Page 28 of Cruel Hero

Curiosity overrides my lingering fear. I slip out of bed, wrapping myself in Adrien’s shirt, the one he left on the floor earlier. It’s soft and smells like him, providing some much-needed comfort as I venture into the hallway.

“Adrien?” I call out softly but receive no answer.

I follow the music to the living room, where I find him sitting at a grand piano, his fingers gliding effortlessly over the keys. The room is bathed in soft moonlight filtering through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting everything in an ethereal glow.

Adrien’s hair falls across his forehead, and as he plays shirtless, the muscles in his arms and back flex and relax in rhythm with the melody. He seems lost in the music, and I lean against the doorframe, watching him, feeling the pull of his melody—the beauty and the pain it embodies.

As the song comes to an end, Adrien’s fingers linger on the keys, and he raises his head. Our eyes lock, and for a moment, time seems to stand still.

“I didn’t know you played,” I whisper, not wanting to break the spell.

A small, rueful smile curves his lips. “I used to when I was younger. Piano was my first love.”

I cross the space between us, my hands reaching out to touch the piano keys. “It’s beautiful,” I say, trailing my fingers over the cold, smooth surface of the keys. “What’s it called?”

“It doesn’t have a name.” Adrien’s eyes follow my fingers. “I compose when I can’t sleep. It helps quiet the noise in my head.”

I’m struck by how vulnerable he looks, how different from the confident, sometimes arrogant man I’ve come to know.

“Do you want to talk about it? Whatever’s keeping you awake?”

“You.”

The word hangs in the air, heavy with unspoken meaning.

“What about me?”

“You make me feel like I can’t breathe,” Adrien says, his voice low and hoarse. “Like I’m drowning in a sea of emotions. And I can’t escape.”

I step closer, reaching out to place a hand on his shoulder. “Is that such a bad thing?”

“No, but it has consequences. It’s not just about me, Tiffany. There’s an entire world out there that we need to protect from our secrets.”

As I approach, the intricate rose tattoo on his chest catches my eye. Without thinking, I extend my hand, my fingers hovering just above his skin.

“May I?”

Adrien nods, his eyes never leaving mine as I gently trace the delicate lines of the tattoo. The skin is warm beneath my fingertips, his pulse quickening.

“I’ve always wondered about it. Does it have a special meaning?”

He lets out a soft sigh. “It does. The yellow rose was my mother’s favorite flower. She loved them. Said they reminded her of sunshine. This tattoo—it’s my way of keeping her with me. A reminder of her light, even in the darkest times.”

Without thinking, I step closer, my arms sliding around his waist as I rest my head against his chest. His heartbeat is steady beneath my ear, a comforting rhythm that grounds me. “I’m so sorry.”

Adrien’s arms wrap around me instinctively, his hands resting against my back as if he’s afraid I’ll slip away. “It was a long time ago.”

His voice is soft, but I can hear the weight of his grief, even after all these years. I tighten my hold on him, wanting to absorb some of that pain, to share the burden he’s carried alone for so long.

“I remember the summer my parents died in a car crash. I was eleven, Olivia sixteen,” I murmur against his chest. “We were both so young and yet Olivia held me together through it all. I remember the endless nights of tears and confusion, and then there was the guilt—the feeling that it was my fault for not being there with them. I remember how I clung to my sister, needing her to ground me in reality when everything was spinning out of control.”

Adrien pulls me onto his lap, and I snuggle into his chest before continuing. “You know, my uncle moved in just after they passed away, and from that very first night, I began hearing screams every single night. At first, my uncle would come into my room, sit on my bed, and reassure me it was just my imagination and that I was safe. Eventually, I convinced myself he was right, that the screams were just that—fears. That they would eventually go away. And they did, after I switched rooms and moved two stories up.”

He runs his fingers through my hair. “Do you miss them?”

“My parents? Every day. I remember my mom’s laughter, the way she used to bake cookies, and the smell of her favorite perfume. And Dad’s strong, calloused hands, and the way he’d sing me to sleep when I was little. And sometimes, I wonder if we ever truly get over losing someone we love.”

“I wish I could say that our pain lessens over time, but the ache never fully goes away. We just learn to live with it, to find ways to cope. That’s why I play music, why I compose. It’s the only thing that makes the guilt bearable.”

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