Dangerous Melodies - Chapter 15: Chapter 15
You are reading Dangerous Melodies, Chapter 15: Chapter 15. Read more chapters of Dangerous Melodies.
MARISOL
At the guesthouse, I woke with a dull throb at the base of my skull. The night before clung to me, thick and heavy, like it hadn’t quite let go.
Sunlight spilled through the windows. Too bright. Too sharp. I blinked, slow to catch up with the day. Squinted until the room stopped spinning and settled into focus.
Mr. Buttons was curled beside me, his little body warm against my leg. I reached down and ran my fingers through his fur, soft and steady.
A small smile tugged at my mouth. At least he was still here.
I sat up slowly, letting my eyes scan the room. My guitar rested against the wall. On the chair nearby, someone had laid out clean clothes and a few toiletries.
A quiet flicker of gratitude moved through my chest.
Maybe things weren’t completely broken. Maybe this was the start of something else.
But uncertainty clung tight, cold, and quiet. Dante had seemed sincere. Still, his threats whispered through the back of my mind, sharp and impossible to ignore.
Has he really changed? Or is this just a lull before everything breaks again?
I looked at Mr. Buttons. His tiny chest rose and fell, peacefully. That fragile sense of comfort steadied me a little.
But the doubt never really left.
I want to trust him. But how can I, after everything?
It had only been a few days since I tried to run. Since he dragged me back.
The memory of his fury sat in my chest like a stone. Invisible, but heavy. Every breath strained around it.
I exhaled slowly and swung my legs over the edge of the bed. My thoughts scrambled with me.
I grabbed my guitar and carried it to the living room.
The second I dropped onto the couch, something in me started to settle. My chest still ached, but the rhythm of my heart began to even out.
My fingers hovered. Hesitant. Then pressed down.
One note. Then another.
The sound floated into the quiet, soft and unsure. It chased some of the cold away.
The tightness in my chest eased. Just a little.
I closed my eyes, let the melody come, and let the weight of everything inside me rise with it.
I didn’t mean to write a song.
I just needed a place to bleed.
The words came in pieces.
Pain I couldn’t name.
Lines I didn’t know I’d buried.
And somewhere in the quiet between chords, it took shape.
Beneath the Ruin
I’ve been hiding from the silence,
Drowning out the noise inside.
Built a life on fear and shadows,
Just to make it through the night.
Every door they’ve locked behind me
Still remembers who I was.
But I don’t want their crown of violence.
I don’t want their twisted love.
I’ve got scars they’ll never see,
Cuts too deep for blood to show.
And I’d burn it all to ashes
Just to be someone they don’t own.
There’s a girl beneath this damage
That they never got to break.
She still sings beneath the ruin,
Dreaming of a life that’s hers.
The final note hung in the air.
Shaky. Quiet.
But honest.
I stared at the ceiling, breathing through the ache in my chest.
The song was mine. All of it. Every word, every wound.
Not for performance. Not for praise.
Just truth.
Finally spoken.
Every door they’ve locked behind me still remembers who I was.
And maybe it always would.
But that didn’t mean I had to stay in their cage.
And I’d burn it all to ashes just to be someone they don’t own.
The thought hit hard.
Not as a lyric this time.
As a vow.
DANTE
I sat frozen at my desk, breathing shallow as Marisol’s image filled the security feed. The microphone picked up every nuance in her voice—soft, steady, trembling at the edges. Each note landed like a fist to the ribs.
She began in a low register, confession wrapped in melody.
I’ve been hiding from the silence,
Drowning out the noise inside.
Pain threaded through every syllable, but beneath it lived a fragile pulse of hope. I leaned closer, unable to look away.
Every door they’ve locked behind me
Still remembers who I was.
That line gutted me. I knew what it meant to carry a past that never loosened its grip. Fear. Survival. The cage her family welded around her.
She played as if the guitar were an extension of her pulse, not a performance but a plea.
And I’d burn it all to ashes
Just to be someone they don’t own.
The words hit harder than any bullet I’d dodged. She wasn’t just singing. She was bleeding.
Has anyone ever tried to save her?
The question slid in, quiet, unwelcome, and impossible to silence.
Her voice wavered, raw emotion spilling out until the last chord faded. Then she crumpled, shoulders shaking. Sobs broke the stillness and settled deep in my chest like shrapnel.
I didn’t move. I couldn’t. The need to shield her roared through me, quick and vicious. I had failed my mother. That failure shaped every hard edge I wore.
Maybe this time…
Maybe I could be different for Marisol.
The intercom cracked alive, its buzz slicing through the quiet.
“Sir,” my assistant said. “Marcos Montoya is here to see you. No appointment.”
My jaw locked.
I gave the screen one last look, logged out, and shut the laptop.
“Send him in.”
The door opened.
Marcos Montoya walked in like he owned the building. Smooth. Calculated. Arrogant.
His presence shifted the air.
“Dante,” he said, too casually. “Rumor is there’s a woman in your city. Marisol Franco. That name ring a bell?”
Rage crawled under my skin.
I kept my voice flat. “I don’t know anyone by that name.”
He watched me, eyes sharp. Then pulled out his phone.
A video played. Marisol onstage. Her voice was raw. Her presence unmistakable.
“That’s an ex-employee of yours, isn’t it?” he asked, smirking. “Public resignation. Company-wide embarrassment. Ballsy.”
My fists curled under the desk.
“Victoria Valencia,” I said. “Not Marisol Franco. You’re mistaken. And when I find her, she’ll be handled.”
The air tightened. His suspicion crackled.
“Very well,” he said, colder now. “But if you’re lying... There will be consequences.”
I leaned forward, voice icy.
“Careful, Marcos. I could dismantle your operation in minutes. You know who holds the real power here.”
His expression faltered. Brief. But I saw it.
“It doesn’t have to come to that,” I added, calm and lethal. “I want revenge. You’ve got unfinished business. I won’t kill her. When I’m done, she’s yours.”
The lie scraped my throat raw.
But he bought it.
“Fine,” he said. “But if you’re protecting her... not even your tech empire will save you.”
A bitter smile tugged at my mouth.
“You’ll be the first to know.”
The door clicked shut behind him.
I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding.
I’d bought us time.
Not much.
And not enough.
My thoughts went straight back to the guesthouse.
To Marisol.
She was my strength. My weakness. The contradiction I couldn’t afford.
And the one thing I couldn’t let go.
At the guesthouse, I woke with a dull throb at the base of my skull. The night before clung to me, thick and heavy, like it hadn’t quite let go.
Sunlight spilled through the windows. Too bright. Too sharp. I blinked, slow to catch up with the day. Squinted until the room stopped spinning and settled into focus.
Mr. Buttons was curled beside me, his little body warm against my leg. I reached down and ran my fingers through his fur, soft and steady.
A small smile tugged at my mouth. At least he was still here.
I sat up slowly, letting my eyes scan the room. My guitar rested against the wall. On the chair nearby, someone had laid out clean clothes and a few toiletries.
A quiet flicker of gratitude moved through my chest.
Maybe things weren’t completely broken. Maybe this was the start of something else.
But uncertainty clung tight, cold, and quiet. Dante had seemed sincere. Still, his threats whispered through the back of my mind, sharp and impossible to ignore.
Has he really changed? Or is this just a lull before everything breaks again?
I looked at Mr. Buttons. His tiny chest rose and fell, peacefully. That fragile sense of comfort steadied me a little.
But the doubt never really left.
I want to trust him. But how can I, after everything?
It had only been a few days since I tried to run. Since he dragged me back.
The memory of his fury sat in my chest like a stone. Invisible, but heavy. Every breath strained around it.
I exhaled slowly and swung my legs over the edge of the bed. My thoughts scrambled with me.
I grabbed my guitar and carried it to the living room.
The second I dropped onto the couch, something in me started to settle. My chest still ached, but the rhythm of my heart began to even out.
My fingers hovered. Hesitant. Then pressed down.
One note. Then another.
The sound floated into the quiet, soft and unsure. It chased some of the cold away.
The tightness in my chest eased. Just a little.
I closed my eyes, let the melody come, and let the weight of everything inside me rise with it.
I didn’t mean to write a song.
I just needed a place to bleed.
The words came in pieces.
Pain I couldn’t name.
Lines I didn’t know I’d buried.
And somewhere in the quiet between chords, it took shape.
Beneath the Ruin
I’ve been hiding from the silence,
Drowning out the noise inside.
Built a life on fear and shadows,
Just to make it through the night.
Every door they’ve locked behind me
Still remembers who I was.
But I don’t want their crown of violence.
I don’t want their twisted love.
I’ve got scars they’ll never see,
Cuts too deep for blood to show.
And I’d burn it all to ashes
Just to be someone they don’t own.
There’s a girl beneath this damage
That they never got to break.
She still sings beneath the ruin,
Dreaming of a life that’s hers.
The final note hung in the air.
Shaky. Quiet.
But honest.
I stared at the ceiling, breathing through the ache in my chest.
The song was mine. All of it. Every word, every wound.
Not for performance. Not for praise.
Just truth.
Finally spoken.
Every door they’ve locked behind me still remembers who I was.
And maybe it always would.
But that didn’t mean I had to stay in their cage.
And I’d burn it all to ashes just to be someone they don’t own.
The thought hit hard.
Not as a lyric this time.
As a vow.
DANTE
I sat frozen at my desk, breathing shallow as Marisol’s image filled the security feed. The microphone picked up every nuance in her voice—soft, steady, trembling at the edges. Each note landed like a fist to the ribs.
She began in a low register, confession wrapped in melody.
I’ve been hiding from the silence,
Drowning out the noise inside.
Pain threaded through every syllable, but beneath it lived a fragile pulse of hope. I leaned closer, unable to look away.
Every door they’ve locked behind me
Still remembers who I was.
That line gutted me. I knew what it meant to carry a past that never loosened its grip. Fear. Survival. The cage her family welded around her.
She played as if the guitar were an extension of her pulse, not a performance but a plea.
And I’d burn it all to ashes
Just to be someone they don’t own.
The words hit harder than any bullet I’d dodged. She wasn’t just singing. She was bleeding.
Has anyone ever tried to save her?
The question slid in, quiet, unwelcome, and impossible to silence.
Her voice wavered, raw emotion spilling out until the last chord faded. Then she crumpled, shoulders shaking. Sobs broke the stillness and settled deep in my chest like shrapnel.
I didn’t move. I couldn’t. The need to shield her roared through me, quick and vicious. I had failed my mother. That failure shaped every hard edge I wore.
Maybe this time…
Maybe I could be different for Marisol.
The intercom cracked alive, its buzz slicing through the quiet.
“Sir,” my assistant said. “Marcos Montoya is here to see you. No appointment.”
My jaw locked.
I gave the screen one last look, logged out, and shut the laptop.
“Send him in.”
The door opened.
Marcos Montoya walked in like he owned the building. Smooth. Calculated. Arrogant.
His presence shifted the air.
“Dante,” he said, too casually. “Rumor is there’s a woman in your city. Marisol Franco. That name ring a bell?”
Rage crawled under my skin.
I kept my voice flat. “I don’t know anyone by that name.”
He watched me, eyes sharp. Then pulled out his phone.
A video played. Marisol onstage. Her voice was raw. Her presence unmistakable.
“That’s an ex-employee of yours, isn’t it?” he asked, smirking. “Public resignation. Company-wide embarrassment. Ballsy.”
My fists curled under the desk.
“Victoria Valencia,” I said. “Not Marisol Franco. You’re mistaken. And when I find her, she’ll be handled.”
The air tightened. His suspicion crackled.
“Very well,” he said, colder now. “But if you’re lying... There will be consequences.”
I leaned forward, voice icy.
“Careful, Marcos. I could dismantle your operation in minutes. You know who holds the real power here.”
His expression faltered. Brief. But I saw it.
“It doesn’t have to come to that,” I added, calm and lethal. “I want revenge. You’ve got unfinished business. I won’t kill her. When I’m done, she’s yours.”
The lie scraped my throat raw.
But he bought it.
“Fine,” he said. “But if you’re protecting her... not even your tech empire will save you.”
A bitter smile tugged at my mouth.
“You’ll be the first to know.”
The door clicked shut behind him.
I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding.
I’d bought us time.
Not much.
And not enough.
My thoughts went straight back to the guesthouse.
To Marisol.
She was my strength. My weakness. The contradiction I couldn’t afford.
And the one thing I couldn’t let go.
End of Dangerous Melodies Chapter 15. Continue reading Chapter 16 or return to Dangerous Melodies book page.