Christine's heart fluttered as she counted to ten and opened the heavy wooden coat check door. Erik had instructed her not to risk a glance back in his direction, but she couldn't help herself. Taking a deep breath, she looked over her shoulder and found he had once again disappeared.

She blinked and held her breath, unsure of how he had made his exit.

"I will see you tomorrow, Erik," she said, lingering a moment longer to see if he was still nearby.

Once Christine started to lose hope that her mysterious teacher had heard her, Erik reassured her again.

Christine…

And there he was, the voice in her head, the man always within her heart. She smiled to herself and quickly walked out of the coat check room and into a throng of exiting actors, actresses, and musicians. The smell of tobacco and perfume swallowed her up, swirling around her in a nauseating mix.

Christine slowed her pace. Her legs felt suddenly weak, her heart racing so fast she could barely breathe. Knowing that Erik was alive and that he had found her again was almost beyond comprehension. In her life, there had been no second chances, only the cruel, stark reality of death and abandonment.

This had to be a blessing.

The people around her issued furrowed brows and hard stares as they bustled onto the city street, leaving her still dazed. Once she was pulled onto the street by the crowd, the chill in the air made her shiver and return to her senses.

"Christine!" a familiar voice called out.

She paused and whirled around, searching for the source.

"Christine!" Raoul called out again as she briskly made her way through the theater crowd and toward the rows of seats. As always, she was heading away from the rest, on a path set by her damnable heart.

The sound of her fiancé's voice made the young soprano pause, her pounding heart seemingly lodged in her throat. She swallowed hard and searched for his face in the crowd.

"You will never guess who I just saw," Raoul said once she was at his side. He took Christine's hands in his and smiled down at her.

Immediately Christine felt her breath hitch. Her mouth went dry as she considered her secret, heated meeting. Raoul's tone was far too cheerful to be speaking of Erik, but still…she only shrugged in response, afraid one word would give her secret rendezvous away.

"Meg Giry!" Raoul exclaimed.

"That was her, then?" Christine asked, still feigning surprise.

"Yes, here to audition, so it seems. Can you believe it, my dear? She was equally surprised to see me, as you would imagine."

Christine furrowed her brow. "Why did she use a different name? And when did you see her?"

"I didn't ask her, but I only saw her a moment ago. Said she was waiting for her cousin, I believe. I told her there was no need for her to audition, of course, being that I've become the head of this asylum, but as it turns out she was already offered employment." Raoul smiled devilishly, his blue eyes boyish and twinkling with mirth. He let out a boyish chuckle and appeared absolutely thrilled by their encounter.

"I wish I would have seen her," Christine said absently. "I wish I would have spoken to her myself, honestly."

Raoul looked mesmerized still. "There will be plenty of time."

Christine forced a smile. Time felt as though it were slipping away from her and reeling past at the same time.

"This theater will have a bit of magic on its stage with two very talented leading ladies, don't you think?" He rubbed his hands together and chuckled to himself. "And my uncle thought I was his very last resort—and a failure. Ha! We'll show him a thing or two, won't we my dear? Just think of it, Christine, you and Meg performing together. What more could this theater possibly need?"

A ghost, she thought to herself.

Christine felt herself blush at the thought of a third person within the theater, a man Raoul would have no desire to see again. Christine wasn't sure if it was her encounter with Erik or the smell of the musty theater and an array of perfumed women waltzing by that made her stomach flip. In the back of her mind, she knew the churning in her gut was neither.

"We should leave," she said abruptly.

Raoul's expression immediately sobered. "Is something the matter?" he asked, his brow knit with concern.

"I don't feel like myself," she blurted out.

The vicomte searched her face and slowly nodded. "Too much excitement for one day," he said as though he knew her limits and what excitement she had experienced.

Christine didn't bother to argue. Raoul felt as though he knew her and he wanted to do what was in her best interest—but he didn't know her. If he'd honestly, truly known her, he would have looked her in the eye and caught the hint of a lie in her gaze. He would have smelled the unfamiliar musk of a man on her flesh, known the fire just beneath her cheeks was the flair of passion stirring in her blood. He would have known she hid a secret from him.

Raoul de Chagny knew nothing of her; least of all that she stood at his side and lied to her face—which made Christine feel as though she didn't know herself, either.

"Raoul," she started.

He smiled gently and took her hand in his. Always eager to please, he offered a quick smile. "You do not need to say a word, my dear. I'll send for the carriage. Wait right here, my sweet Little Lotte."

Before Christine could interrupt him, he turned and jogged off, disappearing into the crowd once more. Lingering behind, she glanced back at the stage and saw the curtain move ever so slightly and briefly take the form of a man. She watched curiously, waiting for a sign, a hint that the form was Erik and that he was still watching her, waiting patiently for their next encounter.

Tomorrow at noon, she reminded herself.

Raoul watched Christine carefully on their return home. He noted the way she decided to sit across from him in the carriage rather than beside him. He studied the way she caressed the fabric wall and gazed blankly out the window. He recognized the slight smile on her pink lips, the blush in her cheeks, and the way she pulled a tendril of hair from her face.

She was distant and in thought, perhaps contemplating the past when all he wanted was for her to think of the future.

"Christine," he said suddenly.

Her eyes widened as she looked at him, clearly surprised that he was in the carriage with her.

"You haven't said a word in over an hour," he pointed out.

Sheepishly she played with her jewelry. "I apologize," she whispered.

"Perhaps it would be best tomorrow if you stayed home," he suggested. "Rest yourself."

Christine sat up straighter and shook her head. "No, no, I'm fine."

"An hour ago you couldn't leave the theater fast enough," he pointed out.

She pursed her lips. "I was hoping to sing," she blurted out.

Now it was Raoul's turn to sit up straighter. "You want to audition?" he teased.

"I need to practice," she said, her tone turned harsh. "If I don't sing, my voice will become weak. You know I never finished…"

He stared at her, noticing how she'd gone white in the middle of her sentence. Ghostly pale, in fact.

"Finished what?" he dared to ask, despite assuming he knew the answer.

Christine wrung her hands and averted her eyes. She didn't need to say a word—Raoul already knew who was on her mind and why. Frowning, the vicomte started to reach for her hand but stopped himself. He wanted to tell Christine she didn't need that monster to guide her. That beast in the shadows, lurking always in the dark, held no sway over her career.

Christine needed no further guidance with her singing. She had the voice of an angel…she was the angel of music, not that man, that Erik. For God's sake, he lived five levels beneath the opera house, hidden away within his perverse kingdom.

Turning his face away, Raoul took a breath and harnessed his sudden flair of anger.

Erik was gone and there was no reason to hate a dead man. If anything, Raoul knew he should have pitied him for the miserable life he'd led, if his existence could even be considered a life.

"Christine," he said quietly. "You are perfect. On opening night, everyone in Paris will see just how far you've come on your own."

Her head snapped up and she stared at him, her dark eyes wide and lips parted. "On my own?" she whispered, sounding horrified by the notion.

Raoul swallowed. "With your own God-given talent," he assured her, careful to make no mention of that hideous man. "And I'll be with you every step of the way. I swear to you, Christine. On my life."

"Raoul—"

"Nothing will stand between us," he promised as he reached for her hand and squeezed her delicate fingers. "I'll make certain."

Christine offered a faint smile, which did nothing to confirm his statement. She remained distant despite sitting only a seat away, silent despite the sincerity of his words.

Raoul sat back and folded his hands. He was losing her—and he didn't know why.