Marcus gripped onto the rail of the ship, his nose inhaling the sweet scent of the sea. He relished the view of the waves, a pod of dolphins clicking happily beside the passenger ship. He was grateful that Victoria had booked him a ticket on a ship rather than a flight. The thought of being crammed inside a metal tube thirty thousand feet in the air still sent shivers down his spine. Heights were his enemy, always had been.

The serenity of the moment was broken.

"Marcus, you're going to end up going overboard if you keep leaning forward like that. Not that I would complain," came Robert's voice from behind him. The man's sandy blonde hair flicked in the sea breeze. He had the face of a storybook prince but the eyes of a storm. His gaze was cold, hard, and calculating.

Marcus's fingers curled tighter around the rail, grounding himself. "As my rival, I'd expect nothing less from you, but I'll let the judges decide which one of us is the best."

Robert's grin was razor-sharp, his eyes narrowing into predatory slits. "I am the best," he hissed, his voice low with menace. Without warning, his hand shot out, gripping Marcus's neck with brutal force.

Marcus's eyes bulged as he clawed at Robert's arm, his breath vanishing in a strangled gasp. Panic jolted through his chest.

"I will beat you," Robert growled, his face inches from Marcus's ear, his voice dripping with venom. His grip tightened before shoving Marcus back. The world spun as Marcus stumbled to his knees, gasping, his hands clutching his throat. The metallic taste of fear coated his tongue.

By the time he looked up, Robert was gone.

He sat there for a long time, trembling, his gaze blank as he rubbed his neck, trying to erase the phantom grip still burning into his skin. His breaths were shallow, uneven, his heart racing like a cornered animal.

"Robert again?" a familiar voice pulled him back to reality. He turned his head to see Victoria standing nearby, arms crossed, her sharp blue eyes brimming with quiet concern.

He nodded, unable to find his voice.

"Don't let him get to you, Marcus," Victoria said, stepping closer. She was a no-nonsense, middle-aged woman with sharp cheekbones and the aura of someone who'd seen it all. She'd been his agent for years, and though she was blunt, she cared for him like family. "He's just trying to rattle you. That boy's been nothing but a walking temper tantrum since I met him."

Marcus's laugh came out strained, hollow. "You're just saying that because you're my agent and it's your job to make me feel better."

"Wrong, kid," she said firmly. "I'm saying it because it's the truth. You've got something he doesn't. Real talent. It's in you, not the rage he's running on. That's the difference." She stepped forward and placed a hand on his shoulder. "He's just noise. You're music."

Her words cut through the weight on his chest, loosening it just a bit.

"Now get up, kid. I've gotta make some calls. Don't go overboard, alright?"

He nodded, managing a small smile as she walked away, cigarette already halfway to her lips.

Turning his gaze to the sea, Marcus let the calm sway of the waves soothe him. The dolphins clicked and jumped in playful arcs, splashing in the golden sunlight. The urge to play his violin clawed at him, desperate to capture the symphony of the sea. His fingers itched for it, but he held back, his mind replaying Robert's words like a broken record.

He shook his head, as if he could throw the memory away, and reached into his pocket as his phone buzzed. His heart sank when he saw the caller ID.

"Hello?" he murmured into the speaker.

"Honey! It's your mother!"

Marcus's jaw tightened. His eyes darted around for a shadowed corner, a place where he could hide from the familiar weight of her expectations. "Hello Mum."

"Honestly, Marcus? Is that how you greet your mother? The one who gave birth to you and raised you?" Her words hit him like sharp little darts, puncturing his mood. She'd done it all his life—chiseled away at his confidence bit by bit.

"Sorry, Mum," he said, eyes locked on the waves. "I couldn't hear you over the ocean. Can you repeat that?"

"Don't get smart with me," she snapped. "When you're back, you're going on a date with the Peterson girl. She's lovely and far better than any of those—"

He felt his patience snap like an overstretched string. "Mom. I'm gay. And there's nothing you can do about it," he said, his voice sharp with finality.

Silence. It only lasted a second, but it felt like an eternity.

"You're confused, Marcus," she said, her tone like stone. "I'm sure a nice date with a good girl will—"

He hung up, hands trembling with frustration. His breath hitched as the familiar ache of rejection filled his chest. He'd known better. They'd never accept him. His brother was the "golden son," and he—he was the disappointment.

His gaze shifted to the ship's rail, and he drew in a deep breath. He needed to play.

He made his way to his room, pulled out his violin, and held it close to his chest. Returning to the open air, he found his spot by the rail, letting the sun kiss his face. The dolphins were still there, playful and free. "Please stay and listen," he whispered to them.

Placing the violin under his chin, he pressed his fingers against the fingerboard and took a breath. His bow hovered over the strings, and as he exhaled, he drew it slowly, letting the sound bloom like a flower. The soft, delicate notes floated over the waves, weaving into the calls of dolphins and the splash of water.

It was pure, raw peace.

Then came the hands.

Two firm, sudden hands shoved him from behind. He gasped, his body jolted forward. For a moment, he was weightless. His eyes widened in shock, his violin slipping from his grasp. The world tilted.

The ocean's cold embrace caught him with a crash, water enveloping him like an icy shroud. Panic surged. He kicked frantically, heart pounding against his ribs as bubbles rose past him like silver coins. The cold was everywhere. Above, he saw the violin floating away like a ghost, its strings still humming from the last note played.