Twinkleの小説

Celeste’s POVI should’ve known the quiet wouldn’t last.New York had its own kind of silence, the fake kind that filled hotel rooms at night, the kind that made you think you were safe when really you were just alone. I’d fallen asleep sometime after midnight, still in yesterday’s clothes, curled up on top of the blankets.I didn’t even hear the person come in.I woke up because the air felt… wrong. Heavy. Like someone had been standing over me a moment before. I sat up too fast, my heart thudding so loud I swore it shook the room.“Hello?” I whispered.Nothing.I slid off the bed carefully and reached for my phone on the nightstand. It wasn’t there.Okay. Now I was awake.I scanned the room. The curtains moved slightly from the AC, nothing unusual. The door was closed, no footsteps in the hallway.But the place didn’t feel empty.I checked the bathroom and closet. Empty.It wasn’t until I sat back on the bed that I saw it.A string of dark beads lay across the white sheets. Not mine

Celeste’s POVI should’ve gone straight back to the hotel.But grief makes you stupid, and heartbreak makes you reckless, and losing Azrael… losing whatever the hell we were becoming… made me both.So instead of hiding, I took a cab straight to the Upper East Side. Straight to the penthouse I swore I wouldn’t return to.My father’s building was the same as always—too shiny, too cold, too proud of itself. The doorman saw me and softened immediately.“Miss Rivera,” he said. “Your father will be glad—”“No,” I cut him off. “He won’t.”He blinked while I walked past, letting myself into the elevator. The ride up felt like being dragged toward something I didn’t want to face.The doors opened into the penthouse foyer. Everything smelled like lemon polish and old power. My father always said a clean house was the sign of a disciplined mind. I used to believe him.Now it just felt like a place where the truth went to die.I found him in the living room, sitting on the couch with a tablet in

Azrael’s POVI didn’t mean to panic…..It just… happened.I woke up earlier than usual, thirsty as hell, and tried to make my way to the kitchen without collapsing. Liora wasn’t around, which was good—she’d probably scold me for walking without her.The house was quiet. Sunlight slipped through the wooden shutters, painting lines across the floor. I passed the hallway, steadying myself on the wall, and that’s when I saw it.A mirror.Just a small square one, cracked at the corner, hanging above a table cluttered with herbs and bowls.I stopped. Something pulled me toward it. Maybe curiosity. Maybe fear.I leaned closer and looked into it. The face staring back at me wasn’t mine.Or—it had to be mine. But I didn’t know it. Everything about it felt wrong. Too sharp. Too hollow. A scar on my jaw I didn’t remember getting. Eyes that looked tired and angry at the same time.I touched my cheek. The man in the mirror touched his cheek too. That was the moment my chest tightened.“What the hel

Azrael’s POVI woke up to pain.Not the sharp kind, but the deep, hot kind that crawled under your ribs and stayed there like it had paid rent. My entire right side felt like it’d been chewed by a shark. Breathing hurt. Existing hurt.The ceiling above me blurred in and out. It looked like wood… old, uneven planks, patched with rope in some places. A fan turned slowly overhead. The air smelled like saltwater and herbs.Footsteps approached, soft and careful.“You’re awake again,” Liora said.Her voice was calm. Not excited, not worried—just steady. Like she had been expecting this.She came to stand beside the bed, carrying a bowl. Her silver-ash hair was pulled into a messy braid, strands falling everywhere. Her eyes were impossibly green. I didn’t know if they were naturally like that or if the island sun did something to them.“How long was I out this time?” I asked, even though talking felt like dragging sandpaper through my throat.“Only a few minutes,” she said. “You passed out

Celeste’s POVNew York smelled the same.It was the same smell of rain on pavement, exhaust fumes, and burnt coffee, but somehow it felt smaller than I remembered. Or maybe I’d just gotten used to Sicilian skies and the sound of waves against stone walls.A driver waited for me outside JFK holding a little sign with my name. I ignored him and walked right past. I didn’t need another man shadowing me, reporting everything I did to some Don in Italy. I grabbed a taxi instead and told the driver to take me anywhere but the Upper East Side.I wasn’t going home.The ride was slow, mostly because traffic in New York liked to prove it was still king of chaos. I stared out the window, watching the blur of streetlights and faces. None of it felt real. I kept touching my necklace like it was supposed to anchor me or maybe wake me up.When the taxi stopped in front of a hotel, I didn’t even care which one it was. It was tall, clean, and anonymous. Perfect.I checked in with just my passport and

Celeste’s POVTwo days.That’s how long it had been since the Don told me Azrael’s plane went down somewhere near the Mediterranean coast.Two days since I stopped sleeping, stopped eating, stopped pretending to breathe normally.I kept telling myself they were wrong. Azrael De Luca couldn’t just… vanish. Men like him didn’t die. They survived everything.But that morning, the Don’s men came to the villa and said they’d found bodies. Two of them. One was confirmed as Marco. The other… they wanted me to see for myself.So here I was. Palermo General Hospital. The halls smelled like antiseptic and metal and fear.The Don walked beside me, silently. His presence alone made people move out of the way. Everyone knew him. The great Don Romano. The man even Azrael had feared once.I didn’t say a word. My hands were shaking so bad I tucked them under my arms.When we reached the morgue, a doctor in a white coat came forward. “They were found near the crash site,” he said quietly. “The plane b