Hi, Author here. I should mention before we go any further that this story is inspired by the 2004 Phantom of the Opera film by Joel Schumacher. Which I will admit to finding a bit disappointing because mask or no mask Gerard Butler was still hot (and remains so till this day). After reading Le Fantôme de l'Opéra, seeing both of the musicals live (Phantom of the opera and Love never dies, the latter of which I was not expecting.) and watching all of the movies - like the Phantom-addict I am - I have still decided that the 2004 film version is what inspires me most. Thoughts and opinions on the subject are always welcome. I do try to use correct grammar and spelling, but I'm aware I'm not particularly good at it and constructive criticism is always welcome.

In the previously mentioned film, Raoul seemed lovely, but I'm sure you'll catch on to the fact that I'm not a huge Raoul fan rather quickly in this chapter particularly. His personality in this story is more of an extension of his personality in Love Never Dies.

Disclaimer: I don't own Phantom of the Opera or any of its characters. If I did Christine would have been less shallow and ultimately ended up with Eric in the first movie/ play/book. You get my point.

Introduction:

It wasn't even a week after Raoul had 'Freed' me from the Phantoms clutches that I realised that I'd been freed from one prison only to be caged in another with a jealous and short-tempered aristocrat. My ballet and opera career smashed to pieces in the name of 'expectations'.

I looked down at the engagement ring resting on my finger. It never felt quite right. Though the sizing was perfect. It slid on and sparkled in the light and had been the topic of conversation among ladies at the many evening soiree's Raoul had insisted that we just must attend in the last few months since our escape. And I understood, he was a Vicomte and I was to be his Lady Wife, social events were to be expected and propriety must be observed, but already he was so different then he was at the Opera house. He was sweet and patient and kind. And now… decidedly not. Raoul's short fuse was ignited at the smallest things and calming him was near impossible.

Even at his worst, my Angel of Music had always been at the very least semi-logical.

Today was one such time from the moment Raoul woke he was angry, such was his way since we left the theatre, I'd stayed with him at his Parisian Townhouse -sperate bedrooms of course- until we were wed and moved into his countryside mansion. This infuriated him, my refusal to share his bed even after his grand rescue mission.

Raoul had grabbed my chin and roughly tilted it up to force me to look him in the eye.

"Soon you will be my wife, and then you'll share my bed whether you like it or not." Forcefully chucking my chin before marching off to his 'gentlemen's club' to begin his daily ritual. Constantly and most consistently, drinking and gambling.

That was the first time he'd said it to me the morning after out escape from the opera house. I'd brushed it off then, but it had been a reoccurring threat, and each time he got angrier until I started barricading my bedroom door at night.

This particular morning, he seemed upset about something else, he'd hardly touched his food, instead opting for staring coldly at me from across the long table.

"It's the D'leuront's party tonight." He sighed. "The word is that the fair Clarice is with-child."

"That's wonderful Raoul." I paused my eating and looked up at him.

"Indeed. So, do you have anything less…" He gestured to my dress. It was a brown bustle dress with a high collar to cover the bruises. "Never mind." He huffed. "We shall have to call someone in."

Suddenly after three months of uncertainty and fear I needed to get out of this house like I needed my next breath.

"Really darling? Do you think perhaps that's a bit extravagant considering the event?" I began gingerly, I knew I was all but flaring red in front of an angry bull. "I wouldn't want to upstage the hostess… I know, Lord McCartney's wife is coming over for tea this morning- you remember Elizabeth, the red-haired one, you like her. I could send a messenger and have her meet me at one of the more prestige cafes' and after she could help me pick out a dress, perhaps some new gloves for the event?"

"Honestly Christine. To change plans so suddenly! What would people think?" His temper was beginning to flare.

"Quite right darling. I apologise. I just thought this soirée has come on quite suddenly, yes? I doubt Elizabeth has a dress made up yet either. I imagine her husband would be grateful for the reprieve… You know, he owns the largest commercial fleet of ships in France."

Raoul could never turn down a business opportunity, we didn't need the money, couldn't spend what we had in 10 lifetimes. Despite his efforts. But upon arriving here I realised very quickly that Raoul would do almost anything to gain back favour with his Father. Apparently, the opera ghost and fire fiasco, caused enough gossip to reach his parents in Belgium and they were less than impressed. I think the word 'scandal' was used.

I could almost see the thoughts passing behind his eyes before they locked onto mine and he sighed irritably. "Fine." Before his chair screeched out against the marble floors and he approached me with heavy footsteps, all but pulling me out of my chair and holding me in a bruising kiss, his hand wound into my hair so tightly that I could feel my eyes beginning to water. "Be back by 4 PM sharp."

"Of course, dear" I swallowed back the pain and blinked away the tears and forced down any shudders or flinches that might anger him further. We'd been down that path before and I didn't want to attend another luncheon with a bruise across my cheek.

I had the carriage stop a few streets away from the café, I needed the walk. Fresh air, time to think. The air was brisk, my cloak lined with fur to defend against the bitter cold, I pulled it tighter against me, suddenly regretting the choice to leave the warmth of the carriage. When I sighed, I saw my breath, and with every step I took a heel sunk into the white snow below me, between the shops and apartments, lay dark alleyways, dozens upon dozens, all identical, dark and damp. Until a piece of paper blew out from around the corner of one and hit my foot. It was sheet music, unnamed, still obviously in progress with circles where the notes might go, and lyrics scribbled out below them… it was His handwriting. I'd know it anywhere. My Angel, my Phantom. Was he here? Walking into the alleyway the paper had blown out from I almost got lost in the darkness, it was sudden and blinding. Suddenly I tripped over something and steeled myself against the wall, scraping through the fabric of my gloves.

"I'm so sorry sir." I muttered out an apology, intending to walk away when lying on the ground next to the man groaning in pain was a mask. White. Very distinctive. "Angel? Is that you?" I asked bending down to see him more closely.

End of the first part.

Wouldn't it be mortifying if it wasn't him… OH, THE TEMPTATION!

Please review and share your thoughts, I'm going to continue on with this story regardless, its more for me than anything else, you write the story you want to read right? That's what they say. In any case, I'd still love to hear any thoughts on this chapter, or just on The Phantom of the Opera in general.

Till next time.