Chapter 4 - The Sound of Vulnerability
The storm raged through the night, but inside the mansion, the emergency lights cast long, warm shadows along the corridors.
At midnight, Dominic walked down the east wing hallway. He couldn't sleep. The image of Ruby dripping wet, wrapped in his coat, her hazel eyes looking up at him with unshielded warmth, refused to leave his mind.
As he passed the guest suite, he heard it.
It wasn't a loud performance like the one in the parlor, nor was it the quiet humming of the library.
It was a slow, melancholic lullaby.
Ruby was sitting on the wide window seat of the guest bedroom, looking out at the rain pouring down against the glass. She was wearing a pair of soft, oversized grey sweatpants and a thick knitted sweater that Mrs. Gable had lent her from the laundry room.
The room door was slightly open.
Dominic leaned against the doorframe in the dark hallway, watching her silently through the opening.
Her voice was raw, stripped of all theatrics, floating through the dark room like silk over velvet. She sang a quiet Irish ballad—a song about lost home, waiting by the sea, and longing for a place to belong.
The sadness in her tone was palpable, heavy, and deeply beautiful.
Dominic closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the wood of the doorframe.
For years, his mansion had been quiet, but it had never been peaceful. His silence was built on trauma, on the violent death of his father ten years prior, on the bloody mob war that followed, and on the overwhelming burden of protecting everything he had built. He had surrounded himself with silence because silence meant control.
But sitting here in the dark, listening to Ruby sing into the rain, he realized something terrifying.
His silence wasn't peace. It was an empty tomb.
And her voice was the only thing that made him feel alive.
Ruby finished the last verse, her voice lingering on a high, fragile note before fading into the sound of the rain.
She let out a soft sigh, resting her forehead against the cool glass of the window.
"It's a beautiful song," Dominic said softly from the doorway.
Ruby didn't startle this time. She turned her head slowly, looking toward his dark silhouette in the entrance.
"My grandmother used to sing it to me," she said quietly, her voice slightly raspy. "When things got hard. When the rent was late, or when my mother didn't come home."
Dominic stepped into the room, walking slowly toward the window seat. The pale moonlight filtered through the clouds, illuminating her face.
"You miss her?" he asked, sitting down on the opposite end of the wide velvet cushion.
"Every day," Ruby said, tucking her legs up under her sweater. "She was the one who taught me to sing. She said if you have a voice, you should use it to fill up empty spaces. Otherwise, the shadows take over."
Dominic looked down at his own hands—hands that had signed cold business deals, hands that had pulled triggers, hands that had carried the weight of a violent empire.
"My house has a lot of shadows," Dominic admitted, his voice rough and quiet.
"I noticed," Ruby said softly, offering him a gentle, understanding smile. "You keep them around like furniture, Mr. Vale."
"Dominic," he corrected quietly, looking up into her eyes. "Call me Dominic."
Ruby’s breath caught slightly in her throat. "Dominic."
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They sat in the quiet room for a long time, the rain drumming against the glass, the space between them filled with a new, delicate understanding. Dominic didn't ask her to sing again, and Ruby didn't offer.
They simply sat together in the dark, two lonely souls sharing a moment of quiet warmth in a house built on ice.
