Chapter 6 Drawn to Him

Seven years ago - Emília Gray 

I got out of bed with surreal energy. I turned on Spotify at the highest volume possible and let my favorite songs play.

I tried new hairstyles, rummaged through my closet looking for a dress or a skirt that would make me look pretty. I had fewer classes today, which was perfect. I’d have time to be with Dante in the orphanage library, and I could hardly wait.

He was a complete asshole, but I liked his company anyway. Faulkner was like a magnet molded into a beautiful face, and I was easily pulled in.

When I asked Dante if he wanted to keep spending afternoons together, all I got was a pinch on my nose.

He had liked it.

And so, more days passed with us reading together.

Before going downstairs, I fed my guinea pig. He still didn’t have a name, but I’d decide eventually. I liked him because he was small and cute. He didn’t make a mess and listened to my ramblings without judging me.

After saying goodbye and running down the stairs to the kitchen, familiar voices echoed through the walls.

They hadn’t slept at home the night before. They had gone to dinner with important people in the city. Those nights happened often. I had never gone, but I was always curious why they came back on the verge of divorce.

"Mom, Dad, good morning," I said, stepping into the kitchen and receiving their irritated looks, which softened into affection when they saw me.

They never got mad at me for no reason. In fact, they were amazing with me. I loved them so much. It just seemed like, sometimes, something wasn’t right with them.

"Good morning, sweetheart!" Mom came over first and kissed my forehead. She fluffed my curls and smiled. "What do you want for breakfast? I’ll ask Dona Fiona to make whatever you want."

I shook my head.

"I’ll have cereal."

I stepped away, walking over to my dad and kissing his cheek. He repeated the same gesture, touching my hair and smiling.

"We didn’t wake you, did we?" I shook my head, though I had often been woken by their arguments after those dinners. "Last night’s auction was intense, and your mother and I made some mistakes, but we’ll fix it. Don’t listen to your classmates today."

He kissed my forehead again, and I nodded.

I didn’t really understand what they meant. My classmates never said anything, but I knew their parents were friends with mine. They were always busy with Othello Hospital. My father was the director, and my mother a successful surgeon. They had demanding lives, and I understood that.

"Be careful, sweetheart. Don’t come home alone, okay?"

I nodded before leaving the house after eating quickly. The disappearances had decreased, but people were still cautious.

When I stepped outside, I saw Kayleen by the gate.

"Lia! Finally!" she exclaimed when I came down the stairs.

"Sorry. I had two bowls of cereal," I explained, hugging her. She hated hugs, but tolerated mine.

"Okay, that’s enough! Where were you this weekend?"

I swallowed hard, twisting my fingers together.

Kayleen didn’t know about my reading sessions with Dante. She’d be furious—she thought he was dangerous.

"Studying, of course. And you?"

"You won’t believe this!" Kayleen Cullbert exclaimed, grabbing my attention—and that of a few boys walking nearby. "Arya is alive!"

"Obviously she is," I muttered.

"You don’t get it, Lia. She’s living in Germany! Since when does that fake girl speak German?"

Arya had been our best friend. We were a trio until six months ago. She humiliated me in front of our classmates for no clear reason. The next day, she was gone. Her parents had moved, and she went with them.

I never had time to understand what happened. My parents said it was jealousy. Kayleen said she had always been a snake, and that day she just shed her skin. I didn’t believe either version, but I had nothing to base the truth on. So I preferred to leave that space empty.

"How did you find out?"

"Daniel showed me. He shows me everything," Kayleen said proudly.

"He likes you. That’s what it is."

My best friend shot me a glare, making me laugh.

"I don’t care about his feelings. I just want to know how Arya got away without consequences," she growled.

I shrugged.

"I don’t think about her much."

"Good. Because if she ever comes back, you better not even look at her. She doesn’t deserve it," Kayleen warned, her brown eyes burning with anger.

If there was one thing I loved about her, it was that she carried my pain as if it were hers.

I felt like if I died in front of her, she’d find a way to bring me back to life—and kill whoever did it.

Kayleen and I had been together since we were babies. Our parents met through work. Both were surgeons at the same hospital.

We used to joke that our fate was to stay together forever. We even had a pact to die together, buried side by side. Morbid, but we didn’t care.

"Okay. I promise."

Kayleen clapped and kissed my forehead.

"Do you have gymnastics today?"

She sighed, flipping her dark hair. She was beautiful—brown eyes with green tones that shone in the sunlight, pale skin, long hair down to her elbows. She looked like an angel.

She had countless boys after her. Every Valentine’s Day, the classroom filled with letters just for her. But she liked none of them. Her mind was focused on gymnastics, school—and me.

"Yeah. And you have violin, right?"

I nodded.

I had planned to meet Dante at the library again to read Romeo and Juliet. But my mind exploded as my schedule surfaced.

"I have violin today," I said, shocked.

"Yes, you do. Is it serious that I know your schedule better than you?"

I sighed, annoyed.

There was no way to contact Dante. I had a phone now—but he didn’t. And I couldn’t skip violin class. My parents would be upset.

"You don’t want to go?" Kayleen read my face. "You love violin. What’s wrong?"

"Nothing, nothing."

"Is it the piano again? You don’t have to be good at everything, Lia. We’ve talked about this."

"It’s not the piano. Forget it."

She studied me, then dropped the subject.

I didn’t have the courage to tell anyone I was reading with Faulkner. He was forbidden territory after what happened months ago with the kidnapping. But I liked being around him.

For some reason, having Dante in my life didn’t feel as wrong as everyone would think.

I was late.

Class had ended, but I stayed rehearsing, and time slipped through my fingers. I grabbed my violin and backpack and ran out.

I had to go down the stairs, cross several hallways—the school was huge—and there was one thing I wasn’t good at: running.

I hated physical exercise. My mother had tried to make me a gymnast like Kayleen.

They eventually realized I was better with a violin—and a few piano keys.

When I reached the hallway, the sound of a violin slid along the walls.

At first, I thought it was my mind replaying pieces I needed to learn. But the sound left my head and reached deeper—into my body.

It was beautiful.

I loved music. The way it connected with my soul. It was more than instruments producing sound—it was emotion shaped into melody.

So I walked into the room.

It was empty. Afternoon sunlight filtered through the windows, painting the space.

But my eyes locked onto something far more intense.

Dante Faulkner.

Playing the violin, lost in his own world.

I was stunned.

Not just because he was in my school, playing violin in the middle of the afternoon—but because he was playing the Kreutzer Sonata.

The exact piece I couldn’t master.

His ease was breathtaking. Beautiful.

I didn’t know whether to envy him or fall for his performance.

His face was completely serious. He read the notes. He felt them.

But there was something more—something beyond the music.

Something that pulled me toward him.

Then the music faltered.

I was pulled out of the trance as my eyes met his dark, intense gaze.

"You have a serious obsession with watching me."

He placed the violin down carefully and walked toward me.

"You shouldn’t be here. Non-students aren’t allowed," I warned.

"Oh yeah? I don’t care about rules. They weren’t made for me," he replied with a shrug.

"You just don’t like obeying."

"And you love following orders. See? We’re the perfect match, prodigy girl," he mocked.

Dante stepped closer.

"You need to leave, Dante."

"I waited for you," he said, closing the distance. "But you didn’t show up, so I figured you’d be here."

"And how did you get in?"

"There are doors and windows. You’ve heard of them." His tone almost felt like humiliation. "I decided to entertain myself listening to you and your group pretending to know how to play."

"You were watching me the whole time?" I asked, embarrassed.

"You’re not the only one with fascinations."

I frowned, thinking.

I didn’t fully understand what he meant—but I blushed anyway.

"I’m learning how to get your attention," he continued. "Music is one way, apparently."

"You play well. Where did you learn?"

He shrugged.

"You learn a lot when you’re alone."

"You learned violin… by yourself?"

I was in disbelief.

"I don’t have anyone, Emília."

His answer was sharp. Painful.

"One day, you will," I whispered.

"Who?"

His question demanded a specific answer.

Me.

But I didn’t have the courage.

"You’ll be adopted someday."

"I don’t want that," he said. "I’ll wait until I’m eighteen and live my own life."

"Why?"

"Because I’d ruin the life of whoever took me in."

That hit something deep inside me.

My throat tightened.

"Why would you say that?" I asked softly.

He broke eye contact.

"Are you coming?" he asked, ignoring me.

Dante was so strange. He avoided certain topics like they didn’t exist.

"Where?"

"To the library. I thought we had plans."

"I can’t, Dante," I sighed. "I need to go home and finish some work."

His silence bothered me.

Then he ran his fingers through his dark hair.

"Then let’s go."

"Where?"

He grabbed my violin and opened the door.

"To your house. To finish your work."

I blinked in shock.

I stepped in front of him, stopping him.

"We can’t."

"Why not?"

"It’s my house."

"Good. That’s exactly where I want to go."

I took a deep breath.

Stubborn.

"But you… I don’t know if… I don’t know if my parents will want me bringing a boy."

Dante smiled slightly.

"Do you live in a tower, little one?"

I raised an eyebrow.

"No."

"Then I’ll climb it. Don’t worry."

And he started whistling, walking out.

"Dante!"

I didn’t know how to stop him.

So I followed—already wondering how I was going to explain to the entire city, especially my parents, that I was walking around with Dante Faulkner, the boy from the kidnapping.