pokes out to wet her lips.

Tilting my head, I assess her closely. “Were you playing my piano?” Licking her lips again, she glances to the side and then returns her sights to me, choosing to remain silent. “I asked you a question.”

My voice comes out low and calm, despite my heart racing, pumping what feels like electrified blood to every extremity. Even before she opens her mouth, I feel like I already know what her answer will be.

Chapter 13

Avery

“I asked you a question.”

Phoenix stands a short distance from me, and even though I’ve seen him dressed in a suit almost daily, right now, with the dark charcoal covering his large frame, he looks more intimidating than ever.

Shifting on my feet, I try to keep my hands from fidgeting at my sides as he remains completely still, waiting for my answer.

“No.”

The slight tilt at the side of his mouth makes it seem like maybe he was expecting that answer, and I just walked into some kind of trap that I didn’t see. I want to pull my eyes away from him and avoid his gaze, but as so often happens, they stay drawn to his face. It’s so symmetrical that you could fold it in half and have everything line up perfectly. The symmetry is extremely appealing to me in the same way it is when things are organized by color or size.

“Who are you?” he asks, with those beautiful gray eyes with a mixture of suspicion and confusion staring back at me.

They are the exact same shade of the stone surrounding the Koi pond that I used to frequent at the facility. Dark and light grays mixed together. I always felt safe and relaxed there, and despite having to hide what I am, for some reason, his eyes offered those similar feelings.

Not now, though.

Seconds pass before I finally decide to open my mouth. “I’m your companio–” His palm slaps down loudly on top of the piano, cutting me off and causing me to jump.

“Don’t make me ask again.”

Even in this situation, his voice, although masculine and commanding, is beautiful in tone. It doesn’t surprise me since it passes through lips formed from full softness. Ever since I was chosen, I’ve wanted to reach out and trace them, and the feel of them on my mouth and body has stayed with me ever since I took a chance and kissed him.

But none of that matters now. Not when he’s waiting impatiently for an answer I don’t want to give.

I’ve spent my time here pretending; spent most of my life pretending, and trying to act as if I don’t know anything, don’t feel anything, and have no thoughts. And I know since arriving here I’ve slipped up a few times, but nothing as monumentally as bad as this.

Right now, I know the fear I’m unable to hide is written all over my face.

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