The silence between them had grown deeper since the morning incident.
Elena hadn't tried to speak to him again.
But she couldn't stop thinking about what he said:
"I don't trust anyone with it. Not even myself."
Those words haunted her.
That night, she found herself wandering the vast penthouse again, drawn toward the faint sound of a piano.
Yes—a piano.
She didn't know there was one.
She followed the sound down a hallway she had never entered.
And there he was.
Aiden.
Sitting before a grand black piano in a darkened room lit only by moonlight. His fingers moved across the keys with fluid elegance, playing something that sounded like pain in melody.
He didn't notice her at first.
She watched silently, breath held.
This wasn't the cold businessman.
This wasn't the man who married her with ice in his voice.
This was someone else.
Someone broken.
Someone lonely.
"Why are you hiding in the dark?" she asked finally.
He stopped playing instantly, his back stiffened.
"I could ask you the same," he replied without turning.
She stepped closer, slowly. "I didn't know you played."
"I don't. Not anymore."
"But you just did."
He stood up and faced her. Moonlight hit the side of his face, and she saw something she hadn't noticed before — a scar, faint, near his jawline.
She wanted to ask about it.
She didn't.
Instead, she said softly, "What happened to you?"
Aiden's expression didn't change, but something flickered in his eyes. Anger? Sadness? Regret?
"Life," he said simply.
Then he walked past her, but stopped in the doorway.
"You're too curious," he added without looking back. "It's going to get you hurt."
She didn't move. "Maybe I've already been hurt."
He turned his head slightly, just enough for her to see his profile. His voice was quieter now.
"Then stop letting it show."
---
She didn't sleep that night.
Instead, she lay awake, wondering what kind of life left a man unable to trust even himself.
Wondering why he chose her to be part of it.
And why the coldest man she'd ever met played music like his soul was on fire.