A Love to Kill

Chapter Three: Between Shadows and Silk

The elevator's hum was a low, steady thrum, rising as we did through floors that blurred by with polished, dim lights and a soft weightlessness that made everything feel detached, surreal. I glanced at him—he looked almost calm, his expression unreadable, as if accustomed to silence. When we finally stopped, he gave a small nod, stepping out and casting a quick, assessing look back at me.

I took a few steps, blinking at the scene unfolding before me. It wasn't the sprawling apartment of a musician, or even the penthouse of a typical New Yorker. This was more like a hidden sanctuary, a space that hinted at lives spent quietly, carefully. As I took it in, the realization struck me like a sudden chill.

"You... live here?" I asked, my voice barely more than a whisper, feeling the full weight of the question. "At... The Sovereign?"

He raised an eyebrow, a subtle smirk playing on his lips as he held back a response. Instead, he let the silence linger, as if waiting for me to absorb it fully. The Sovereign Manhattan—one of the most exclusive hotels on the Upper East Side. I'd known people of means before; Lola's family had taken me in and raised me like one of their own, and I was no stranger to places like Fifth Avenue or the Hamptons. But this was a step beyond anything I'd experienced, a luxury that felt surreal, almost removed from reality.

He finally spoke, breaking the silence with a casual shrug. "In a manner of speaking, yes. It's a... convenient arrangement."

I swallowed, trying to keep my expression calm as I scanned the room in greater detail. Each piece of furniture looked sculpted, with modern angles in deep, muted colors that felt almost cold in the dim, artful lighting. And the view—floor-to-ceiling windows framing the glittering Manhattan skyline—was something out of a film, the lights of Central Park casting a soft, distant glow across the polished marble. Even the air here felt curated, touched by the faint scent of cedar and something richer, darker, that made me think of smoky rooms and aged leather.

I walked deeper into the room, my footsteps muted by a plush carpet that felt far too soft to actually be real. "I... I didn't realize people actually lived here. I thought it was just... a hotel."

He smiled, a quiet amusement softening his sharp features. "And now you know."

I sank onto a dark leather couch, the buttery material cool against my skin. It was surreal, sitting in a place like this, knowing people actually called it home. That he called it home. It felt less like a living space and more like a beautiful, isolated cage—a perfect retreat high above the city, opulent and somehow unnervingly impersonal.

He moved toward a small bar tucked discreetly against one wall and poured himself a glass of red wine, the deep crimson catching the low light as he poured. He filled a glass with water and handed it to me, his movements as controlled and deliberate as every detail in this place.

"Wine?" I asked, nodding toward his glass, eager to shift away from my lingering unease. "Do you mind if I...?"

Without a word, he uncorked another bottle and poured, handing the glass to me with a lingering touch. His gaze never wavered, and the dim light cast shadows across his face, lending him an almost unreal quality.

He took a slow sip, setting his glass down before he looked at me again, his expression quiet but curious. "And you are?" he asked, his voice calm, as though he were asking for something simple.

I cleared my throat, my fingers tightening around the cold glass. "Blue," I said, my voice wavering just slightly. "Blue Hayes."

A slight smirk played across his lips as he repeated it, rolling the name over his tongue as if savoring each syllable. "Blue Hayes... That's a name I won't forget."