Chapter -1
“𝘖𝘯𝘦 𝘚𝘵𝘢𝘳, 𝘖𝘯𝘦 𝘗𝘪𝘢𝘯𝘰, 𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘛𝘰𝘰 𝘔𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘞𝘩𝘪𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨”
The Vasiliev Winter Gala smelled like fake roses, wet marble, and secrets.
Every chandelier screamed “power,”
Every smile whispered “politics,”
And in the middle of it, Lila stood like the only person who knew none of this was real.
Red silk. Bare shoulders. Silver heels she didn’t pick.
She wasn’t here to be admired.
She was here to be paraded.
In a far corner, behind a glass of untouched wine, Ethan Marcel watched her.
No one noticed he was watching.
No one ever did—until it was too late.
Lila turned.
Locked eyes with the boy who didn’t belong.
Hair messy. wearing formals .The pianist who refused to smile.
She recognized that kind of rebellion.
𝑳𝒊𝒍𝒂 𝒗𝒂𝒔𝒊𝒍𝒊𝒆𝒗 (𝑭𝒍) (19)
“Look at him. Like the room bores him, like we bore him.
So why’s he staring at me like I’m the only thing alive here?” *mumbling in low voice*
He didn’t ask.
He didn’t wait.
He just walked to the bench like it owed him something
His fingers hit the first notes like a threat
Chopin.
But dragged through smoke
and grief
Isabelle Marcel sipped champagne without blinking
𝑳𝒊𝒍𝒂 𝒗𝒂𝒔𝒊𝒍𝒊𝒆𝒗 (𝑭𝒍) (19)
*voice low, bitter-sweet*
“God. He’s playing like something’s trying to escape him.”
Ethan never looked at the keys.
Only at her
𝑬𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒏 𝑴𝒂𝒓𝒄𝒆𝒍 (𝑴𝒍) (21)
“If she looks away first, I’ll stop.
If she doesn’t…
then I know she hears it too.” 💭
But Lila didn’t look away.
She tilted her head.
She smiled—but not kindly.
𝑳𝒊𝒍𝒂 𝒗𝒂𝒔𝒊𝒍𝒊𝒆𝒗 (𝑭𝒍) (19)
“What, are you trying to impress me or warn me?”
He didn’t answer.
He just shifted the key—minor, sharper, cruel.
When the piece ended, silence followed.
Real silence.
The kind that hurts.
She set her glass down. Walked toward him.
He stood, finally speaking.
𝑬𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒏 𝑴𝒂𝒓𝒄𝒆𝒍 (𝑴𝒍) (21)
“So… did I bore you yet?”
𝑳𝒊𝒍𝒂 𝒗𝒂𝒔𝒊𝒍𝒊𝒆𝒗 (𝑭𝒍) (19)
*softly*“No.
You made it worse.”
𝑳𝒊𝒍𝒂 𝒗𝒂𝒔𝒊𝒍𝒊𝒆𝒗 (𝑭𝒍) (19)
“I liked pretending I was numb.”
He didn’t smile.
But something in his eyes softened.
𝑬𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒏 𝑴𝒂𝒓𝒄𝒆𝒍 (𝑴𝒍) (21)
“Then I guess I’m sorry for making you feel again.”
𝑳𝒊𝒍𝒂 𝒗𝒂𝒔𝒊𝒍𝒊𝒆𝒗 (𝑭𝒍) (19)
“Don’t be.
If I’m going to drown, I’d rather know who pushed me.”
And just like that—
the first war line was drawn.
Not with blood.
With music.
And eyes.
𝑺𝒉𝒊𝒚𝒂
𝒔𝒂𝒘 𝒕𝒘𝒐 𝒇𝒍𝒂𝒎𝒆𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒅𝒊𝒅𝒏’𝒕 𝒃𝒆𝒈 𝒕𝒐 𝒃𝒖𝒓𝒏,
𝑩𝒖𝒕 𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒕𝒐𝒖𝒄𝒉𝒆𝒅 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆 𝒇𝒊𝒓𝒆 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒕𝒉 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒍𝒆𝒔𝒔𝒐𝒏.
𝑯𝒆 𝒑𝒍𝒂𝒚𝒆𝒅 𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒏 𝒐𝒏 𝒂 𝒑𝒊𝒂𝒏𝒐’𝒔 𝒈𝒓𝒊𝒏,
𝑨𝒏𝒅 𝒔𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒎𝒊𝒍𝒆𝒅 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒂𝒓 𝒉𝒂𝒅 𝒇𝒊𝒏𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒚 𝒃𝒆𝒈𝒖𝒏.
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