A/N: Sorry that I haven't updated in a very long time, but I'm back. I know that I had up to chapter 4 posted, but after reviewing the story decided that some minor changes needed to be made. After reposting chapters 3 and 4, chapter 5 will be made immediately available. Thanks to everyone who has read my story so far, and I again apologize for the extended hiatus.

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the original POTO characters.

Chapter 3

It had nearly been a week since Layla had first met Erik and since that day the two had barely exchanged more than two words. Layla was often left alone in her, well his, bedroom, only to see Erik when he brought her meals and to change her bandages. The first few days were a blur as Layla slept majority of the time; her imposed solitude relatively unnoticed. As she began to recover, she found that she was often alone, cloistered in this one room without one invitation or suggestion to leave. Her 'imprisonment' left Layla incredibly bored… and curious. Her greatest fault and weakness. There had to be more to Erik's home as she had been woken up many nights to the sound of organ music just beyond the door. Erik had never explicitly told her that she couldn't leave but his reserved demeanor dissuaded her for a while. Once she had felt well enough to leave the bed, Layla grudgingly contented herself with merely exploring the bedroom, but after dragging it out over a few days there was nothing more to discover. However, that would change today, if she had anything to do about it. Once Erik brought her breakfast, he would leave his home from the rest of the day, only to reappear with dinner. Layla knew that he must be leaving his house, as she would hear no sound from the other side of the door. If he was home, then the man would be playing his organ, or what seemed like an orchestra of instruments, as he would often do late into the night. His music…

Layla sighed softly as she thought of the sweet, passionate music that flooded her bedroom every night. Erik was certainly a gifted musician and she would often simply lie in the swan bed, listening to his music until the early hours of morning. The wonderment she received from his playing was well worth the many lost hours of sleep. Nearly giddy with excitement, Layla could hardly wait for Erik to bring her breakfast. The moment she was certain that he had left for the day; she was going to leave this room and explore the rest of Erik's home, even if it killed her. A soft knock at the door forewarned Layla of Erik's entrance, always the consummate gentleman he seemed to portray. Barely sparing her a glance, Erik deposited the tray of food onto a nearby table before turning to leave. Again, the equally infuriating and intriguing man had left her without even uttering a single word. Maybe she had done something or said something that had angered or upset him, but for the life of her Layla could not think of anything that would cause him to ignore her entirely. She would just have to forget about it; it wasn't like Erik was going to suddenly decide to tell her why he was giving her the cold shoulder. Layla hurriedly ate her breakfast, all the while listening carefully to ensure that Erik had actually left. The man moved around much to quietly for her liking. No wonder her co-workers always seemed to accuse her of the same trait and now she understood their annoyance. Layla waited an hour, just to be sure that he would not return suddenly. She opened the door slowly and silently and peered cautiously around the adjoining room. Her first impression was that the room was very large and utterly magnificent. Dozens of candles lit the room, held in golden candelabrums that glistened in the soft, flickering light. Layla descended the stairs of her bedroom, her eyes searching the room as she did. Now she could understand why it always seemed so dark, Erik's home was actually underground. Why would he want to live underground? Maybe he playacting at being a Victorian Era Batman, that cape and mask he always wore certainly seemed to complete the Batman attire. Now she could add 'Batcave' to the list.

Continuing her observations, Layla turned to the imposing organ that dominated the room. This was where Erik's music originated. Layla let her fingertips brush across the pages of sheet music scattered around the organ and accidently pushing a few of the pages onto the floor. Picking up the sheets of music, Layla piled them into her hands, caressing the rough paper softly. She had always loved music and the notes before her wove a song that was simply breathtaking. She soon found herself humming some of the notes on the pages she held. This certainly brought back memories. She hadn't sung for a very long time, not since college at least. It felt good to even hum after such a long time, but she would never do more than that. She made a promise. Wrapped up in Erik's dark and passionate music and taking comfort in it, Layla didn't notice the presence of the dark shadow behind her.

He was distracted. Even Dunstan could tell that his employer was not really listening to the current round of auditions being held. Thankfully, the young man decided to conclude the day's work early, dismissing everyone before even the lunch hour. The Phantom knew he could not continue working like this, constantly worrying about the woman residing in his home. But it was not just worry that nagged the mind of the Phantom, there was also a sense of intrigue and fascination that surrounded the woman and permeated his every thought. Not a good idea for one such as him. After that first night, the woman did not ask him any more questions although her eyes were always shining with intense curiosity as she looked at him. Not once did she scream in fear, ask about his mask, or try to escape his home. At the beginning, the Phantom simply regarded it as a result of her injury and the short fever that had followed than actual indifference at his appearance. Now that it had been a week, he could not be sure of a reason. A week! To think that the Opera Ghost had a guest in his home for an entire week was mind boggling, even to himself. Not even Christine lasted that long. Shying away from the thought of the onetime prima donna, the Phantom acknowledged that he should have taken the girl aboveground the morning after he had found her, not matter what her condition. However, he found himself not jumping at the chance to relieve himself of her presence anytime soon. The woman was quickly becoming a danger to him. A light knock at the box's door rouse the Phantom from his thoughts as he bade them to enter. Dunstan quickly moved inside, a small pile of documents in his arms.

"No luck with a soprano today, monsieur."

"Indeed," the Phantom growled.

Dismissing his employer's foul mood, Dunstan continued to Erik's side, handing him the small packet of papers.

"Here is the finance report you requested, as well as the information for the New Year's Masquerade Ball."

The Phantom growled once more, "That infernal event is not to be held for another six months. Why bother me about it now?"

"Because it is actually three months away," Dunstan smirked humorously, "and I had thought that you would like to finish the preparations now, so that you would not have to worry it about it later."

The Phantom had to agree with his friend's logic, although he fervently wished he had refused to hold the ball to begin with. Too many memories of the past haunted those types of events. Dunstan watched his employer as tension filled the Phantom once more. Placing his hand on the older man's shoulder, he smiled at the Phantom good-naturedly.

"Why not take the rest of the day off, monsieur? There is nothing of importance that needs you attention at the moment."

The Phantom nodded silently, gathering the papers in his hands.

"Thank you Dunstan, I believe that is what I will do. Try not to stay too long before you return to your wife."

Allowing a ghost of a smile, the Phantom gracefully walked past his employee and friend, into the dark passageways leading to his home. As he walked the corridors in which he had found her, the Phantom found his thoughts returning to the woman once again. He should make her leave today. She was fully recovered from her ordeal and there was no reason to keep her with him any longer. He could not afford to form any more attachment to the young woman. Thoughts of her was taking up too much residence in his mind, she was quickly becoming an obsession like Christine, though he had barely spoken to this mysterious girl. He had sworn to himself that he would not walk down that same path again. However, the thought of being alone in his home once more caused a familiar ache to begin in his heart. One similar to when Christine had turned away from him. Would every woman he met cause him to instantly think of Christine? Had she completely destroyed any chance of enjoyment in the company of the fairer sex? The Phantom struggled to reign in his emotions as he neared his underground home but his concentration was broken as he heard a soft voice. The voice itself was obviously untrained and a little rough, but there was limitless potential hidden within it. The potential of an entrancing prima donna. The surprise over the sound of the voice was quickly replaced by fury. That music! That was his composition, his aria! The Phantom silently approached his home, emerging from a secret door hidden in the shadows. He instantly recognized the intruder the second he caught sight of that tumble of thick, auburn hair. Hair that he had sometimes dreamt about caressing again. Her back was facing him as the
Phantom approached her silently. Her humming did not cease until he hold of her shoulder in an iron grip. The woman started in surprise as the Phantom forced her to turn around to face him, his composition still clutched in her hands, Don Juan Triumphant.

"What do you think you are doing?"

The Phantom's low voice did nothing to disguise the fury behind it. The woman did not flinch under his hand as he tightened his grip on her shoulder, nor did she avoid his piercing gaze. The damned woman even had the gall to smile at him!

"I think I was humming a few bars from your work. It's very good."

The Phantom's grip tightened even further, barely registering the wince of pain that flashed across the girl's face.

"Mademoiselle, I believe we have a misunderstanding. You were not to leave that room, much less rifle through my belongings."

The woman's gray eyes narrowed in a challenge, "Really? I never got that memo."

Unable to control his temper, the Phantom slapped the young woman, the force of which sent her to the hard ground. In the back of his mind, the Phantom was grudgingly impressed. Not once did she cry out; not once did she flinch or tremble before him, as so many others had before. She only held his golden gaze with her own silver eyes and never said a word. Actions that infuriated him in the same measures that impressed him. Full of his rage, the Phantom roughly grasped the stoic woman's arm and dragged her back to the bedroom. He threw her onto the swan bed before turning and stalking out of the room with the grace of a panther. The only sound to break the silence was the lock to her door turning, trapping the woman within the room.

Well, she would have bruises tomorrow, that much was certain. Layla continued to examine her shoulder and arm where Erik had gripped her so tightly. She was actually surprised that he hadn't broken any bones; that man was incredibly strong. She had never thought that he would have gotten so angry with her, granted she didn't know all that much about Erik to begin with. Layla puller her t-shirt back on, wincing at the pain in her shoulder and sat back down onto the swan bed with a sigh. Music had filled the room again but it was nothing like what she had heard from him before. This music was angry and dangerous, filling Layla with a sense of dread far stronger than Erik's molten glare. The cliché about curiosity killing the cat must be true, at least for her that is. Twice she had indulged in her curiosity and she wasn't quite certain that she would be able to survive a third. Layla leaned back onto the soft covers and curled up onto her side, closing her eyes as she tried to understand what had happened. As many times as she had replayed the incident in her mind, she just couldn't understand why he would have been so angry with her. It was just music for god's sakes! She probably never should have picked up those music sheets. Now she was locked in a room underground, with a very angry man, who could pass off as Batman on a good day and Hulk at his worst, and she had no idea where she was or how she was going to get out.

"I will not cry. I will not cry. I will not cry."

A single tear escaped Layla's eye, making a trail as it rolled down her check.