The scent of citrus blossoms danced on the morning breeze as Elena made her way through the stone corridor, her fingertips grazing the cool marble walls of Villa D'Aria. Each hallway whispered of time—portraits, vases, antique sconces—as if the house remembered too much and said too little.
Carlo had directed her to the garden terrace where Lucien's niece, Adriana, spent her mornings. Elena half expected a somber child, tucked into a corner, guarded and silent. But the moment she stepped outside, she was met by laughter—soft, musical, and shockingly bright.
Adriana sat beneath a canopy of wisteria, her face tilted toward the sun like a sunflower. Her white dress fluttered around her like petals, and her long dark curls fell over her shoulders in wild abandon. A soft piano melody played on a portable speaker beside her, Chopin—Elena's favorite.
She swallowed a breath.
"Adriana?" she called gently.
The girl turned her head slightly, her smile unfaltering. "Miss Elena," she said. "I heard your footsteps before I heard your voice."
Elena smiled in surprise. "You must have very good ears."
"No," Adriana replied simply, "I just listen more than most people."
Elena approached slowly, lowering herself onto the wrought iron chair across from the girl. She studied her delicate features—the faint scars near her temples, the blind but glowing eyes.
"I used to hear you play," Adriana said, turning her head toward her. "Before the silence."
Elena's blood chilled. "You… what?"
"My uncle played your recordings for me. Every Sunday morning. He said you played like someone with a broken heart trying to put herself back together."
She had no words. Only stillness.
Adriana tilted her head, sensing her discomfort. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to say things that hurt."
"No," Elena said quietly. "It's just… strange, hearing someone describe something I thought no one ever really heard."
Adriana smiled again. "He heard it. My uncle. He hears things most people don't."
Elena looked down at her hands. "Yes. I'm beginning to believe that."
A few moments passed in silence before Adriana stood, walking gracefully—too gracefully for someone blind—toward the edge of the terrace. She placed her hands on the stone railing, facing the sea.
"Will you teach me?" she asked softly.
Elena hesitated. "Why do you want to learn?"
Adriana's smile faded into something wistful. "Because I want to feel what you feel when you play. Because sometimes, I think the world is too quiet, even with all the noise."
Elena stood, walking over to her. She gently took Adriana's hands.
"I'll teach you," she said. "But not with notes. Not at first."
Adriana nodded.
"Then how?"
Elena touched the girl's palm to her own chest. "With your heart. That's where the music lives."
They stood there for a moment, the morning sun warming their faces, the wind carrying sea salt and hope. It was the first time Elena felt like she might still have something left to give.
From the upper balcony, Lucien watched.
His eyes didn't blink. His fingers clenched the railing.
Because what he saw wasn't just a lesson beginning.
It was his niece's healing.
And Elena's unraveling.