One shots (crush x reader)

Twilight and Truth

The annual charity gala was a sea of black ties and practiced smiles. (C/N) (C/L/N)—the oldest son and heir to (C/L/N) Atelier—stood next to a well-known financier by the bar, discussing the blueprint for his newest skyscraper project. The financier pivoted their conversation to the latest market trends, a conversation (C/N) should have been paying attention to. And he was, just barely.

(C/N)'s eyes drifted to the concert grand, to the woman sitting on the piano bench, her fingers on the keys. The sound of Chopin's Nocturne in E-flat Major filled the room, the soft, elegant notes floating in the air. (Y/N) (L/N), her name was, the youngest daughter of an established, old-money family, the woman who found her truth in music rooms rather than the boardrooms of her family's company. Her hair was pulled into an elegant half-up-half-down, the strands catching the light as she subtly moved her head with the rhythm. In the same room her family were guests in, she was the hired pianist, dressed in a gown of deep twilight.

As (Y/N) played, she knew the instant his eyes found her. For twelve months, their game of stolen glances and hushed conversations behind velvet curtains have been both an indulgence and a source of frustration. She finished the piece, the final chord dissolving into the polite applause. She stood up from the piano bench, executing a flawless curtsy before meeting (C/N)'s eyes.

She left the ivory Steinway for her ten-minute break. As she was about to round the corner to a quiet alcove, Mr. (R/L/N), a minor rival of (C/N)'s family, intercepted her. He was known for his aggressive acquisitions and equally aggressive charm.

"Miss (L/N), simply exquisite. Truly," he boomed, leaning in close. Too close. The smell of his stifling cologne filled her nostrils. He towered over her, his tailored suit emphasizing his build. "That last piece you played, Debussy, was it? Absolutely divine."

(Y/N) offered a polite smile that didn't reach her eyes. "I'm pleased you enjoyed it. That, however, was Chopin, not Debussy." (C/N) would know the difference, she added in her head.

He waved a dismissive hand. "Classics are classics." As he lowered his hand, he rested it on (Y/N)'s shoulder. She tensed imperceptibly, the touch feeling like possession, not professionalism. But she knew the drill, reject him too harshly and risk a public scene. Go from professional pianist to temperamental little girl.

"The way you play is captivating." His hand slid from her shoulder to her fingers. "You shouldn't waste such a talent for us bores. I have the perfect opportunity for you, you know? A private yacht party, hosted by me later this week. You'll have an audience who'd actually love to listen." His eyes met hers, the glint in them making bile rise to her throat. "Perhaps we can discuss your... services privately." His eyes trailed the length of her body, lingering too long in places they shouldn't.

"My teaching schedule keeps me quite busy, sir," she said coolly, slipping her hand out of his.

"Everything is negotiable for the right price, dear. I'll be in contact with your agency."

(C/N) (C/L/N) watched the entire exchange from across the ballroom, the financier now talking to (C/N)'s father. He saw (R/L/N)—a boy he actively disliked for decades—cornering (Y/N). He was leaning in, his posture imposing, his hand holding hers. (Y/N) was professional, (C/N) knew she could handle herself, but he noticed the tension in her shoulders, the way she pulled her hand out of his.

Why is he so close? Why is she allowing it? The thought was immediate, irrational, and fueled by hours, months, of suppressed desire. A knot of hot, acidic jealousy twisted in his gut. He wanted to stride over, physically remove him, introduce him to the Italian marble beneath their feet, and declare (Y/N) off-limits.

But he couldn't. He was the heir, his family name a heavy chain. He had no claim to (Y/N); he had never taken her to dinner, or introduced her to his parents though he knew they would approve. Anger seared. Deep and crippling. Anger at (R/L/N), at his world, and his own cowardice.