The house was silent.Not peaceful silent.The kind of quiet that listened back.You didn’t mean to find the piano room.You were wandering. Trying to memorize the hallways of your new cage… marriage. The door was half open.He was inside. Dorian Vale sat barefoot on the bench, shirt unbuttoned, cigarette burning in one hand, eyes closed. His fingers hovered above the keys trembling.He didn’t play.He just breathed. Until your breath gave you away. He spoke, low and even“Don’t touch the piano"
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