Honestly I didn't sleep at all.
The scene replaying in my mind — the moment she realized, The way she tensed up when I said her name.
Jazmyne,
She had always loved Jazmines.
That I knew when I called her by that name
"Miss Santos."
I wanted to confirm even if I risked letting her run again.
But that was exactly it.
She didn't run.
She stayed, but avoided me like it I was the plague or perhaps something even worse.
The next morning came with a strange clarity.
I was expected at the office again, though not officially. No one had truly assigned me a role—not yet. Adrian didn't know I was here. The staff didn't know who I was, not really. All they saw was someone who happened to wear the same face as their Creative Director.
A coincidence they weren't ready to understand.
I walked through the hallway, the fluorescent lights a little too bright for how early it was. I heard the soft rustle of someone already working—papers shifting, drawers opening, a quiet hum of concentration.
Her.
Of course she came early.
Of course she didn't want to risk seeing me again.
I paused outside my door, listening as the rhythm of her breathing changed. Quick inhales. Slow exhales. Someone trying to force themselves to calm down. I didn't round the corner right away. I didn't want to scare her. I didn't want to repeat yesterday's mistake—if it had even been a mistake.
But part of me also needed to see her reaction. Needed to understand if I was a threat or a reminder of one.
When I finally stepped forward — opening the door, her hand froze mid-air, fingers clutching a pen like it was the only weapon she had.
She didn't look at me.
She didn't have to.
She knew.
She kept her gaze fixed on her papers as if willing herself to disappear into them. If she looked up—if our eyes met—something inside her would snap. I could see it in the tight line of her shoulders and the tremor in her fingers.
She was avoiding me.
But not exactly. It was more like She was escaping.
Escaping something I represented. Something she didn't want to acknowledge.
Not yet.
Not ever, maybe.
Her breath hitched when I passed.
I didn't stop at her desk.
I didn't speak.
I simply entered the office next to Adrian's—the one that had been empty until yesterday. The one that had now become mine, temporarily or not.
I felt her eyes flicker up only after the door clicked shut behind me.
Almost like she needed confirmation I was real.
And that terrified her more.
Later that morning, the whispers began.
It started with two interns, whispering near the printer:
"I swear I saw Adrian walk in—" "No, I saw him earlier. The one from yesterday." "How many of them are there?" "Is it true there's a twin?"
I closed the door to my office.
Not because the whispers bothered me.
But because they were correct.
And rumors have a way of spreading faster than truth.
I sat behind the desk that wasn't mine and leaned back in the chair, staring at the ceiling. The call played in my head again.
Her.
The girl.
Miss Jazmyne.
Amara.
Whatever danger the caller was hinting at—wasn't her fault. I didn't sense malice in her. If anything, I sensed fear. The kind that wasn't new. The kind people carry for years before it finds a crack to escape through.
By noon, she—Amara—sat at her desk, working like the world wasn't splitting open at the edges. Like if she moved her pen fast enough, she could stitch herself into the fabric of normalcy.
She never once looked toward my office.
Not when the door opened.
Not when the whispers got louder.
Not even when Adrian finally showed up and everyone froze for the second time that day at the sight of the two of us standing side by side.
Her pen only stopped moving when his voice carried across the room.
"Elias," he said quietly. "We need to talk."
Of course we did.
But the moment I nodded, my eyes flicked to her.
She didn't flinch. She didn't look away. She didn't blink.
She just stared down at her paper, pen motionless, chest rising too fast, too shallow.
She was breaking.
Trying not to.
But breaking.
And for the first time, I wondered if the caller had been warning me…
or warning her.