Chapter 1 - Music Room | The Heir's Obsession Web Novel By Aimi Hikaru

She came to Al-Fath to kill the heir. She fell in love with him instead.

Raffa Fathurrahman is the heir to a mafia empire and the most feared man on Al-Fath University's campus.

Qistina is a scholarship student with a voice like an angel and a secret that could bring an entire city to its knees.

By day, she studies. By night, she sings in clubs owned by the very families she has spent years hunting. All she has is one name, Sylvie, and a trail of unanswered questions. Someone murdered her family, and she won't rest until she makes them pay.

Then she meets Raffa.

Arrogant. Dangerous. Unpredictable. He's obsessed with her before he even knows her name, and despite everything she stands for, Qistina finds herself falling for him.

There's just one problem. His family might be the very one she's been searching for all along.

He thinks he's chasing her. She knows she's hunting him. Neither realizes they're standing on opposite sides of a truth that could shatter everything between them.

Because when the secrets finally come to light, heartbreak will be the least of their problems.

Some love stories are written in the stars. Theirs might be written in blood.

Genre: Mafia Romance / New Adult / Dark Romance

Content Rating: 18+ (mature themes, fade-to-black intimacy)

Digital Release Date: 1st October 2026

Status: Ongoing Series

***

The music room was empty.

It usually was. Mondays were her favourite mornings of the week, since her classes didn't begin until after lunch. Most students slept in. Most lecturers weren't on campus. The arts faculty was quiet.

She came here every Monday.

It was the only hour of her week that belonged entirely to her.

She pushed the door open and stepped inside.

The room was small. Warm. Soundproofed in a way that made everything feel closer. A grand piano in the center. Vocal mics on stands. Recording equipment along one wall, all of it older than she was.

One window.

Facing the sea.

She walked toward the piano and stopped.

There was a rose on the lid.

Just one.

Deep red. Almost black in the morning light. Lying on the polished wood like it had been placed there. Deliberately.

Beneath it was a note.

Folded. Small. Simple.

She picked it up.

To: Qistina.

She unfolded it.

"A girl who has a beautiful smile like morning sunshine. You brighten my day."

That was it.

No name. No signature. No clue.

She turned.

To the right.

To the left.

Nothing.

Nobody.

She was alone.

The door hadn't opened. The door hadn't opened. She would have heard it. Even soundproofed, she would have heard it.

But there was no one here.

Only her.

Only the piano.

Only the rose.

Her heart was beating too fast.

She looked at the rose again. Deep red. Beautiful. Fragrant. The same rose she'd been finding for months. The same note. The same handwriting. The same person. Whoever they were.

She'd stopped counting.

She didn't know how many times.

But she knew it was many.

She knew the sender was careful.

She knew they knew her schedule. Her Monday. Her music room. Her song.

Because whoever sent the rose, whoever had been sending these roses, had listened to her sing.

They had to have.

Because the room was soundproofed.

The only way to hear her was to be inside.

Or to watch her through the one window that faced the sea.

She sat down at the piano.

She set the rose beside her. She unfolded the note again. She read it one more time.

"A girl who has a beautiful smile like morning sunshine. You brighten my day."

She didn't know who it was.

She had no idea.

But she knew, she felt, that someone was watching her right now. Someone who had been there before she arrived. Someone who had placed the rose knowing she would find it. Someone who was still nearby. Watching. Waiting.

She didn't know who.

She didn't know why.

She just knew someone had seen her. Whoever it was, they were watching. For the first time in a long time, she felt something she couldn't name.

She placed her fingers on the piano keys.

And she started to play.

The song was Every Summertime. She always played it. She didn't know why. It was a song she loved, bright, warm, simple, the kind of song that felt like sunshine on skin.

She sang it softly.

Just for herself.

Just for the room.

Just maybe, for whoever was out there.

And when she finished, when the last note faded, she sat back and looked at the window.

The sea was grey today.

She could see a black car moving slowly along the bridge, too far away to tell who was inside, heading back toward the mainland.

She watched it until it disappeared.

And then, quietly, she began to play again.

***

He was standing outside.

Not at the window. Not close. Far enough that she wouldn’t see him, but close enough that he could hear the muffled sound of her voice through the soundproofed walls. It was faint, almost nothing, but it was there.

He’d been there since before she arrived.

He came every Monday.

He’d been coming for months.

He placed the rose himself. He wrote the note himself. He left before she arrived. Usually. Sometimes he stayed. Sometimes he couldn’t leave.

Like today.

He leaned against the wall of the arts building with his hands in his pockets.

Listening.

She was singing Every Summertime.

She always sang that one. He didn’t know why. He didn’t care. He just knew it was hers. Her song. The one she sang like no one was listening.

He closed his eyes.

Her voice wasn't loud, but he loved it because... it was so incredibly soft against his ears. Gentle. It was as soothing as the distant chirping of birds. As calm as a river flowing down a hillside.

But it did something else to him, too. It wrapped around his chest and squeezed. It made his skin feel too tight. It made him want to be on the other side of that wall, pressing her against the piano keys. He wanted to feel that same softness on his tongue. He wanted to hear that quiet, breathless little sound she made when he touched her, the sound she tried to hide. He wanted to hear her voice break into a gasp, breathless and trembling, right against his ear.

He swallowed hard. His hands stayed in his pockets, but his nails dug into his palms.

And for a few minutes, just a few, he let himself feel it.

***

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The Heir's Obsession Web Novel By Aimi Hikaru.