The alarm buzzed softly at 5:00 AM, barely piercing the quiet of the room still cloaked in darkness. Axel stirred first, reaching out to silence it with a practiced swipe before rolling over toward her. Laura was still fast asleep, her breathing even, face half-buried in the pillow. She looked peaceful — too peaceful for the day ahead.
He leaned in gently, brushing a few loose strands of hair from her cheek. Then he pressed a kiss to her shoulder, featherlight. "Hey," he whispered near her ear, his voice low and warm. "It's time to get up."
Laura didn't respond. Just the tiniest twitch of her brows, a subtle shift under the blanket. Axel kissed her again — this time on the edge of her jaw, then her temple, nudging her closer to waking with soft persistence. "Come on," he murmured, "we've got a train to catch."
At last, her eyes fluttered open. There was no drowsy stretch, no teasing complaint about the time — just a stillness. Her gaze met his, but it didn't brighten. It stayed dim, shadowed with the weight of something unspoken. Axel exhaled, recognizing that look immediately. She didn't want to go. He knew it the moment her eyes opened.
They had talked about this already. She hadn't been able to get out of the invitation — or "invitation," as she dryly called it. If she didn't show, her mother would call. Then follow up. Then probably send a letter. Avoiding it only postponed the inevitable, and they both knew it.
Axel brushed his fingers down her arm slowly. "You don't have to say anything," he said. "I already know."
Laura blinked once, then let her eyes fall closed again. "Can't we just… sleep through it?" she muttered, her voice barely audible.
He smiled softly. "We could. But then I'd have to deal with your mom showing up here, and I'm not emotionally prepared for that before noon."
That got the tiniest breath of a laugh from her — hollow, but real. She sighed and pulled herself closer to him, her forehead resting against his chest. "Thanks for coming with me," she said.
Axel kissed the top of her head. "Like I'd let you go alone."
They stayed that way for another quiet moment — no pressure, no rush. Just warmth in the dim stillness of a too-early morning. Then, finally, Laura sat up, rubbing her eyes and pulling her hair into a loose bun.
"Let's just get this over with," she said.
Axel stood too, already moving toward the kitchen to make tea. "Train leaves at eight."
But they both knew this wasn't about the distance or the time. It was about crossing into a house where she felt like a stranger. And Axel — always Axel — would be her anchor.
---
Before heading out the door, coats draped over tired shoulders and travel mugs of lukewarm tea in hand, Axel paused in the narrow hallway with his phone in hand. The early morning light was just starting to creep through the apartment windows, casting a soft golden tint on the floor.
"Wait," he said, thumb hovering over his screen. "It's Sunny's birthday today."
Laura, halfway through zipping her coat, turned toward him. "Oh, right." Her voice still carried that low, sleepy rasp. "Should we call?"
Axel shook his head. "Might be too early. Knowing her, she's probably already up... but Zane might not be."
Laura smirked faintly. "Yeah, let's not interrupt anything."
They shared a quiet look — the unspoken kind laced with amusement and shared understanding — before Axel started typing.
[Group Chat: 🌞SunnySideUp]Axel: Happy Birthday, Sunbeam 🎉☀️Laura: Hope you're waking up to something warm and wonderful.Axel: If you're up for it, we'd love to celebrate later. Let us know 💛
Laura peeked over his shoulder before he hit send. "That's sweet. You even added a yellow heart to your last message?"
He nudged her playfully. "I have my moments."
The messages sent, and with a soft chime, the screen dimmed. They headed out into the cold hallway, leaving behind the warmth of home for a day neither of them was exactly looking forward to — but it felt right to start it with a bit of light. A little reminder that not all families were born.
Some were built.
---
Laura was quiet as they walked toward the station. Too quiet.
Axel noticed it immediately — the way her usual calm had turned rigid. She wasn't scanning the streets or commenting on the unusually chilly summer air like she sometimes did. Her shoulders were drawn in, her gaze unfocused, drifting from building signs to empty windows before finally settling on the pavement, like it was the only safe place to look.
He reached out, gently squishing her hand in his — a small habit between them, playful and grounding. But this time, her fingers tensed under his touch. Not in rejection… but something deeper. A held breath. A braced impact.
Axel slowed a little, adjusting to her pace. "Hey," he said softly, "you good?"
Laura exhaled, and the sound came out uneven. She didn't answer right away. Her eyes stayed low.
"I don't know," she admitted, barely audible over the morning rustle of the city. "I shouldn't be like this. It's just a few hours. It's not forever."
He didn't press her.
She continued, after a beat. "I keep telling myself it's fine. That it doesn't matter anymore. That I'm not eighteen, and they can't make me feel small. But just… the thought of walking back into that house, that room…"
Her words faltered.
She stopped walking. Axel stopped beside her.
Laura placed a hand to her chest, fingers splayed as if trying to ease the tightness there. "I can't breathe right," she whispered. "I thought I'd be better prepared. But it's like… it's like something's sitting on me."
Axel didn't speak right away. Instead, he stepped in front of her and cupped her cheeks gently, urging her to look at him. Her eyes, wide and glassy, finally met his.
"You're not eighteen anymore," he said, steady and quiet. "You're not going back as who you were. You're going as you — the real you. And I'm going with you. You're not alone in there, not this time."
Laura closed her eyes for a second, pressing her forehead to his.
"…I know," she breathed.
He rubbed his thumb lightly over her cheekbone, grounding her. "We'll get through this. One train ride, one visit, and then we go home. Deal?"
A faint nod. She wasn't okay — not fully — but she was standing. And she was still breathing.
It was enough. For now.
---
They boarded the early train just after sunrise, the kind of quiet hour where the world hadn't quite woken up yet. The station was calm, the low murmur of announcements echoing in the background as they found their seats near the window. Axel slid in beside her, their bags tucked overhead, and the doors sealed with a hiss.
The train lurched into motion.
At first, Laura was still. Her hands were folded neatly in her lap, posture upright, gaze locked on the window as buildings rolled past in soft blurs. For the first twenty minutes, she barely moved, barely spoke.
But Axel saw it — the tiny shifts. The way her thumb kept brushing against the side of her index finger, over and over. The way her legs pressed tightly together, like her body was coiled on instinct. Like she was bracing for impact.
He didn't say anything at first. Just wrapped his arm gently around her shoulders and pulled her close, letting her lean into him without needing to ask. She didn't resist. Her head tipped against his collarbone, and her breath, though shallow, began to slow.
"It's okay," he murmured against her temple. "You're okay."
Laura nodded, but didn't speak.
The landscape changed as they got closer to her hometown. The city haze gave way to wide roads and familiar stations. She sat up a little straighter, arms now crossed over her stomach like a shield. Her lips pressed into a line.
Axel glanced down at her. "Want me to distract you?"
She shook her head. "No. I… I just want to be present. I need to feel it. Or else I'll dissociate again."
He didn't argue. He just adjusted his hold, his hand rubbing small, circular motions into her upper arm, grounding her.
"You're not going back as their daughter," he whispered. "You're going back as Laura. Just Laura. Who doesn't owe anyone an explanation for who she became."
She closed her eyes, breathing in through her nose.
"…What if I'm still scared?"
"Then we do it scared," he said simply. "Together."
There was a long pause, just the steady hum of the train tracks beneath them.
Laura slowly reached out and slid her hand into his, fingers threading between his own. Not seeking comfort — claiming it.
Axel squeezed her hand back. The train continued forward.
And with every passing stop, she held on tighter. But she didn't let go.
---
It was a decent walk from the station — maybe fifteen minutes, but every step made Laura feel like she was sinking further into something she wasn't ready for.
They turned the final corner, and there it was.
Her childhood home stood tall and immaculate at the end of a manicured path, framed by a row of trimmed hedges and pearly white gates that never rusted. The lawn was perfectly cut. The windows gleamed like glass in a museum. Every detail — from the polished stone steps to the sculpted garden statues — screamed restraint, control, and wealth.
It hadn't changed.
Laura slowed her steps. The sight of it made her stomach twist into a knot she hadn't felt in years. Her shoulders drew up on instinct, breath catching quietly in her chest.
Axel noticed.
Without a word, she reached for his hand — not dramatically, just... instinctively. Her fingers slipped into his, and she squeezed. Not too hard, but firm. A pulse of silent panic through her grip.
Axel didn't flinch. He tightened his hold just enough to let her know he was there. Really there. No performance, no smile-for-their-sake — just him, steady as always.
They stood at the edge of the walkway for a moment, looking up at the grand house. To anyone else, it might have looked beautiful. Elegant. Desirable.
But Laura's gaze was distant. To her, it wasn't a home.
It was a stage. A vault. A place where silence echoed louder than words, and every hallway had rules.
Axel turned to her gently. "Ready?"
She didn't answer at first. Just let out a shaky breath, then nodded once.
"Let's get it over with," she whispered.
And with her hand still in his, they stepped toward the front door — the past waiting quietly behind it.
---
They barely had time to raise a hand toward the doorbell before it opened with a click.
Standing in the doorway was Laura's mother — tall, composed, and as intimidating as ever. Her long purple hair was pulled into a tight, high ponytail, not a single strand out of place. Her sharp eyes swept over them with laser precision, pausing only briefly on Axel before returning to her true target.
"You're late," she said flatly.
There was no greeting. No warmth. Just that cutting voice — calm, clipped, and cold enough to chill the summer air.
Axel opened his mouth to respond, but Laura beat him to it.
Or rather, she didn't.
She stood still, tense, eyes locked on her mother like she'd been hit by a spotlight. Axel noticed the change immediately — how her fingers, once loosely tangled in his, slowly slipped away. How her shoulders straightened unnaturally. How the life in her gaze dimmed and gave way to something… mechanical.
He'd seen Laura tired, guarded, even annoyed — but never like this. Never so silent. So still.
She didn't argue the accusation. Didn't explain that they were right on time — in fact, a full five minutes early. She didn't say any of the things Axel knew she had every right to say.
Instead, she lowered her head slightly.
"…Sorry, madam."
The words were stiff. Formal. Like they'd been trained into her.
Axel's stomach turned.
He barely recognized the voice that left her mouth.
Laura's mother gave a curt nod, then turned and walked inside without inviting them in — as if expecting them to follow regardless.
Axel hesitated, eyes flicking to Laura.
She still hadn't moved.
Her jaw was tight, her breathing shallow.
Axel gently brushed his hand along her back — just enough to ground her. She blinked, looked up at him, and the mask cracked for the briefest moment. There was fear there. And shame.
He whispered, "I'm right here."
She gave him a small, almost invisible nod, then stepped forward — following her mother into the house she used to haveto call home.
---
When they stepped into the entrance hall, Laura instinctively slowed her pace. The space looked exactly as she remembered — pristine, symmetrical, and sterile, like a showroom rather than a home. Polished marble tiles gleamed under their feet, and a grand chandelier loomed above, its crystals catching the morning light with a kind of cold elegance.
Axel glanced around, feeling strangely out of place in his soft sweater and dark jeans. The silence in the air wasn't peace — it was pressure, palpable and heavy.
Laura's mother said nothing as she led them further in, her heels tapping rhythmically against the marble. They turned a corner into the formal dining room — a space that felt more like a meeting hall than a place for meals. A long, lacquered wooden table stretched across the room, draped in embroidered linen and surrounded by high-backed chairs. Several of Laura's relatives were already seated, their expressions polite but distant.
Laura didn't have any siblings — but she recognized her cousins, all from her mother's side. There was no trace of her father's family here. There never had been. Her father was always... absent. Not in the sense of being physically missing, but emotionally removed, orbiting their household like a financial satellite. He provided, invested, strategized. His role was simple: allow Madam Hirase — the real head of the family — to shine.
Even he called her by her last name. Miss Hirase.
And that was the rule.
Only one woman at the table, an older relative with pearls tight around her throat and perfect posture, broke that rule. "We're still awaiting Miss Sana, are we not, Kadja?" she asked casually, sipping her tea.
The sound of her mother's first name echoed like a forbidden spell in the room.
Axel felt Laura's spine straighten beside him.
He sat down next to her — of course he did — close enough to shield, if not protect. Laura said nothing, eyes fixed on the empty plate before her. She hadn't even acknowledged her cousins, and they hadn't acknowledged her. This wasn't a reunion. It was a presentation.
Kadja Hirase, Laura's mother, nodded once, eyes narrowing slightly at the mention. "She had a delay," she said coolly. "But she'll be here shortly."
The conversation resumed in hushed tones, all about vacations and accomplishments and university acceptances. Not once did anyone ask Laura a question. Not once did anyone refer to her directly.
Axel watched it all in silence, learning more in ten minutes than he had in months of gentle conversations with Laura. The polished image of her upbringing — grand piano recitals, spotless floors, and high expectations — was only part of the story.
Because as it turned out, Laura hadn't grown up in a family.
She'd grown up in a hierarchy.
Raised by maids. Schooled by instructors. Mothered by a title.
Miss Hirase hadn't been a housewife — no, she was a champion. A competitor in piano competitions, the kind that demanded perfection over affection. Axel imagined little Laura at the foot of a grand piano, tiny fingers trembling under the pressure of a woman who never blinked, never softened, never praised.
He quietly reached under the table and brushed her hand with his.
Laura didn't look at him.
But she did curl her pinky around his in return. Just enough to hold on.
---
Once everyone had arrived — every seat neatly filled, every teacup refilled without asking — Miss Hirase took her place at the center of the table. It wasn't declared, but it was obvious: she was the nucleus of the gathering. Conversations curved around her like satellites, always orbiting her sharp gaze and carefully chosen words.
Laura sat quietly, posture rigid, hands folded politely in her lap. Axel remained at her side, calmly observant, though every fiber of him was on alert. It wasn't loud here — not in volume — but in expectations. Expectations that whispered through the fine china, that settled like dust on the antique sideboard, that curled at the edge of every forced smile.
Miss Hirase lifted her teacup, then set it down with precision, the clink of porcelain catching everyone's attention.
Her eyes slid to Laura. "So," she said, voice smooth but cool. "Laura. I noticed that your arrival was accompanied."
There was a pause — just enough for tension to ripple around the table — before her gaze shifted toward Axel.
"Young man," she said, crisp and measured, "what is your name?"
Axel met her gaze without flinching. It was easy to see what she expected: full name, spoken clearly, maybe with a deferential tilt of the head. An introduction dressed in formality — a performance of respect for a woman who clearly thrived on it.
But Axel didn't give her that.
He kept his posture relaxed, voice even. "Axel," he said simply.
Just Axel.
The word fell into the silence like a small stone dropped into still water. Not rude — but not obedient either. It was clear enough that he knew exactly who he was speaking to — and that he didn't intend to play along.
A few cousins exchanged brief glances. One of the aunts blinked like she wasn't sure she'd heard him right. Even Laura seemed to stiffen just a bit more beside him.
Miss Hirase's expression didn't shift. But her eyes narrowed, just faintly. "I see," she said, in the way one might when choosing not to acknowledge something further. "And what do you do, Axel?"
"I'm a composer," he replied, still calm, unfazed. "I work with Laura."
A pause.
"And live with her, I assume?"
Axel tilted his head slightly. "We share an apartment, yes."
Laura's fingers tightened around her teacup, and Axel noticed — just as he noticed the microscopic twitch in Miss Hirase's jaw. Not scandalized. Just... cataloging.
"Hm," she said at last, dabbing the corner of her mouth with a linen napkin. "How modern."
It wasn't a compliment.
But Axel didn't need one.
He reached under the table again, gently brushing his thumb against the back of Laura's hand — a small reminder that she wasn't alone.
And that he wasn't here to impress her mother.
He was here to stand beside her.
---
"A composer," one of the cousins finally chimed in, her tone laced with a hint of disbelief — the kind that hid itself behind a smile too poised to be genuine. She was seated three seats down from Miss Hirase, dressed immaculately in pressed linen and pearls that looked just stiff enough to be uncomfortable.
"In Euphony Trio, right?" she added, folding her hands with a condescending tilt of her head. "Laura, when are you going to quit that little band hobby of yours and become a real competing pianist again? Like your mother. You were on such a promising path. Don't you want to preserve the family's pride?"
The words landed like cold rain. There was no malice — just a deeper sting: indifference disguised as familial concern. The assumption that Laura's life was a detour. That everything she'd built was simply a delay in fulfilling someone else's vision of success.
Laura didn't respond.
Not because she didn't have words — but because the weight of years of expectation had trained her into silence.
Axel saw it. Saw the way her shoulders drew in, how she held her breath like she didn't even know she was doing it. Her eyes lowered slightly, not out of shame, but habit.
And that was enough.
Axel leaned forward, gently placing his cup down. His voice was soft, measured — polite, even. But there was iron beneath it.
"With all due respect," he said, looking directly at the cousin, "Laura's not in a hobby. She's part of a group that headlines national stages, writes its own music, and connects with thousands of people. What she does takes skill, dedication, and vision — all things that any family should be proud of."
The cousin blinked, lips parting slightly — not used to being addressed so directly, especially not by an outsider.
"And," Axel continued, his tone just a shade firmer, "she's not trying to imitate her mother's career. She's building her own."
The room went quiet.
The kind of quiet that wasn't loud, but dense — where everyone was watching, but pretending they weren't. Even Miss Hirase, at the head of the table, regarded Axel with a cool, unreadable expression. She said nothing. But her eyes held something sharp. Not surprise — no, she had likely expected something from him. But perhaps not this: calm, unwavering resistance wrapped in civility.
Laura sat perfectly still. But her hand — hidden beneath the table — found Axel's again.
And this time, she held it tightly.
---
After a while, the low hum of clinking china and murmured conversations was broken by the sound of Miss Hirase's chair sliding back.
She stood with the same fluid precision she used when commanding a room — every movement deliberate, every gaze silently demanding obedience. Her eyes landed on Laura with a cool finality.
"Come," she said, already turning toward the hallway.
Laura didn't question it. She simply rose, her movements mechanical, like someone flipping a switch. She didn't look at Axel, but he was already rising to follow.
Miss Hirase didn't acknowledge his footsteps behind them — didn't stop him, either.
They passed through the grand hallway that connected the dining room to the inner parts of the estate. The air here was colder, quieter. It smelled faintly of polished wood and something floral that felt far too rehearsed to be natural.
Axel's eyes moved from Laura's stiff shoulders to the towering staircase ahead — and then, to the long wall beside it.
Portraits.
Framed in dark, ornate gold and meticulously spaced, they stretched upward along the staircase wall like a family legacy etched in oil and canvas. The figures all bore similar expressions: composed, dignified, emotionally untouchable. Each one held their posture with a kind of forced grace — seated at grand pianos or standing with trophies in hand. Women, mostly. All variations of elegance and discipline.
And there — framed near the center — was Miss Hirase herself. A younger version, but unmistakable. Her gaze in the painting was the same one she wore at the dining table: unyielding, focused, proud.
Further along the wall, his eyes caught another.
Laura.
She was no older than ten in the portrait. Hair pulled tightly into a high ponytail, dressed in a white recital gown, seated stiffly at a black grand piano. Her expression was painfully neutral. Composed — but blank. As if someone had wiped away the child underneath to preserve the image.
Axel slowed.
It was the Laura he'd first seen in old newspaper clippings. The prodigy. The polished shell. She looked nothing like the woman who now performed on stage beside him, sweat-drenched, smiling, alive.
Laura noticed his gaze and faltered for a moment. Her steps slowed, her jaw clenched ever so slightly — as if being back here, standing under that framed version of herself, pulled her spine taut.
But she didn't say anything. She didn't have to.
Because Axel did.
He glanced up at the portrait again, then leaned closer to her, voice low and warm.
"You've grown out of that frame."
She didn't respond right away. But her fingers brushed his — just enough to let him know that she'd heard him. That it mattered.
And then Miss Hirase spoke, without turning around.
"This way."
The moment passed. But the truth of it lingered.
---
Miss Hirase led them into a side room off the main hall — a space that felt both lavish and clinical. The air was cooler here, quieter. Soundproofed walls. High ceilings. And at the center, like a relic in a shrine, sat a gleaming black Steinway grand piano. Polished to perfection. Waiting.
Laura froze in the doorway, her hand twitching in Axel's. She hadn't been in this room in years, but everything was exactly the same. The ivory keys, the narrow bench, the faint scent of wax and wood. The silence here was deafening — it didn't just mute sound, it devoured it.
Her mother walked ahead and stood beside the piano, her hands folded neatly in front of her.
"Sit," she said.
Laura hesitated.
She looked back — instinctively — to Axel.
And he nodded gently, wordlessly. Whatever you need, I'm here.
With stiff limbs, Laura crossed the room and took her seat at the bench. Her hands hovered over the keys, then dropped to her lap. She inhaled once — twice — then placed her fingers down again.
She began to play.
There was no sheet music. There never was. Just like when she was younger, this was a "warm-up." A test. Her mother expected her to improvise — to showcase muscle memory and technique under pressure. Even her choice of notes would be evaluated.
The first chords came out hollow, unsure. Then slowly, cautiously, Laura found a rhythm. Her eyes fixed on the keys as the notes grew fuller. Clearer. Sadder.
She hadn't played like this in years. She had played on stage, yes — played music she loved with people she trusted. But this? This wasn't music.
This was survival.
Miss Hirase circled her like a conductor.
"Too stiff."
"Watch your wrists."
"Your thirds are too shallow."
She tapped the piano lid sharply every time Laura wavered. Her voice didn't rise. It didn't need to. The authority was baked into every syllable.
Axel's fists clenched slowly at his sides.
Then, without warning, Miss Hirase stepped away and retrieved something from a drawer tucked into the side wall.
A long, thin practice whip.
Axel's breath caught. Laura's fingers faltered for half a second — a slip in tempo — but she quickly masked it.
Miss Hirase held the whip lightly between two fingers. "Three mistakes," she said flatly, "and your muscle memory must be corrected."
Axel stepped forward. "You've got to be joking."
Her eyes turned toward him, slow and sharp. Calculating. A glance like a scalpel.
"I assure you, I am not. This method has served Laura since she was four. If you're unfamiliar with discipline, I suggest you stay silent."
Laura didn't turn around. But her shoulders tensed, her hands paused above the keys.
Axel's voice was tight. "You don't get to hurt her because she misses a note."
"And you don't get to lecture me in my home," she replied, smooth as glass. "Not unless you'd like to end your visit early — and I do mean alone."
Her stare locked with his. A quiet dare.
Laura spoke softly — barely above a whisper. "Axel. Please."
He looked at her. The way she couldn't meet his eyes. The way her fingers trembled just slightly above the keys.
This wasn't about music.
This was about control. Power. Repetition. Her mother had trained her like an instrument — not to play, but to obey.
Axel stepped back. But the look he gave Miss Hirase was ice-cold.
She returned her attention to Laura, and Laura continued playing — carefully, perfectly. Axel stood there, watching, every instinct in him screaming to grab her hand, to stop the music, to break the silence.
But he didn't.
Because he could see that Laura needed to finish.
Not for her mother.
For herself.
And the notes she played now… they carried something new beneath the surface — not rebellion, not defiance.
But quiet resistance.
It wasn't loud. It wasn't theatrical. It was subtle — deliberate.
The way she held certain chords just a breath longer. The softness in her pedal work, like she was painting emotions rather than impressing. The melodies drifted off in places, unfinished, unpredictable. She was no longer just executing technique — she was speaking through it.
Miss Hirase narrowed her eyes.
This wasn't the same Laura she had molded, corrected, and perfected. The Laura from seven years ago would have played like a machine — calculated, clean, exact. No deviation. No hesitation. No personality.
But this Laura?
She dared to stray. To breathe into the pauses. To feel.
Miss Hirase couldn't name it — and that unsettled her more than anything.
It was as if her daughter had found a language she hadn't taught her. As if someone else had retrained her fingers, not for glory, but for something foolish. Intangible. Emotional.
Artistic.
There was an itch behind her temples. A sharpness in her tone now as she barked:"Keep tempo.""Watch your lower register.""Too slow on the lift.""Stop lingering."
But Laura didn't adjust. Not fully. Not like she used to.
She still heard the commands — they sank into her, lodged like old reflexes — but this time, she didn't obey them out of fear.
She filtered them. Weighed them. And chose what to carry forward.
Axel watched from the corner of the room, heart beating loud in his chest. He didn't know all the technical terms, but he could feel the shift. He could see the glimmer in her eyes — the way she was reclaiming something.
Miss Hirase crossed her arms. Her expression never changed, but her posture betrayed her irritation. This wasn't the performance she wanted. It wasn't the docile, obedient daughter returning home in shame.
It was someone new. Someone who'd left, grown, and come back with different hands.
And Miss Hirase didn't like it.
But she didn't stop her either.
Because deep down, even she knew—
The girl at the piano was no longer hers to command.
---
When they finally left the estate, the sun was beginning to set, casting long golden streaks across the stone walkway. The pristine hedges and marble pillars behind them seemed colder now, like relics from another life.
Laura's hands were trembling.
Axel noticed immediately — the slight twitch in her fingers, the way she kept tucking them against her sides as if trying to hide them. Red marks traced the back of her skin, faint but visible. The sharp swish of the whip still echoed in his memory.
It made his blood boil.
He hated her mother's "instructions." Hated the so-called traditional teaching methods disguised as cruelty. Hated that she was still allowed to call it love.
He reached for her hand gently, but she flinched — not from him, but from the leftover ghosts of the piano bench. Still, when she realized it was Axel, she let him take it. Let him hold her. And little by little, she squeezed back.
At least now — for the first time in years — Laura felt it.
Her music.
Her own.
It wasn't flawless. It didn't gleam like glass the way her mother had taught her to shape it. But it was hers. Alive. Breathing. Wounded and healing all at once.
And Miss Hirase hadn't been able to touch it.
As they reached the outer gate, Axel paused.
He couldn't leave without saying something.
"I want to speak with you," he said, voice firm but low, turning to face Miss Hirase directly.
Laura looked up at him, uncertain, but he gave her hand a squeeze.
Miss Hirase raised a brow but said nothing.
Axel stepped forward.
"You don't get to do this to her again. You don't get to summon her here like she owes you anything. She doesn't." His jaw clenched. "You don't own her. She's not your instrument. Not your trophy."
Her face remained unreadable. But he didn't care.
"You're not going to see her again," he said. "Not if I can help it."
There was a moment of silence — a heavy, aristocratic hush, as if the estate itself had frozen in offense.
And yet… Miss Hirase didn't respond. Not to him.
She looked to Laura instead.
And for a split second, her expression betrayed a flicker of smugness. As if she believed that Laura's silence meant hesitation. That the old chains still held.
But then—
Laura's fingers tightened around Axel's hand.
She looked up at him. Eyes glassy, lips trembling, but present — here. With him. Not in the past.
And then she turned back to her mother.
Her voice was quiet. Raw.
"You didn't raise me," she said.
Miss Hirase blinked.
"You created a machine," Laura continued, her voice shaking with every word, but never faltering. "And you destroyed the person I could've been."
She took a breath. "Now I'm finally discovering her."
A pause.
"And it's not thanks to you."
She didn't call her "Madam."
Not even "Mother."
No title. No reverence. No fear.
Just truth.
And with that, she turned. Letting the words fall like a final chord.
She didn't look back.
Axel followed, one arm protectively around her shoulders as they stepped out past the gate and into the street — where the air was cooler, freer.
Behind them, the door closed.
And with it, a chapter long overdue.
---
The walk back to the station was silent.
Not the kind of silence that begged to be filled, but the kind that held. That gave space. That offered quiet reverence to something just… released.
Laura's steps were slow, deliberate — like each one marked a step away from the version of herself she'd left behind at the estate. The grand manor stood shrinking behind them, its polished windows and trimmed hedges already starting to feel like a dream. A cold, sterile dream.
Axel didn't say anything.
He didn't need to.
His hand stayed steady on her shoulder, his thumb brushing gently against the fabric of her coat. Every so often, he'd give a soft, wordless squeeze — a simple reminder: I'm here. You did it. I'm proud of you.
And Laura… she felt it.
She didn't say thank you. Not out loud. But her eyes, a little glassy now under the fading sun, flicked to him once or twice — and lingered longer each time. She didn't flinch when his hand touched her anymore. She didn't shrink. Instead, she leaned ever so slightly into his presence, letting it shield her from the weight of what had just happened.
Her shoulders were still tense, her hands still sore. But her chest… lighter. Not healed. Not yet. But cracked open. Breathing.
When the station finally came into view — lights flickering to life as the sun dipped lower — Axel gave one last pat to her shoulder. And this time, when she turned her head to look at him, he offered her a small, warm smile.
He didn't say, I'm proud of you.
He didn't have to.
Laura looked away again, eyes fixed forward. But this time, a single, whispered word left her lips.
"…Thanks."
Not for the shoulder pat.
Not for the walk.
But for staying.
For not letting her go back in there alone.
For seeing her through.
---
The rhythmic clatter of the train wheels against the tracks filled the cabin with a soft, steady hum. Laura sat curled beside the window, her head gently leaning against Axel's shoulder, eyes half-lidded with exhaustion — not just from the trip, but from everything. The estate. Her mother. The words she had finally spoken aloud.
Axel had one arm draped around her, his other hand lazily scrolling through his phone. The glow of the screen lit his face as he opened up their group chat — the one shared between him, Laura, Sunny, and Zane.
"There's a message from Sunny," he said quietly, nudging Laura slightly.
Laura stirred and straightened just enough to look.
Sunny:thank you so much for the message 🥺💛 zane actually planned something for me already so i'm kind of kidnapped today lol, but i'd love to hang out with you two soon!! let's plan something?
Laura smiled faintly at the screen, her expression softening. The emoji, the warmth, the way Sunny always managed to be grateful and bubbly even in a simple text — it was comforting. A small reminder that even though today had been hard, the world outside that house still existed. It was waiting. Sunny was waiting. Their real life.
"Sounds like Zane's spoiling her," Laura said softly, voice raspy from the long day but tinged with amusement.
Axel chuckled. "As he should. It's her birthday, after all."
Laura leaned back again, this time resting her head on Axel's chest instead of the cold glass window. "We should plan something. Just the four of us. Something nice."
"Yeah," Axel said, locking his phone and tucking it away. His hand returned to her shoulder, warm and grounding. "Somewhere far away from pianos and dining tables and formal titles."
Laura let out a tired but genuine laugh — and for the first time that day, it didn't feel strained.
Just real. Just hers.
---
That night, after the long train ride and a quiet dinner at home, Axel and Laura found themselves in the calm stillness of their shared bedroom. The lights were low, casting soft shadows across the walls. The air was quiet — not heavy, not broken — just still, like the world was holding its breath for them.
Laura stood by the edge of the bed, fingers fiddling with the hem of her shirt, her eyes distant, still carrying the weight of the day. Axel stepped closer, his presence never overbearing, just there. Patient. Solid.
He didn't say anything at first. He simply reached out, gently taking her hand in his. Her fingers were cold. He brought them to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to each one, one by one, as if rewinding time. As if trying to give back what had been taken from her piece by piece.
Then her palm. Her wrist. The inside of her arm, where the marks were faint but still tender. His lips hovered there a little longer.
"You don't have to hide any part of yourself with me," he whispered against her skin.
Laura's throat tightened. But she didn't pull away.
Instead, she leaned into him.
What followed wasn't rushed. There was no need. Axel took his time — not just to show her love, but to help her remember what love was supposed to feel like. Every touch was deliberate. Thoughtful. His hands slid across her skin like music — not perfect, but full of feeling. Full of care. He kissed each place that had once been marked by fear, now claiming it with something softer.
Laura trembled at first, but it wasn't from fear.
It was release.
When they finally came together, it wasn't just physical. It was freeing. A quiet rebellion against everything she had been taught to suppress. For once, she didn't have to play a role. She didn't have to perform.
She just had to be.
And afterward, when they lay tangled in the sheets, Axel kissed her hair and held her close, one arm curled protectively around her. Laura's breathing steadied, her head resting against his chest.
No words were needed.
Because in that silence, something had shifted.
She hadn't just left her childhood home.
She had reclaimed herself.