We will see

Seraphina's POV

The lights hanging above the stage blinds me instantly—but in a breathtaking way as the spotlight moves down on my gracious figure, the bow to my violin placed gently at the tip of the strings itching to strike a chord as my fingers gripped the base of the violin.

The silence that washes over the room isn't an uncomfortable or mocking one. It never was.

Like always, they're waiting for me to make a move.

My signature move.

I sucked in a sharp breath, noticing that another spotlight is now shining on my seat—almost as if urging me there like a spell.

But I don't move immediately.

Instead, I savour the breathtaking reflection of my image against the polished floors, the glass windows, and of course, the big screens plastered all over the walls.

Because why the rush when the night has only just started?

I bit back a smile and finally walked to my seat, my satin dress trailing behind; midnight blue sparkling at every edge of the material with crystals stitched into the design in a way that no doubt made the dress glitter underneath the chandeliers.

I was breathtaking.

That, I know. But tonight isn't just about me.

I place the violin under my chin, letting my fingers hover over the strings as I suck in a breath to let my body and music sync as one.

It's about the charity gala and what the people wanted. Always about them.

Exhaling softly, I brush my fingers along the ends of the strings, letting the soft melody break the tense atmosphere. Then, without hesitation, I let my bow glide down the humming strings effortlessly, stringing out what sounded like a sad melodramatic melody.

One that I had written only three nights before, in a blur of insomnia and boredom.

I take another deep breath and angle the bow closer to the top, striking it slowly in a downwards pull—a pull that takes me out if reality as I’m not in the ballroom anymore.

I'm in the rain, dancing barefoot on crunched leaves and pebblestones, my arms splayed out at the wind brushing mercilessly against my face, laughing at nothing and everything in particular.

I was eight again, playing in my mum's attic.

I was a rebel and curious little thing wrapped up in the body of an obedient, naive child. They wanted obedience at every order.

I strike harder at the chords, letting the melody slowly rise from a lower octave to a higher one, pouring my pain into it.

But all I ever wanted was freedom.

I don't stop when the melody switches tempo into a really familiar one.

Freedom to be me.

I hear whispers and gasps around me, the sound of foodsteps slowly approaching my direction but I don't stop.

I don't stop until…

Bang.

All the lights on the stage immediately go out on the last octave, causing confusion and loud murmurs from the audience, but it was all part of the plan.

Now, that's my signature move.

The music doesn't stop playing. Oh, it never does.

Two spotlights align from the corner of the room and slowly zeroes on me, revealing my tiptoeing dance steps as the melody finally harmonizes into the song “Carol of the Bells”.

Thanks to the sound engineers, my prerecorded melodies were being played as I twirled and grasped around in my current ballerina costume—one that I'd quickly thrown on when the lights were out.

I splay my fingers across my chest as the music pull at the strings in my chest and arch my back with my eyes closed, head tilting backwards in a graceful composure.

Screams of admiration fill my eardrums from the front rows even though the event isn't over.

I’m used to the adoration. The whispers from judges. My life being a show on cameras.

But tonight...something about it feels different.

But I don't let the feeling weigh me down as I clench my jaws and spin, and spin, and spin.

And spin.

The music comes to a stop. My chest heaves with shock and thrill from the adrenaline still pumping in my blood as I flutter my eyes open and see that I'm not longer on my feet, but now tilted graciously in the arms of someone as though they'd stopped me from falling.

Confused, I look up and stare at my saviour, marking out the features that suddenly made me want to be there forever: Dark messy hair, sharp jawline that made him pass for a topclass model, eyes as cold and dark like obsidian, and his lips….

But…why does he look familiar?

He stares back at me, smiling—not pulling away or trying to humiliate me by calling out that this isn't a part of the event.

My breath hitches at the back of my throat.

Then suddenly, the crowd grows wild and cheers at us, hooting and clapping. Some rush to the front row to have a closer view at us—at him. But we're already bowing—or maybe I'd pressed down on his back to mimick my bowing posture when I noticed he was still staring at me strangely—and slowly withdrawing backstage.

“I didn't know you also dance.” His voice startles me from behind, making me facepalm in frustration.

“I didn't think I'd get a backup dancer during my performance.” I frown and narrow my eyes at him, noticing how he's too calm and amused for a dancer.

Especially as a dancer shouldn't be in suits.

“Seraphina Leone.” He suddenly said, bringing my attention back to him. His voice is like a strong command. Deep, compelling…dangerous enough for me to know where a voice like this belonged to.

I freeze in my tracks, my heart pounding against my ribcage when he chuckles, finding my response quite amusing.

“What's your name?” I asked, my voice barely over a whisper. “Talk before I call the security on you!”

“You already know me, princess.” He points out, his thick accent showing as he flashed his middle ring to my view, my eyes widening in realization at the crystal lion symbol stamped there.

“L–lazaro De Luca?”

I knew he looked…familiar.

Just whispering the name alone sends a shiver down my spine.

The De Luca family are the sole enemies to my family—the thorn to our fleshes. The ones whose entire ambition is to reign on blood and power—something that my family have also been after for some months now.

And now, their son is here….in this small, tight space with me?

“What…do you want?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady from sounding shaky. “If you're here to kill me…”

“And why would I want to waste such a precious talent as yours?” He raised an eyebrow, tucking both hands in his pockets.

“I don't know…I'm not the one stalking the daughter of my enemy.”

His lips twitch into a smile, one that doesn’t reach his eyes. “You flatter me, princess. However, I'm here to make an offe—”

“I'm not interested. You’re wasting your time.” I dismissed him, my eyes narrowing down on him as I take off the last buckle of my shoes.

“I didn't even say what the deal was.”

“I’m not your type nor collateral. I don't do business with my hands stained.” I point out then with a grit of teeth, say, “Turn around. Now.”

Surprised, he does so and faces the wall, not trying to move a muscle to play a mischievous move. With a huff, I quickly slip into something more…comfortable.

A sundress.

“I think you’ll find out soon enough, Seraphina, that I’m not one to take no for an answer.”

I don’t flinch when he steps closer. My eyes shut against their will as I tried to swallow the anger running through my veins at his words.

“Certainly not orders from daddy's gi—”

Slap!

The sound resonate hard around the walls of the room, coming in fast and sharp as my palm connected with his smooth, modelled skin, leaving a hot red mark across his chiseled face.

“You know nothing about me, Lazaro. You hear me? Nothing!” I spit out.

Lazaro doesn’t move. Oh no, he doesn't move a muscle. Instead, he sucks up whatever emotion was threatening to burst out and curls up a slow, sadistic smile as the barrel of his gun pushes up against my heaving chest. “I like you,” he breathes out. “You have fire that most women quench in the face of danger.”

“You won’t like me for long,” I hiss, pulling away from the gun still against on my chest. Am I afraid? Yes. Will I let a De Luca know that? No. “I will not engage in whatever deal the Lucas are offering! My dad will never agree. No matter the price.”

“We’ll see.” His eyes shines with a promise, that smile still plastered on his face. “And when you do, you'll be begging me.”

I grit my teeth to snap at him but just then, the phone on the table across from me buzzes to life, drawing my attention to the one guttural name displaying from the screen.

Dad?