The Dark Trinity

Chapter 23

Amelia sat frozen on the seat, Malcolm’s presence suffocating in its intensity. He loomed over her, his dark gaze unwavering, his touch lingering on her hand as though testing her composure. The room was eerily silent, save for the faint crackling of the fire in the hearth and the echo of her shallow breaths.

“Play it again,” Malcolm instructed, his voice a velvet command that brooked no refusal.

Her hands trembled over the keys. “I—I don’t remember how.”

He leaned closer, his lips curving into a faint smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Nonsense. You knew this piece by heart once. Start again.”

Amelia pressed the first note, then another, her fingers faltering as she struggled to recall the melody he had drilled into her so many years ago. The memories were hazy, dulled by the passage of time and buried beneath layers of fear and resentment.

Malcolm exhaled sharply, the sound tinged with impatience. Without warning, he reached out, his large hand engulfing hers as he guided her fingers across the keys. The cold metal of his ring pressed against her skin, a stark contrast to the heat radiating from his palm.

“Like this,” he murmured, his voice low and close to her ear. “Feel the rhythm. Let it come back to you.”

His touch was firm but not harsh, the movement of his hands controlling hers with practiced precision. The notes began to flow more smoothly, the haunting melody filling the room once more.

Amelia’s pulse quickened, her senses acutely aware of him—the warmth of his breath against her temple, the faint scent of leather and iron clinging to him, the weight of his gaze when he glanced down at her. It was too much, all of it. She felt trapped, ensnared by a web of expectations and a man who had always found ways to unnerve her.

“I don’t want to,” she whispered, her voice barely audible over the music.

Malcolm stilled, his hand lingering on hers. “And why is that?”

She swallowed hard, her eyes fixed on the piano keys. “Can i leave?.”

“No.” The single word was delivered in a tone so flat, so devoid of emotion, that it made her skin crawl.

Amelia turned her head to look at him, finding his gaze already fixed on her. For a moment, they simply stared at one another, the air between them thick with unspoken tension.

He lifted his hand to her face, his fingers brushing against her cheek. The touch was featherlight, almost tender, but his gaze betrayed a storm brewing beneath his composed exterior.

Jerking her head away from his hand.

“Why are you doing this?” she demanded, her voice rising slightly.

He didn’t answer. Instead, he reached for her again, this time capturing her chin between his fingers and tilting her face toward him. She froze under his touch, her breath catching in her throat.

She recoiled, her heart pounding in her chest. “I’m your brother’s wife,” she hissed, the words tumbling out in a desperate bid to draw a line he wouldn’t dare cross.

Malcolm’s jaw tightened, his grip on her chin firming before he abruptly let her go. For a moment, he said nothing, his expression unreadable. Then, to her surprise, he laughed—a cold, mirthless sound that sent a shiver down her spine.

“And?” he asked, his voice laced with mockery.

He stood and moved behind her, his presence looming even larger as he began to unravel her braid. The sensation of his fingers working through her hair sent a wave of panic coursing through her.