The music fills the room like a living thing. It breathes, it whispers, it shouts. Every note seems to hold the weight of a thousand unspoken words.
I’m not sure if I would classify this particular song as a love story. It’s too bitter and broken to be that. It’s a story about survival and pain and grit—and the six people who stood by each other through it all.
As the tempo quickens, so does the movement of my hands. My fingers fly across the keys, fast and precise, the sound sharp and clear, echoing against the walls. I furrow my brow in concentration, even as my fingers quicken, a fluidity in my movements, an ease that came from years of practice, from the muscle memory built up over countless hours. I press my footagainst the pedal, lifting the notes into the air, stretching them like threads of light, weaving them into something great.
For a moment, the world outside the music seems to vanish. Each note feels like a confession, each chord like a prayer.
My story.
Our story.
The Kings of Grove Academy and the girl who loves their darkness.
When the final note hangs in the air, suspended, there’s a brief silence that almost feels sacred. Then, like a breath released, the last note dies away, and the room bursts into raucous applause.
I remain where I am, my head lowered, my shoulders shaking, tension thrumming through my muscles.
“Ellie…” Beckett breathes, awe seeping into his voice. “That was amazing.”
“My greatest accomplishment was climbing out of that well I fell into,” Zane tells me. “But you…you created magic.”
Heat rushes to my cheeks.
Someone touches my arm, and I finally peel my gaze away from the keys, turning toward Dominic.
Love emanates from his bright green gaze. “You are the best thing to exist in this world.”
The crowd continues to whoop and cheer, but I barely hear them. They don’t matter right now. None of them do.
I didn’t play for them or their appreciation.
I focus instead on the men I love—only them—and allow a tentative smile to pull up my lips.
And for the first time in who knows how long, I allow myself to believe that everything will be okay. My song had a happy ending; I’ll make sure my story has one too.
20
ELLIE
Aria forces me to mingle for the next hour, though no one musters the nerve to talk to me. It could be because she convinced the majority of the people here that I’m some mythical goddess reincarnated.
Or it could be because of the three hulking bodyguards surrounding me, refusing to leave my side for even a second.
I can’t blame my guys. I would do the exact same thing if our situations were reversed. As it is, I’m grateful I don’t have to make small talk with a bunch of sadistic murderers.
Masked face after masked face turns in my direction, and I can’t help but wonder who’s hiding behind the mask. How many of these people are politicians? Celebrities? Cops? Judges? How many are normal, everyday men and women?
How many believe in Cassia and the doctrine The Divine One continually spews?
How many are simply here to torture, kill, and rape?
I imagine a lot don’t believe in this so-called religion. They’re using the Paragons of Prosperity as a front for their illicit activities.
My mind drifts to the judge we murdered—the judge who bought me. Revulsion slithers through me, dark and caustic, and an involuntary shudder shakes my body. Some people… Some people are just too sick and twisted to live. I never imagined I would have that thought, but here we are.
Once you venture into hell, once you see the devil’s face, you begin to see the truth in things.
Demons deserve to die.
