Chapter 1: The Secret Melody

Whitley Schnee sat in his room, eyes narrowed as he gazed out the massive window of the Schnee Manor. The city of Atlas stretched beneath him, its lights twinkling like stars in the night sky, offering a stark contrast to the cold, towering fortress of his family's home. His father's voice echoed in his mind, cold and authoritative as always, reminding him of the future he was supposed to have—a future where his every move was dictated by the Schnee Dust Company, his family's legacy, and the unyielding expectations of being the perfect heir.

At fourteen, Whitley wasn't sure what freedom even felt like. Every day was a series of tasks, lessons, and rehearsals, all designed to prepare him for a life he didn't want. His father, Jacques Schnee, had long since molded his path: to follow in his footsteps, to lead the company one day, to be perfect, to be everything Jacques believed a Schnee should be. His mistakes, however small, were never forgiven.

But tonight, something was different. Tonight, something inside Whitley had snapped. A rebellious urge he'd spent years trying to ignore had been bubbling beneath the surface, and now it was impossible to keep quiet.

He had always been drawn to music—real music, not the bland classical pieces his father always insisted on. He was fascinated by the sound of guitars, the raw energy of drums, the defiance in the lyrics. Punk rock. It felt like a world away from the carefully curated life he was expected to lead. Whitley had never dared to dream of it, never thought it possible. Until now.

It had all started with an old guitar he'd found hidden in the attic of the manor, tucked away beneath dusty, forgotten relics of his family's past. The instrument was old and battered, but it was perfect. When he'd first picked it up, his fingers had felt unsure, clumsy, but the moment the strings vibrated beneath his touch, something inside him had clicked. It was his guitar now—his only connection to the freedom he so desperately craved.

He strummed cautiously at first, producing a few rough, out-of-tune notes, but each chord brought a sense of exhilaration. It was wrong. It wasn't the polished, proper music his family would expect. But it felt real. It felt like freedom.

Whitley's fingers grew more confident with each passing moment, the sound of the guitar filling his room, drowning out the strict rules of his upbringing. He didn't care if the notes were imperfect, or if the rhythm was shaky. It wasn't about perfection—it was about escape. About the thrill of breaking away from everything Jacques had planned for him.

He could almost picture it. Slipping out of the manor at night, hidden beneath the shadows, walking through the darker alleys of Atlas until he found a venue where no one knew him. He would be free there. He wouldn't be Whitley Schnee, heir to the Schnee Dust Company. He would be someone else. Someone who didn't care about the family name.

The thought made his heart race. For the first time in a long while, he felt alive—like he had a purpose beyond the suffocating expectations of his family. A secret life he could call his own.

Whitley's fingers danced across the strings, creating a simple melody that was full of raw emotion. He could hear the muffled sound of distant traffic outside the manor, but for the first time, it felt distant, like the world beyond his window didn't matter anymore.

He wasn't ready to share this with anyone—not yet, at least. Not his father, who would scoff at such "unrefined" music, and certainly not his older sister, Weiss, who had always been the one to uphold the family's reputation. He couldn't risk anyone discovering what he was starting. This was his secret. His rebellion.

The door to his room creaked open suddenly, and Whitley's fingers froze mid-strum. His heart leapt into his throat, but the figure standing in the doorway was not his father. It was just a maid, silently awaiting his attention.

"Master Whitley?" she asked softly, her voice almost apologetic. "Your father asked if you could join him for dinner."

Whitley stiffened, irritation flashing through him. Dinner with his father meant more lecturing, more discussions about what he should be doing with his life. More of Jacques's cold expectations.

"I'm not hungry," Whitley replied quickly, the words tumbling out with more force than he intended. "Tell him I'm busy."

The maid gave him a brief, puzzled look but nodded and left without saying anything more. Whitley exhaled a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. For now, he was safe.

He returned his attention to the guitar, his fingers shaking slightly as he began to play again, this time more confidently. He didn't need to follow his father's path. He didn't need to be perfect. Music, real music, was his escape, his rebellion, his secret way of being free. And no one would stop him.

Whitley's fingers moved faster, the notes coming more naturally, more urgently. The sound of the guitar seemed to vibrate through his chest, each strum feeding the fire inside him. It was no longer just a game. It was who he was going to become. No one—especially not his father—could take that from him.

For the first time, Whitley Schnee wasn't just playing music. He was making his own future.