Page 4 of The Villain's Captive (The Villain's Duet 1)

2

I glancedaround before slipping the key into the lock. It was just after midnight, and staff had already left, leaving the Alto Theatre empty and silent. This was wrong, maybe even borderline trespassing. But since this was technically my workplace, sneaking in here after hours wasn’t that bad. I promised myself I’d stop as soon as I got caught—which would probably be a given, anyway. But I hadn’t gotten caught yet, so I’d taken that as a sign to continue my midnight rendezvous’ here at the empty theatre.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“Jesus.” I yelped and slapped my hand against my chest, taking a deep breath when I recognized the familiar voice. “Chase, you fucking asshole.”

He smirked and placed his hands in his pants pockets. “You shouldn’t be lurking around here alone at night.”

“First of all,” I tucked a stray curl behind my ear, “I’m not lurking. And secondly,” I let out a breath, “I bet being alone here is much safer than at my apartment.”

“You’re probably right. Your place is kind of a dump.”

I slapped his arm. “My place is not a dump. The neighborhood, however, that’s a different story.”

Chase slipped on his jacket and pulled a beanie over his light blond hair. “I’m serious, though. You should be careful. You know there are all kinds of monsters in this city.”

“Oh, yeah?” I narrowed my eyes. “Like who?”

“You’ve heard of The Musician, right?”

I balanced the cello case in both hands. “Oh, please. The man’s a phantom, if he even exists. More like a folktale, a scary story parents tell their kids to keep them off the streets at night.”

“Well, I’ve heard some of the orchestra girls say he roams the halls of this theatre some nights.”

I grimaced. “And they would know, how?”

“I dunno. But my dad always says, where there’s smoke, there’s fire.” Chase shrugged. “Let me give you a ride home.”

“I’m fine, really.”

He glanced at the cello case in my hands. “Ever thought about joining the orchestra?”

“What?” I shifted from one leg to the other. “No way. My stage fright is debilitating.”

“Bullshit. I’ve heard you play, Char. You’re good. You should totally audition.”

“No.” My cheeks burned. “I can’t. Maybe someday.”

He shot me a lopsided grin. “Okay. Well, are you sure you don’t need a lift home?”

“Positive.”

“Cool. Just don’t stay too long.” He walked down the corridor but turned back around. “Oh, and if you get caught, I know nothing about this.”

“Of course, you don’t.” I shot him a half-smile.

As Chase disappeared around the corner, I took a final look down the halls before carrying the case through the door and closing it behind me. This goddamn case was hanging on its last thread, and I expected it to disintegrate or fall into tatters on the floor any day now. It used to be my mother’s before she passed two years ago. Cancer stole her from me, and her death and my father’s continued absence throughout my life had left me an orphan at eighteen. It had always just been my mom and me.

Now it was just me.

I turned on my small pocket flashlight and slowly walked down the stairs toward the stage. Excitement popped inside my veins. There was no pain tonight, which meant the next hour had the potential to be excellent. Just me and my cello, without the worry of failure and the judgment of the crowd.

By now, I knew there were precisely twenty-four stairs before I reached the front of the theatre, my pumps silently moving across the floor. Gently, I placed my cello case on the stage, hoisted myself up to sit on my ass, and straightened. It smelled like freshly polished wooden floors, and my shoes made that squeaky sound as I lightly stepped across the stage to switch on the light. The bright stage light blinded me for a second, and it took my eyes some time to adjust. Only then did I notice the single chair placed in the middle of the stage, a white cello case resting against it.

I froze. My shoulders tightened, and the blood in my veins ran cold. I’d be lying if I said that white cello, which seemed to have come out of nowhere, didn’t spook the shit out of me.

I remained still, fisting my hands at my sides, my body as stiff as a fucking log. I didn’t know what rattled me more—the fact that I might be on the verge of getting caught or the fact that I might not be alone in here as I thought.

---