❤️HEARTSTRING❤️
(Love melody………..)
Chapter 15&16
By Triplewealth.
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.After Sylvia left the hallway she went to sit alone on the rooftop behind the old science block—the only place at Brocks High no one seemed to care about. The breeze tugged at her curls, and the city skyline blinked in the distance like a silent audience.
She slipped her earbuds in.
And let herself breathe.
The first notes of the track she recorded two nights ago drifted into her ears. Her voice—soft, raw, layered over a beat that sounded like cracked glass and lonely rain. She hadn’t even titled this one yet.
But it was hers.
Every lyric, every beat, every ache stitched into sound.
No one here knew who Mystery girl was.
No one knew she stayed up until 3AM some nights in her grandmother’s old laundry room, recording vocals with a secondhand mic and editing beats on a glitchy laptop using free software.
Music was her truth.
The only place she spoke without fear.
Not the girl they saw in the halls. Not the charity case. Not Tiffany unwanted “sister.” Not the one people whispered about.
Here—right here—she was just Sylvia.
And Sylvia wasn’t weak.
She had grown teeth in the dark.
She had learned how to hide her heart in lyrics.
She didn’t want attention. She didn’t want some cold, famous boy coming to her rescue.
But Kingsley Brocks…
He was watching her like he knew something.
Like he saw something she wasn’t showing.
And that bothered her more than Brielle’s lipstick notes or hallway stares.
Because if he looked too closely…
He might start recognizing the rhythm behind her silence.
He might hear her voice.
And no one was supposed to hear that.
Not yet.
Not even him.
Kingsley pov
Kingsley didn’t like things he couldn’t control.
He liked routines. He liked knowing what came next. School. Study. Practice. Music—his real escape. Not the piano lessons everyone assumed he took, but the tracks he produced in secret. The ones only she responded to—Mystery girl
He’d never heard her voice.
Only seen her messages.
Always short, always signed with a single musical note. 🎵
Still, somehow, her music and his… matched.
Like they spoke the same language, one made of shadows, silence, and scars.
It wasn’t love. Not yet. But it was his.
His hidden world.
Untouched. Untouchable.
Until now.
Now there was a girl walking around his school with the same look he saw in her music: bruised, but not broken. Quiet, but not silent.
Sylvia Kelly.
He leaned his head back and sighed, annoyed with himself.
“This is stupid,” he muttered under his breath.
“Talking to yourself now?” a voice said beside him.
Kingsley turned his head lazily. Kenzie,one of his best friends, leaned against the wall, arms crossed, smirking.
“You stared at that girl for a solid five minutes,” Kenzie added. “Should I start planning the wedding?”
Kingsley rolled his eyes. “Don’t be dumb.”
Jace raised a brow. “So what is it then? She different or something?”
Kingsley paused, then shrugged. “She’s… not fake.”
Kenzie whistled low. “That’s the closest you’ve come to complimenting someone since—ever.”
Kingsley didn’t answer.
He was already thinking again. About the look in her eyes. About the red lipstick note she never reacted to. About how her silence wasn’t weakness—it was armor.
And why, for the first time in months, he found himself wondering…
What would her voice sound like… if she sang?
After a while he left for class and on entering the class,the fourth period as already started
Science class
The scent of formaldehyde still lingered from last week’s lab, mixing unpleasantly with cheap floor cleaner. The whiteboard was filled with chemical equations, but most students weren’t paying attention—except Sylvia.
She sat at the second-to-last lab bench, her pen flying across her notebook as Mr. Hawthorne droned on about ionic bonding.
“Let’s try something different today,” he said, clapping chalk dust off his hands. “Pop quiz. Partner-based.”
A collective groan swept through the room.
“Don’t worry,” he smirked. “It’s just five questions. Pick your partners—quietly.”
Before Sylvia could turn, two tall shadow fell over her desk.
“Taken,” Samara said sweetly, sliding into the seat beside her along with Tiffany without asking.
Sylvia didn’t move. “I didn’t choose you.”
“I wasn’t asking.”
Samara smile was all teeth. Behind her, a few students snickered, sensing a show.
Sylvia said nothing, flipping her paper over when Mr. Hawthorne dropped it on the desk. She could feel Kingsley two rows up, casually glancing over his shoulder.
“You think you’re clever because you can answer questions,” Samara murmured under her breath. “Smart doesn’t make you important.”
Sylvia wrote down the first answer without responding.
Tiffany leaned closer. “Don’t get too comfortable. Things change fast around here.”
Sylvia slowly turned her head, met Tiffany eyes, and replied quietly, “They usually do… when people feel threatened.”
Tiffany blinked. Just once.
A tiny pause, but enough for Sylvia to return to the quiz like nothing had happened.
From his desk, Kingsley tapped his pencil once. His eyes narrowed, but only slightly.
The class ended. Mr. Hawthorne collected the quizzes with a grunt.
Just as the final bell rang, the loudspeaker crackled:
“Attention students, please report to the main corridor during break. The invitation list for this year’s Midnight Masquerade Gala is now posted.”
And with that, the room erupted.
Excitement. Panic. Whispers.
Samara stood tall, flipping her hair. “Let’s go confirm the obvious,” she said loudly to her friends.
Then Tiffany moved closer to Sylvia and whispered saying step sis watch your back
Sylvia packed her bag without a word.
But inside?
She felt like beating her to pulp
[INT. BROCKS CORPORATE TOWER – NOAH BROCKS’ OFFICE – EVENING]
Noah Brocks stood behind his mahogany desk, sleeves rolled up, jaw clenched. The city glowed behind him, but his eyes were locked on the folder in his hand.
His personal assistant — and fiancée — Irene Cesborn stood opposite him, her heels sharp, her eyes sharper.
Noah (coldly):
“You approved this without running it by me?”
Irene (calm, measured):
“You were in Tokyo. The client couldn’t wait. I made the call.”
Noah:
“You made my call.”
Irene:
“I made the company’s call.”
A silence thick enough to cut.
Noah dropped the folder on the desk. Papers scattered.
Noah:
“Sometimes I forget whether working with my PA… or running a company with my girlfriend.”
Irene lips twitched — not a smile, not quite anger.
Irene:
“You’re not Working with me lately.”
Noah’s jaw tightened. The tension between them wasn’t just professional — it had long spilled into the personal.
She stepped closer, voice dropping.
Irene:
“You want control, Noah. You always have. But don’t confuse loyalty with obedience. I didn’t betray you. I covered for you.”
Noah (quietly):
“And who covers me from you?”
Irene blinked — and for a flicker, something softened. Then the phone on his desk buzzed.
Reception:
“Sir, Cairo is on line two. And your father just arrived downstairs.”
Noah exhaled slowly, not breaking eye contact with Amelia.
Noah:
“Tell them I’ll deal with one problem at a time.”
He finally looked away and picked up the phone, dismissing her with a nod.
Irene turned sharply on her heels, but just before leaving, she paused at the glass door and said over her shoulder:
Irene:
“Careful, Noah. You’re not the only one who love been in control and you know me better than anyone that i have sold my patience a long time ago.”
Noah: Babe Let’s not start another argument how you spend the night in my place
Irene: Okay fine see you later Mr grumpy
Then Noah chuckled and continue walking on his laptop
And she walked out, heels echoing down the marble hallway — not with weakness, but with Elegance……..
T.B.C
