Chapter 3

The penthouse was silent except for the hum of the city far below. Noah stood in the middle of the living room, his body aching. Emily watched him, her arms crossed.

"You're a disappointment, Noah."

Her voice was low, each word a carefully placed stone. He didn't respond, just stared at the floor.

"I gave you everything," she continued, taking a step closer. "A career. A home. I saved you from obscurity, and this is how you repay me? By running away like a coward?"

He finally looked up, a spark of defiance in his tired eyes. "I'm not your property, Emily."

The words were a mistake. He knew it the moment he said them. Her face hardened, the mask of cold control cracking to reveal the rage beneath.

"Not my property?"

She slapped him. The sound was sharp in the silent room. His head snapped to the side, and a sharp pain flared in his cheek.

He coughed, a deep, rattling cough that shook his whole frame. It was a symptom of the ALS, the weakening of his diaphragm. He pressed a hand to his chest, trying to catch his breath.

Emily watched his display of weakness with contempt. "Pathetic. You can't even stand up straight, and you think you can defy me?"

She grabbed his shirt, pulling him close. "You will live here. You will make music for me. You will do as I say. You will exist because I allow you to exist. Do you understand?"

He saw the burning intensity in her eyes, the obsession that fueled her. She saw him not as a person, but as a project. A memory of her brother she could mold and punish at will.

She shoved him back, and he stumbled, catching himself on a table. His eyes fell on her neck. He saw the faint white line of a scar, barely visible against her skin.

He knew that scar. It was from a necklace he had given her years ago, a simple silver chain with a guitar pick charm. She had worn it every day until Liam died. Then it vanished.

He remembered the day he saw the scar for the first time. They were in the studio, and he'd been struggling with a new song. David had been relentless, calling him a worthless, talentless fraud. Noah had finally snapped, throwing his guitar down and walking out.

Emily had followed him. She found him on the roof, and she didn't say anything, just stood beside him. Later, back in the studio, she had fired the sound engineer who had laughed at David's taunts. She had looked at Noah and said, "Only I get to decide who is worthless." It was a strange kind of protection, but it was all he had.

Now, her "protection" was a cage.

She saw him looking at the scar. Her hand went to her neck reflexively. "What are you looking at?"

"Nothing," he said, his voice flat. He had learned long ago that provoking her about the past was a dangerous game.

"You think you know me, Noah?" she sneered. "You think because we shared a history, you have some claim on me?"

She walked over to him, her movements slow and deliberate, like a predator circling its prey. She grabbed his chin, forcing him to look at her.

"Let's be clear," she whispered, her face inches from his. "You are nothing. You are a ghost. A memory. And you are mine to do with as I please."

She pushed him towards his room. "Get out of my sight."

He walked away, each step an effort. He didn't look back. He closed the door to his room and leaned against it, his body trembling.

He took off his shirt and looked in the mirror. Over his heart, a single, elegant letter was tattooed in black ink.

'E' .

She had held him down while a tattoo artist she'd hired for a private session did it, two years ago. "So you never forget who you belong to," she had whispered, her voice a mix of tenderness and venom.

He traced the letter with his finger. It was a permanent mark of her ownership, a brand on his soul.

He slid down to the floor, pulling a small, worn wooden box from under his bed. He opened it. Inside, nestled on a bed of velvet, was a silver necklace. A simple chain with a guitar pick charm, engraved with the letter 'L'.

It was Liam's. He had found it in the ashes of the studio. He had kept it safe all these years, a secret reminder of his promise.

He held it in his hand, the metal cool against his skin. This was his only connection to the truth, to the man he had been before Emily remade him in the image of her grief. He closed his eyes, the weight of his secret pressing down on him, suffocating him.