Page 45 of Tainted Empire
Chapter 25
Gabriette
My first solo tonight just as Gabriette Baranova, and I’m a ball of nerves for two reasons.
The stage is my sanctuary, a realm where the haunting melody of my cello resonates, and the audience becomes a distant sea of faces. Tonight is different, though. Tonight, I can feel his eyes on me from the darkness of the crowd, and it sends a shiver down my spine.
My fingers delicately touch the strings, and the first note resonates through the hall, a prelude to the emotions about to unfold. Just as I get into it, I feel it … the vibration hits me and I remember his threat.
“One wrong note….”
The hush of the audience amplifies the steady thrum of my heartbeat. I can feel the weight of Mikhail’s gaze from the crowd, an invisible caress that sets my nerves on edge.
But when I find him, I see his smirk, and I can almost hear his taunt. He’s leaning back with his elbow on the arm rest, his fingers underneath his chin as his mismatched eyes bore into me.
He bites his bottom lip and the slow staccato vibration becomes faster. I gasp at the sudden change in tempo, but I keep my notes even; I can’t let him see me falter.
The music crescendos, building to a climax that mirrors the rising tension between us and the vibration fades into a slow staccato thrum again. I can feel the heat of his desire from across the room, a magnetic pull that draws me closer to the edge.
The forbidden allure of his punishment looms, yet a rebellious flame flickers within, urging me to play with fire.
The audience is captivated, unaware of the silent duel unfolding on the stage. Mikhail’s eyes darken, a silent command for obedience. Yet, there’s a hunger there, a hunger that mirrors my own. I play with a controlled abandon, knowing that every note is a step closer to the unknown.
The vibration speeds up and I gasp, struggling to focus, but I know I can’t fail now. Failing means losing, even if the punishment will be delicious.
My fingers move with practiced precision, but my mind is elsewhere, entangled in the web of Mikhail’s intentions. I steal glances in his direction, catching glimpses of the unreadable expression on his face.
I can almost hear him calling me a good girl, and fuck, I would do anything to hear him call me that. So I keep playing perfectly, even if I’m itching to defy him.
“Play your sweet music for me, Gabriette…”
I steal a glance towards where he sits again, hidden in the shadows. His eyes, dark and intense, never leave me. It’s as if he’s unraveling my soul with each stroke of the bow. I can sense the desire in his gaze, a silent promise of what awaits beyond the final note.
I find myself deliberately flirting with the edge, testing the boundaries. A daring trill here, a lingering pause there. Each deviation is a subtle challenge to the man who holds my fate in his hands. The music becomes a battleground, a silent dialogue between desire and discipline.
The final notes hang in the air, a delicate resolution to the symphony that unfolded between us. I lower my cello, my chest rising and falling with the echoes of the performance. The audience erupts in applause, but my ears are attuned to the quiet intensity in Mikhail’s gaze.
The desire in his eyes promises a punishment that is both a threat and a temptation. And as I stand there, breathless and flushed, I can’t help but wonder what awaits me, what punishment or reward Mikhail has in store for the notes that dared to defy his command.
The applause continues, a thunderous wave of approval from the audience, yet all I can hear is the steady thrum of my own heartbeat. The vibration starts up again, this time more intense than the rest and I nearly drop my instrument in shock.
I lower the cello, my hands trembling as the last echoes of the performance fade away. The desire in Mikhail’s gaze hasn’t waned; if anything, it’s intensified. I feel his eyes tracing the curve of my body, lingering on me and promising to hurt me.
As I step off the stage, the transition from the spotlight to the dimness of the backstage area is abrupt. The air is charged with anticipation, and I know I’m about to face the consequences—punishment or reward—for the calculated risks I took during the performance.
Mikhail emerges from the shadows, his presence commanding attention. His eyes, a blend of dominance and desire, lock onto mine. There’s a dangerous edge to his smile, a silent acknowledgment of the game we played on that stage.
“You played well, Malyshka,” he purrs, the sound sending a shiver down my spine. “But you defied me on that stage.”
The words are a mixture of praise and a veiled warning. I can sense the undercurrent of his expectations, the unspoken demand for absolute submission. But defiance simmers within me, fueled by the thrill of pushing boundaries.
I meet his gaze with a mix of boldness and uncertainty. “So what now?”
Mikhail steps closer, his hand reaching to trace the line of my jaw. His touch is both tender and possessive, a contradiction that mirrors our tangled dynamic.
“Now,” he murmurs, his voice a low, velvety growl, “we decide if you’ll be rewarded or punished.”
The air thickens with anticipation as he leads me to my dressing room. “Do you understand the consequences of playing with fire, Gabriette?” Mikhail’s gaze pierces through me, his tone laced with authority.