The morning didn't start with noise this time.
It began with music.
A faint, almost haunting melody drifted up the staircase the kind that didn't demand attention but quietly filled the air until it found you.
Juliette stirred, blinking toward the soft light seeping through her curtains. For a moment she thought she was dreaming the sound too gentle, too human for this house.
Then she realized it was real.
The piano.
Someone was playing the piano downstairs.
She slipped out of bed, her robe brushing against the floor as she padded barefoot to the door. Her heart thrummed quietly, uncertainly, as she descended the marble steps.
And then she saw him.
Cassian sat at the grand piano in the living room the one that had gathered dust since she first moved in. Morning sunlight spilled through the tall windows, painting him in gold. His fingers moved slowly, deliberately across the keys. There was no sheet music, just quiet instinct.
He looked… different.
Not the man of sharp lines and quiet arrogance, but someone softer. Someone thinking. Someone lost.
She stood at the bottom of the staircase for a long while, watching. The melody was slow, threaded with sadness. It made something in her chest ache not for him, but for whatever version of him this song came from.
When he finally noticed her reflection in the piano's polished surface, his hands stilled. The last note lingered and faded between them.
Their eyes met.
Neither spoke for a heartbeat.
Then he said, quietly, "Did I wake you?"
She shook her head. "No… I didn't know you played."
He looked down at the keys again. "Not often."
The silence stretched, but it wasn't sharp. It was… aware.
She stepped closer, fingers brushing the edge of the piano. "It's beautiful."
He gave a small, almost amused exhale not quite a smile, but something close. "It's just noise until someone listens."
Her lips curved faintly. "Then maybe you should play more."
He didn't reply. Only nodded slightly, his gaze following her as she walked toward the kitchen.
And when she disappeared around the corner, he pressed one key soft, low like the sound of something breaking quietly.
Juliette reached the boutique earlier than usual
The air inside was cool, smelling faintly of starch, fabric, and the sweet comfort of work.
It had been a long time since she felt this calm stepping into a place. The hum of sewing machines, the rustle of hangers, the chatter of the stylists it grounded her. It was normal. It was hers.
She'd stopped missing days. She no longer avoided messages or hid in restrooms pretending to be busy.
She was beginning, slowly, to find her rhythm again.
That morning, during the weekly design review, Mrs. Inyang flipped through sketch folders and paused.
"Juliette Wren," she said, tapping a page. "You'll handle the new client project concept to fitting. Your sketches from last week fit the brief."
The room stilled. A few heads turned.
Juliette blinked. "Me?"
"Yes," Mrs. Inyang said briskly. "You've been consistent. Let's see how you do with real pressure."
She nodded, unsure whether to smile or panic.
When the meeting ended, she sat at her desk and opened her sketchbook. Her fingers hesitated for only a moment before moving swift, certain. The pencil danced across the paper, tracing soft silhouettes, fabric curves, and folds of movement that looked alive.
Her world, for the next few hours, was only lines and light.
"Nice," a voice murmured behind her. It was Selene , one of the junior designers. "You've been glowing lately. Something change?"
Juliette smiled faintly without looking up. "Maybe I'm just sleeping more."
"Or maybe someone's making you sleep better," Selene teased.
Juliette laughed softly, shaking her head. "If only."
But her laughter carried a strange truth because she hadn't been sleeping much at all.
Her nights were long and quiet, filled with thoughts she couldn't name and the echo of a piano that wouldn't leave her head.
By evening, she was exhausted in the good way. The kind that came from work, not worry.
She gathered her things, left the building, and stood by the roadside for a moment, watching the city glow. The world outside still felt big, but not as far away as it used to.
Dinner that night was quiet again, though not in the usual sharp, frozen way.
The dining room shimmered under soft gold light. The clinking of cutlery and Maya's faint footsteps were the only sounds.
Cassian sat across from her, scrolling through something on his phone. His sleeves were rolled up, his wristwatch catching the light every time he moved.
Juliette ate slowly, aware of him but pretending not to be. There was something different in the air not heavy, not light just… balanced.
He finally set his phone down. "You're coming home early these days."
She looked up, surprised. "I've been trying to."
He nodded once, not as a question, but an acknowledgment. "Good."
It should've ended there, but somehow the silence that followed felt fuller.
Juliette took a sip of water. "You played the piano this morning."
He looked at her briefly, then back at his plate. "Couldn't sleep."
"It sounded like something you wrote."
"Maybe." He paused, then: "You listened?"
"For a while."
He hummed low, thoughtful. "Then maybe I'll play again."
Her lips parted, but she didn't reply. She just watched him for a moment the man who could command boardrooms with a glance, now sitting quietly under a chandelier, saying the softest things without realizing their weight.
When Maya returned to clear the table, the moment dissolved.
Later, in her room, Juliette sat before her vanity, brushing her hair slowly. The night outside was clear, the air faintly cold.
Her reflection looked calmer softer like someone learning to live inside her own silence.
She changed into a thin nightdress, took her phone, and stepped out to the balcony. The wind lifted her hair, cool against her bare shoulders.
Below, by the pool, Cassian stood his white shirt open at the collar, hands in his pockets, staring into the water's reflection.
He looked… alone.
Not cold, not powerful just human.
Juliette leaned against the glass railing, her heart tightening for reasons she couldn't explain.
She didn't call out.
She didn't move.
She simply watched him, and for a fleeting second, she wondered if loneliness could look the same on two different people dressed differently, but born of the same ache.
The house was silent except for the faint whisper of the wind.
And as she turned back inside, her reflection lingered in the balcony glass her face overlapping his silhouette below.
"Maybe we're both surviving differently," she whispered to herself.
Then she switched off the lights.