ELLE
I push the door open, still a little breathless from taking the stairs two at a time, pulse thudding behind my ears. My mother sits in the living room, serene, idly flipping through one of my manuscripts as though she's spent the morning here.
"Mom?" My voice comes out strained. "Did anyone see you come in?"
She glances up, completely unbothered. "No."
That can't be right. "Then how did you get inside? You didn't meet Camila. The door..."
I stop mid-sentence. Oh no.
I gasp, eyes widening. "You didn't!"
Her eyebrows rise, full innocent act. "Didn't what?"
"Mom," I whisper, stepping forward, my hands twisting nervously. "Please tell me you didn't siren my doorkeeper."
She throws her hands up like I'm being dramatic. "All I did was tell him who I was. Honestly, that boy acts like greeting people is a crime."
I take a shaky step back, my jaw tight, eyes narrowing. Speech fails me for a moment.
She huffs. "What? You're the one who said I should be more assertive."
"Not like this," I mutter, dragging a hand down my face. "You can't just show up and..."
"Oh, don't pretend you're thrilled," she interrupts, eyes narrowing playfully. "You look like you wish I came yesterday. Or perhaps next year."
"I… I'm just… surprised. It's all sudden."
"Surprised? Little moon, I've been doing this since birth. You should be used to it."
I exhale. "I'm used to some of your surprises, but not all."
She leans back in the chair, twirling the manuscript between her fingers. "Not happy to see me? Well, you're lucky I love you enough to ignore the scowl."
"I'm not scowling!" I protest. "And you still can't just go around sirening people!"
"Oh? Watch me," she says, settling deeper into the couch. "Now, are we going to talk or are you going to keep chanting rules you never follow yourself?"
I groan and drop my bag onto the couch. "Talk. But quickly, I have a gala to plan."
"Good girl," she murmurs, patting the seat beside her. "Sit."
I sit reluctantly, trying to steady the buzzing in my chest. She's impossible. Chaotic. And still my mother.
Her smile fades. Something older settles in her eyes. "Elle… your grandmother wants you back."
The air tightens. I sit frozen, the weight of her words pressing down. Nana… after all these years. My mind drifts to that summer at her countryside home, the smell of her fresh bread, her humming in the kitchen, evenings on the porch as she told me stories about our people. How the world feared what they didn't understand, how she always reminded me my gift was a blessing, not a curse. But I shake my head instantly.
"Back? Mom, no. I'm not going back. That life is over for me. I refuse to be trapped in it again."
Her lips tighten, and the room grows heavy with unspoken history. "Done with it? This same life you spit on is the one paying your bills. 'Engaged to Damian Blackwell' was that really coincidence? Or was that you, using your gift for a petty, self-serving bite of revenge?"
I flare. "You don't know anything about the visions I haven't unlocked yet. And even when I do, I don't want that life. I don't want this gift."
She sits forward, voice low but firm. "This isn't my request. It's your Nana's. She wants to see you… before it's too late. I've stopped trying to drag you back to your roots or push you toward what should have been yours. But this? This one thing, just go. See your grandmother."
I inhale sharply, thrown off. The urgency in her voice… it unsettles me. It isn't a plea. It's a warning. And it chills me.
*****
DAMIAN'S POV
The building is dead quiet at this hour. Most floors have gone dark, but my office still glows; the only corner of this company refusing to sleep. Papers spread across my desk, quarterly projections, and two contracts that need my signature. None of it bothers me. Routine never does.
What bothers me is my phone buzzing face-down beside a report.
Lila Monroe. Of course.
I swipe to answer. "This better be good."
She jumps straight in. "She left work today, after an hour in. And in such an unusual haste like her hair was on fire. I followed her home. But she wasn't alone."
That pulls me up. My pen stills. "Meaning?"
"No ID on the woman," Lila says, a whisper of annoyance behind her words. "Older, but there's a striking resemblance. Definitely related."
My jaw tightens. Related could mean safe… or it could mean the opposite. I calm down the tension rising in my chest. "Stay on her. No interactions. And Lila… keep me updated. Every detail."
"Already doing that." A beat. "By the way, a popular gossip blog is cooking a piece about your engagement. It's trash, but… sticky trash. They're trying to spin a weird angle."
Of course they are.
"How do you even know about... nevermind. How much?" I ask.
She laughs softly. "Since you're my favorite headache? I'll give you a discount. I'll get the article buried and redirect the writer to something irrelevant."
"Handle it," I say.
We hang up.
I lean back in my chair, staring at my reflection in the window; dark suit, tired eyes, a man who hasn't had a day off in months. I should be buried in contracts and quarterly reports, making decisions that affect thousands. But my mind won't let go of Elle. Every detail from Lila's call sticks like glue. Is she alright? Is she hiding something that would take me out for good this time?
Something is going on and I don't like the feeling. Before I talk myself out of it, I pick up my phone and dial her.
"Hello?"
"Hey," I say, tone softer than I intend.
"Damian?" Her surprise is obvious. "This is unusual. Did something happen?"
"I'm just checking in. How was your day?"
She makes a skeptical noise. "Okay, now I'm suspicious. We're pretending to be engaged, not auditioning for a romance movie. Should I bat my eyelashes or practice my socialite laugh? Or should I assume someone important is nearby and you need me to play along?"
I lean back in my chair, rubbing the back of my neck, suppressing a grin. Even when she's tired, she finds a way to joke. It does something strange to me.
"Elle, I'm serious."
"So am I," she counters lightly. "I'm not used to this. Checking in? Out of the blue? Well..."
I don't answer right away. I just listen. Her voice is bright but worn, like she pushed herself too hard today. No hint of the visitor. No slip. Nothing.
Either she's hiding it or it's actually harmless. "Busy day?" I ask, trying to poke her.
"How'd you know that?" she whines. "But it's nothing unusual. Why are you asking?"
"Just making sure you're okay."
The silence that follows isn't cold, just curious.
"Damian… what's going on?"
"Dinner," I say.
"What?"
"Dinner with me. Tonight."
There's a sharp inhale from her end. "You're joking. I have a gala tomorrow, the place is chaos, I haven't slept properly in two days, and you want dinner?"
I lean forward, almost pleading through the phone. "Say yes."
She lets out a breath I can almost feel through the phone. "You're acting strange today."
"Good. Come find out why."
Another pause, another war happening silently on her end. Then she caves.
"…Fine. Dinner."
A beat. "But if this turns out to be some corporate networking setup, I swear I'm throwing my drink at you."
I allow myself a laugh. "Understood."
When the call ends, the office feels even quieter than before.
Elle is keeping something from me.
And whoever showed up at her house today…
is part of it.
I'm going to figure out whatever's going on. Whether she tells me or not.