Phantom Strings

Chapter 2

After all, hope is the only thing that ever built this empire.

I smile, hoping it's inviting enough. Daliya still seems scared, though—her shoulders stiff, her gaze flicking between Jerry and Dominus. Or was it me?

I hope not. I didn't want to harm such a pretty thing.

I shift my smile, just slightly, trying to soften it. People have told me I have a mean face—sharp, unreadable. Like I think I'm better than them. That had always confused me. I never meant to look that way. I never thought I was above anyone.

Not really.

Still, I've learned to adjust. To ease people's discomfort when I need to. After all, they always change their minds once they get to know me. They laugh, tell me I'm nothing like they expected. That I'm actually funny. That I'm... normal.

As if that should be a relief.

"Hi?" Daliya greets, her voice light, almost sweet—but I can tell she doesn't want me anywhere near her. She hides it well. Most wouldn't notice.

But I'm not most people.

"Hello, Daliya." My voice is smooth, rich—woven with the kind of authority that leaves no room for confrontation. I've mastered this tone, the one that makes people submit before they even realize they have. Funny, really, how much I've changed.

I study her, this girl who reminds me too much of my younger self. Her pastel purple shirt is stained at the hem—red, yellow, green, small smudges of colour bleeding into the fabric. Black joggers, a decent black jacket tied around her waist. Her light brown hair is in a messy bun, strands framing her face in a way that would be pretty if she cared enough to make it intentional.

She doesn't.

I hum. Probably a lack of resources.

I wait. Two seconds. Just enough time for her to think—for me to think. I don't know. But pauses like this tend to work on people, so I go along with whatever makes them comfortable.

"So, you had a friend, yes? Vanessa." I say it more than I ask. "I want to talk to you about her. Nothing much, don't worry. She's quite the troublemaker, you see—blew up my property. So you can understand why I'd like to know more about her."

Her face gives nothing away, but I catch the slightest shift in her shoulders. Tension.

"Jerry and Dominus can leave if you'd like," I offer, tilting my head slightly. "I won't harm you. I promise." Then, with a small chuckle, "Besides, I wouldn't be able to do anything to you alone. While I hate to admit it, you're clearly taller than me—and probably stronger."

The way I say it leaves no room for argument. No room for doubt.

Everyone complies.

Minutes later, we sit alone in a small, worn-out lobby. The sofas are old, the air faintly musty. I glance around, and every second in this place pushes a thought deeper into my mind. I need to do more.

I pull out my phone, fingers gliding over the screen as I send a quick text to my assistant.

Find good non-profits. Shelters. Orphanages.
Somewhere worth investing in. Make sure the money actually helps the kids.

No child should be taken advantage of the way Vanessa was.

I cross my legs, settling comfortably as I meet Daliya's gaze. She's watching me—closely. Admiration flickers in her eyes, though it's clouded by uncertainty. Almost impressed, but still hesitant.

She sits on a sofa a few blocks away, as if the extra distance might keep her safe. The thought makes me chuckle under my breath.

I don't speak. I let the silence stretch, the only sounds filling the room being the soft hum of the fan and the occasional creak of the doors. Three more seconds.