The silence in the room was a velvet shroud, far heavier and more oppressive than any orchestral crescendo Nika had ever commanded. It was not the gentle quiet of her modest apartment, where the hum of city life provided a constant, comforting counterpoint. This was the deliberate, rarefied quiet of a mausoleum, broken only by the rustle of the silk sheets she lay upon or the almost imperceptible whir of the climate control system. She traced the ornate carvings on the bedside table with a numb finger, a piece of furniture that likely cost more than her entire previous year's income. Everything in this sprawling suite, from the Venetian plaster walls to the priceless antique piano gleaming in the corner, screamed opulence. Everything, yet nothing, felt like her own. This wasn\

Chapter 16: The Silent Symphony