Page 5 of The Villain's Captive (The Villain's Duet 1)

“Hello?”

Silence.

I narrowed my eyes, glancing from the chair to the darkness and back to the chair. The apprehension that coated my clammy skin made it hard for me to decide whether I wanted to look at the object in front of me or if it would be safer to look away. To run.

The corner of a white card caught my attention, neatly placed on the seat of the chair. I leaned a little to the right and saw my name written in elegant calligraphy. As I read it, the hair at the back of my neck stood up, my skin instantly cold and palms sweaty. But curiosity was far stronger than caution, and with every step toward the chair, my mind kept trying to convince me how utterly stupid this was, reminding me that it was always the curious and naïve girl who got killed first in scary movies. Yet I continued and picked up the card, the texture smooth between my fingers.

Charlotte.

I sucked my bottom lip and scanned the theatre as far as the shadows allowed me to see. My hands trembled, my fingers nervously toying with the sharp corners of the card. As someone who wasn’t supposed to be here, seeing an envelope with my name on it as if whoever wrote it expected me was a whole different level of creepy. But the mind’s first line of defense against fear caused by uncertainty was to find a logical explanation.

“Chase, is that you? This isn’t funny.”

Chase and I worked together at the theatre for the last few years, cleaning other people’s messes after every show. He was known for his annoying skill at pranking everyone when they least expected it.

“Chase?”

My gaze swept around one more time before drifting to the white cello case. I’d be a goddamn liar if I said I didn’t feel the tiniest amount of excitement at the thought of what was inside it. Of course, simply because it was a cello case didn’t mean there was a cello inside. It could have been empty. Or maybe there was a bomb inside. A severed limb, or the head of a slaughtered pig.

“Jesus, Charlotte. Ease up on the horror movies,” I muttered to myself, straightening my shoulders and taking a breath as I stared at the card, which had nothing but my name written on it.

I licked my lips, my throat dry and fingers itching to open the case even though there was this loud warning knocking against my skull. I couldn’t deny it. A part of me was curious, but I tried to push that part way down—curiosity killed the cat and all that.

“Okay, pull on your big girl panties and just open it.” I leaned down and reached out, the sound of popping locks echoing through the empty theatre. As I lifted the top lid, keeping one eye closed, a soft gasp slipped past my lips. “Oh, my God.”

An antique spirited varnish cello was proudly displayed and placed on black velvet. It was the most beautiful instrument I had ever seen. A hint of pine rosin wafted around me, the scent stirring a deeply rooted excitement.

Countless hours I had spent browsing the internet staring at images of new cellos, my heart bleeding to be able to afford one. But my job here at the Alto Theatre was barely enough for me to survive on.

I leaned back on my legs, my eyes glued to the flawless, brand new cello—a piece of art, in my opinion. Why would someone leave this here for me and not say who it was from?

A chill trickled down my spine. No one besides Chase knew I was here, and he sure as hell couldn’t afford a cello like this.

Who else knew?

“Shit.” I shot up to my feet, the ice-cold chill sinking to the soles of my feet as I rapidly glanced around the theatre. Someone knew I would be here. How?

Adrenaline blasted through my veins, and I grabbed my cello bag before rushing across the stage. My feet couldn’t carry me fast enough, and paranoia clung to my skin as if a thousand eyes stared at me.

Every breath became deeper, more labored as I took two steps at a time and ran out of there. I reached for the door, but the second I touched the brass knob, a low, husky whisper echoed from the darkness. “Charlotte.”

A scream tore my throat as my heart turned fucking inside out, and I jerked around. “Who said that? Who’s there?”

Silence.

“Who is out there?” Fear tightened around my throat, and I was sure my heart would tear out of my chest. “Chase, this isn’t funny.”

I yanked the door open and rushed out. But the door slammed against my cello case, lodging it against the doorframe. I kicked at the door and pulled the case free, but as it dislodged, I stumbled and fell, my cello case skidding across the floor.

Without a second’s hesitation, I righted myself, grabbed the case, and ran out of that damn theatre hall as quickly as humanly possible. There were no words to describe the cold fear that possessed me, the thousand thoughts of horror that swept through my mind all at once.

I rushed to the exit door, the one I could always sneak in and out of, and stormed down the stairs to the underground parking lot. Every few steps, I’d turn to see if I was being followed, gasping for air. But no one followed—at least not that I could see. The second my feet hit the pavement, a crowd passed by, singing, laughing, most of them drunk off their asses.

Immediately, I fell into step behind them and didn’t dare glance behind me. My heart raced even though the New York nightlife gave me a slight sense of protection. If judging by the traffic, one would never think it was past midnight in this city.

It was only when I managed to get on a bus and safely took a seat that I allowed myself to take a breath. Sweat trickled down my spine, perspiration clinging all along my hairline, and the farther the bus took me away from the Alto Theatre, the more my pulse started to settle.

“Jesus,” I whispered, leaning my head back, my body literally feeling like it became one with the goddamn seat. I had only ever felt this kind of crippling fear once before—the kind that wrapped around your chest with its icy tentacles, slowly suffocating you, your lungs fighting for air as you drowned in reality. It was the night my mother died. The night I sat next to her bed listening to her breathe, praying that each breath she took wouldn’t be her last. I knew she was suffering. I knew she was done fighting. But the selfish daughter that I was prayed so damn hard that she wouldn’t be taken from me. Not yet. Because even though she was ready to leave this world, I wasn’t prepared to let her go.

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