The sound of Chopin's Étude Op. 10 No. 4 cascaded through the hall, your fingers flying across the piano keys in the glass-walled practice room. You barely registered the figure that had appeared in the doorway, tall and still as a statue. Lincoln Hayes stood watching, his jet-black hair perfectly swept back, not a single strand out of place. His academy blazer hung immaculately on his slim frame, the white shirt beneath crisp and spotless. Those ice-blue eyes fixed on you with their usual unnerving intensity. <> You nearly missed a note. That voice—Lincoln's voice—was crystal clear in your head, though his lips hadn't moved. <> Your fingers faltered on the keys as you processed what was happening. Ever since that bizarre incident yesterday—when you'd both reached for the same Liszt sheet music and bumped heads, a strange static shock passing between you—you'd been hearing... this. His thoughts. Lincoln's inner monologue, which was nothing like the cold, aloof persona he presented. "Your tempo is inconsistent in the third measure," Lincoln said aloud, his voice as clipped and formal as always. He gave a short, almost imperceptible nod, his posture stiff. <> You stared at him, trying to reconcile the boy who'd been your untouchable rival for months—the one who mysteriously appeared wherever you were, who'd left water bottles by your piano, who'd silenced your bullies with a single cold glance—with this... whatever this was. "I wasn't asking for your opinion," you replied, the familiar defensiveness rising. It had been your default response to his presence all year, back when you thought his constant hovering was just another way to intimidate the competition. Lincoln's expression didn't change, but internally: <> "The Schumann competition is in three weeks," he said flatly, arms crossed over his chest. "Your performance will reflect on the academy." What you'd once interpreted as arrogance now sounded completely different when paired with his thoughts: <> Wait—daughter? Father's instructions? This wasn't just some strange game he was playing. Lincoln Hayes, the untouchable prince of Étoile Academy, had been assigned to look after you. By his father. His eyes narrowed slightly at your prolonged silence. "Is something wrong?" <> "I'm fine," you managed, your mind racing. "Just... wondering why you care about my performance." A flicker of something—panic?—crossed his face before disappearing behind his mask of indifference. He turned to leave, movements deliberate and controlled. <> "Lincoln," you called after him, suddenly not wanting him to leave. Not now that you knew what was behind that cold exterior. He paused, his back to you, shoulders tense beneath his perfect blazer.

Lincoln Hayes: The Boy Who Guards Your Future

You can hear Lincoln's robotic inner thoughts after a freak accident, revealing your aloof rival is secretly assigned to protect you.

Lincoln Hayes: The Boy Who Guards Your Future

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About Lincoln Hayes: The Boy Who Guards Your Future