Chapter 127 The Only Music I Want To Hear

Chapter 127 The Only Music I Want To Hear
CHAPTER 127

The Only Music I Want To Hear

Anna stepped into the drawing room still carrying the faint scent of her bath—jasmine shampoo and warm vanilla lotion clinging to her skin.

Afternoon light poured through tall windows in honeyed slabs, catching on scattered fabric swatches and glossy catalogues that carpeted the Persian rug like fallen autumn leaves.

The air smelled of fresh coffee, lemon polish, and the subtle floral perfume Katherine always wore.

Seven event planners—four young men, three women were already deep in discussion with the family.

Katherine and Lillian bent over a low table, holding swatches of silk, tulle and velvet up to the light, murmuring about undertones.

Margot sat in an armchair with baby Amari asleep against her shoulder, one hand patting the infant’s back in slow rhythm while the other flipped through a thick portfolio of past events.

Helena perched on the edge of a sofa, tablet balanced on her knee, typing steadily. Emilia and Olivia lay stomach-down on the rug, heads close together as they pored over fashion catalogues, giggling at something on the page.

Nyx streaked across the room the moment Anna appeared—sleek black fur gleaming as she launched herself at Anna’s legs with an imperious meow.

Anna scooped her up, laughing softly as the cat immediately began kneading her forearm.

Helena glanced over, exhaled through her nose, and shook her head in fond exasperation.

Margot looked up first. “Ivy!” She called without raising her voice.

“Don't just stand there blending into the wallpaper. Go heat up Anna’s food and bring it here at once. Move!”

Ivy, who looked like she was permanently one loud noise away from a nervous breakdown, bobbed a quick curtsy and vanished.

Anna crossed the room. “Good afternoon, Margot.”

Margot's sharp eyes softened. “Afternoon, darling. You look well rested. Finally.”

Katherine straightened, smile warm and immediate. Anna leaned down and pressed a light kiss to her mother-in-law’s cheek.

“How are you feeling?” Katherine asked, hand briefly cupping Anna’s elbow.

“Okay,” Anna said honestly. “A little tired, but good.”

The event planners turned politely. One of the women—mid thirties, sleek bob, pearl earrings, smiled.

“You're even more beautiful in person than the photos Olivia showed us.”

Anna returned the smile—easy, gracious. “Thank you. That’s very kind.”

Emilia and Olivia sat up at once, crossing their legs like schoolgirls. “Anna, come here!” Emilia patted the rug beside them. “You have to see these centerpiece ideas.”

Anna settled between them, settling Nyx in her lap and stroking the cat’s silky back. Nyx purred like a tiny engine.

The blond event planner, Paul, sat beside Helena, gesturing at the mood board on his tablet.

“For the theme, I'm thinking we could lean into old-money elegance: crystal chandeliers, gold leaf accents, a string quartet playing Vivaldi. Or we could go for a black-tie gala with vintage 1950s gentleman’s-club vibes—cigar lounge corners, velvet drapes. There's also Garden soirée under the stars. Estate dinner-party intimacy. Pick your poison ladies.”

Helena didn't even look up. Her fingers flew across her tablet, the stylus clicking against the glass with surgical precision. She held the screen up for Lillian to see.

Lillian leaned over, cleared her throat and read aloud in a dry, perfect deadpan:

“Paul, if you suggest one more Great Gatsby inspired tragedy, I might actually vomit all over your fabric swatches.

I don't want a cliché dumbass all-white party or a gold-and-black funeral. It's overused, it's tiring and it's super boring. I want something regal, something that smells like a legacy celebration, and something that hasn't been done to death by every socialite with a Pinterest board.”

Paul blinked once, then laughed—good-natured. “Ouch. But message received, loud and clear. No flapper dresses.”

Margot snorted without looking up from the portfolio. “Good. Because if I see one more feather centerpiece or champagne tower I’m going to start throwing things.”

The discussion descended into a heated, comical debate about the merits of various historical eras.

"You know," Lillian suggested, leaning back and narrowing her eyes as if visualizing a scene.

“I went to a friend’s wedding last year—ancient Egypt theme. It was stunning. Gold collars, kohl liner, lotus flowers everywhere.

Completely different from anything I’d seen. What if we borrowed that energy but shifted it? Victorian era—1800s—full period costumes, waistcasts, corsets, top hats, gaslight ambiance.
The addition of masks for a masquerade twist. Classy, mysterious, regal. It'll be a legacy celebration with a touch of intrigue.”

One of the other planners—a woman with a severe chignon—nodded quickly.

“She has a point. Regency-era grandeur? Early 19th-century opulence—velvet drapes, candlelight, subtle jewel tones, live chamber music.

Or we go bolder—make it a Victorian estate ball with the masquerade elements. Masks, elaborate gowns, the whole nine yards, a sense of historical romance without tipping into costume-party territory. I don't know for others but I'm loving the idea.”

Emilia’s head snapped up, her eyes wide with excitement. "Oh, I love that! Imagine the photos!"

"It’s genius," Olivia agreed, clapping her hands. "It’s like Bridgerton met a Hitchcock movie. I’m obsessed."

Paul struck a dramatic pose, his hand over his heart.

"You are a genius Lillian. It’s magnificent. It’s workable, it’s theatrical, and it’s not rampant in the current social circuit. It will be absolutely glorious—a hauntingly beautiful legacy event."

Helena studied the idea for a long moment, then gave Lillian a thumbs-up.

Katherine smiled. “I think it’s elegant and unexpected. I approve.”

Margot finally looked up. “As long as there’s enough champagne and no one makes me wear a corset that squeezes my soul out, I’m in.”

Anna listened quietly, stroking Nyx’s ears, a polite smile on her face.

When Helena glanced over and typed something, Lillian read aloud: “Are you okay with it?”

Anna nodded. “I like it. It feels… timeless. Special.”

Ivy returned, balancing a tray: fluffy ricotta pancakes drizzled with honey and fresh berries, a side of crisp bacon, Greek yogurt swirled with fig jam, and a small pitcher of chilled orange juice. She set it carefully on the rug beside Anna.

Anna began eating, then tore off a tiny piece of pancake and offered it to Nyx, who sniffed, then delicately nibbled.

The conversation rolled on—fabric textures, mask designs, menu possibilities—until Ivy, carrying a fresh glass of water for Anna, stepped on the corner of a catalogue.

Her foot slipped. Water sloshed in a wide arc—splashing across Anna’s burgundy sundress and soaking Nyx’s sleek black fur.
Nyx hissed, shaking herself violently.

Ivy froze, eyes huge. “I’m so sorry—Ma’am Anna—I didn’t mean—”

Katherine’s voice cut like a whip. “Ivy, careful. That could have been hot coffee. You could have scalded her.”

Emilia grabbed tissues from the side table and started dabbing at Anna’s dress. Nyx kept shaking, sending droplets flying.

Olivia leaned in. “You okay?”

Anna nodded, voice calm. “Fine.”

But her eyes locked on Ivy—murderous, cold. Ivy looked like her soul had evacuated her body.

Inside Anna’s head, triumph curled like smoke.

The Clara incident put the fear of God in her.
The poor girl must be terrified—one wrong move and she thinks it’s a one-way ticket to the afterlife.

Margot didn’t even look up from patting Amari’s back.

“Ivy, darling, if you spill one more thing today I’m going to start billing you for dry cleaning. And trust me—my dry cleaner charges more than your monthly rent.”

Lillian cleared her throat. “Just… be more careful next time. We don’t want a bigger accident.”

Ivy stammered apologies, nodding frantically, then fled.

Paul watched her go, then chuckled. “Reminds me of my cousin’s maid last Christmas. She tripped carrying the turkey—the bird went airborne, landed in Great-Aunt Muriel’s lap.

Muriel screamed like she’d been shot, gravy everywhere, and the dog thought it was the best day of his life. We still call it ‘The Great Turkey Heist.’”

Emilia snorted coffee through her nose.

Anna stood, smoothing her damp dress. “Excuse me—I need to change.”

Katherine nodded. “Take your time, dear.”

Anna left the drawing room, climbed the stairs, and slipped into their bedroom.

She changed quickly into another sundress—this one pale butter-yellow, light and flowing—then headed back downstairs.

As she passed Daniel’s room the door stood slightly ajar.

She paused.

Looked around—no one in the hallway.

She stepped inside, heart calm, purposeful.
“Jane?” she called softly. “Are you here?”

Silence—only the steady beep-beep-beep of the heart monitor.

Anna moved fully into the room.

She stood over him, her shadow stretching across his chest.

She looked at the glowing screen of the heart monitor, watching the jagged green line of his life.

"You know," she said, her voice a hateful, chilling whisper that barely disturbed the air. "The only music I want to hear in this room is the sound of that monitor flatlining. A long, beautiful, continuous note."

She leaned closer, her eyes cold as ice. "You won't escape me this time, Daniel. You’ve been a nightmare for Camille, a burden for this family, and a stain on this house for far too long. It’s time you finally ceased to be and the world will be much lighter.”

Suddenly, the faint sound of footsteps echoed from the stairs at the end of the hall.

Anna’s head snapped toward the door, her pulse spiking. Not now, she thought, her jaw tightening.

My plan isn't going to be ruined by a maid with a feather duster.

She moved swiftly to the door, peering through the crack.

The footsteps continued down the opposite hallway, fading into the distance. Nobody was coming for this room. Not yet.

Thank Goodness.

Anna exhaled and turned back toward the bed, ready to finish her thought, but her entire body locked into a state of paralyzed apprehension.

Her breath hitched in her throat, her eyes widening in a sudden, visceral surge of fear.

Daniel wasn't staring at the ceiling anymore.

His eyes—piercing, crystalline blue—were wide open. They weren't glazed or wandering.

They were locked onto hers, focused and sharp, staring directly into the deepest, darkest corners of her soul with a terrifying, conscious clarity.

Anna gasped, voice barely a whisper.

“Daniel?”