~001~ A FACE FROM THE PAST

EVERMONT UNIVERSITY GRAND HALL

  30TH OF JUNE, 2025

  08:25 PM.

  NORA

       “Tell me you didn’t,” I say to my boyfriend, trembling from the shock of what I just discovered.

His brows pull together. “What are you talking about?”

“The Taste of Tomorrow deal.”

He just stares at me in silence, and suddenly, I feel faint.

“Oh my God. You did it,” I gasp, tears welling up in my eyes.

I spent three months perfecting every recipe, every shot, every damn word.

That show was going to be the moment I stopped being ‘Sebastian’s girlfriend’ and became Nora Wolfe, the woman who actually made something of herself.

He exhales slowly. “I was doing the right thing.”

For a second, I genuinely wonder if I’m hallucinating.

“You turned down my dream job,” my voice quivers.

“It was a cooking show.”

I stare at him. “It was my cooking show.”

He clenches his jaw. “It wasn’t even a serious career opportunity.”

My vision blurs, rage exploding in my chest.

“How dare you say that to me? You know how hard I worked to… oh fuck. Sebastian, what have you done?!

“I was protecting you.”

“From what?” I spit.

His jaw tightens. “Making a fool of yourself.”

My head spins as everything finally clicks into place.

The comments. The criticism. The way he’d look at my videos. The way he’d wince when people recognized me.

The way he’d always call my content cute. Like it’s child's play.

He doesn’t respect me or my dreams. I can’t believe I’ve been dating such a moron for the past four years.

“We’re done,” I say, and he frowns.

“What?”

“You heard me,” I say through gritted teeth, clenching my trembling hands.

He lets out a laugh of disbelief. “You’re serious? You’re breaking up with me over some…cooking show?”

The sheer audacity of his words sickens me.

“Some cooking show? Sebastian!” I croak.

“You're upset," he says softly. "Tomorrow you'll calm down and realize that you're overreacting."

I shake my head, suddenly too angry to care that my eyes are burning.

“You know what your problem is?" I ask. "You don't actually see me."

His brows pull together. “Nora—

“You hate my clothes, my humour, my videos—"

“Because you constantly behave like someone who is desperate for attention."

I flinch at his statement, suddenly feeling self-conscious. His eyes flash with instant regret, but he keeps going anyway.

“You walk into places dressed half naked and then act shocked when people stare at you."

I stare at him for a long second.

“This dress?" I gesture to myself. "The one I felt beautiful in until you spent the entire ride here looking at me like I embarrassed you?"

“You know that's not what I meant."

“Then what did you mean, Sebastian?"

He says nothing. And suddenly I'm so tired. Tired of shrinking myself.

I am in no way skinny or fat. I work out. I eat healthy, but I still have curves. And fucking hell, I love them.

Why should I hide them?

“I spent four years trying to become your idea of respectable," I whisper. "And somehow I still ended up being too much."

His expression darkens, his brown eyes clouding with annoyance. "You need me more than you think you do."

It feels like a knife has just been twisted in my chest because part of me hates how true that almost sounds.

Sebastian draws closer, lowering his voice. “You'll come back like always. I’ll give you three days.”

I blink at him. Then slowly, I step backwards.

“No," I say softly. "I don't think I will this time.”

For the first time tonight, he actually looks unsettled.

Serves him right.

I turn before he can stop me and head back inside before the waterworks get unleashed.

The ballroom is drowning in gold light and expensive perfume.

This gala is invitation-only, just for couples. Which means in less than ten minutes, everyone here is going to realize that Sebastian Griffin and Nora Wolfe just had yet another breakup.

Fantastic.

I grab the first champagne flute I see from a passing tray and down half of it immediately. It burns.

I move towards the quieter hallway near the balcony entrance before my mascara starts a public rebellion.

Don't cry. Do not cry here. God, why does heartbreak always feel so humiliating?

I pull out my phone with shaky fingers and open my messages. Then I stare at Jordan's contact.

Embarrassment stirs in my chest as I type a quick message.

[Me: Please tell me you're nearby and can pretend to be my date before I throw myself off the balcony.]

Three dots appear immediately.

[Jordan: ??? I thought you went with Sebastian.]

I stare at the screen, a lump forming in my throat as tears blur my vision. Blinking back my tears, I quickly type back.

[Me: Long story. Need emergency sibling services.]

Before he can respond, heels click sharply across the marble floor behind me. Damnit.

“Well," a familiar voice says sweetly, "this is awkward."

I look up slowly, only to be greeted by the oh-so-dazzling sight of Vanessa Carrington. My former high school queen bee.

Beside her stands her fiancé, tall and forgettable, with one protective hand resting on the small of her back.

Vanessa's eyes sweep over me quickly.

“Nora," she says with fake warmth. "I didn't know you came alone."

I force a laugh. "I didn't."

“I just saw Sebastian inside." She tilts her head slightly. "You two okay?"

I smile so hard my face hurts.

"We're amazing, actually. Thinking of starting a toxic podcast together."

Her fiancé snorts, and Vanessa ignores him.

“Well," she drawls, "relationships are hard. Especially when people outgrow each other."

Wow, subtle jab.

I tighten my grip around my champagne flute. "And yet somehow you still found someone willing to commit. Inspiring."

Her smile strains for half a second. Score. Then her gaze dips to my curves and the low neckline of my emerald green dress.

“I do love your outfit, though," she smirks. "Very brave."

I beam.

“Thank you. I was going for recently unhinged with a touch of emotional instability."

Her fiancé coughs to hide another laugh, and Vanessa's eye twitches.

She rolls her eyes and walks away. The second she disappears into the crowd, my smile collapses completely.

I suddenly can't breathe in here.

The music is too loud, and the lights are drilling straight through my skull.

Everyone looks happy and loved. And I'm standing here texting my little brother to rescue me from a couples-only gala after getting sidetracked like some tragic side character.

Four years. Four years of laughing at his jokes that weren’t funny, wearing clothes he approved of, and swallowing my dreams so he wouldn’t feel small. And the worst part is that a tiny, pathetic part of me still wants him to chase after me.

My eyes sting. Nope. Absolutely not. I refuse to cry in public. The thought is disgusting.

I press the cold champagne glass against my forehead, fighting for my life.

“Breathe in...." I suck in a sharp breath.

“Breathe out," a deep voice utters behind me, and the glass slips from my fingers.

It shatters against the marble floor, chills travelling down my spine.

That voice.

Please tell me I just imagined that. Wait, a ghost?

Heart pounding, I slowly turn around. My lungs freeze up, my eyes widening.

He stands there along the hallway dressed entirely in an elegant white tux. He's taller than before. Broader too. And shockingly alive for a demon who's supposed to be dead

A faint scar cuts through one dark brow now. His hair is longer than before, pushed carelessly back from a face that is sharper and crueler than I remember.

But those eyes—

Holy shit.

Those same terrifying dark blue eyes pin me in place like a knife to my throat. I stumble backwards, nearly tripping over my heels.

Impossible.

I attended his funeral. My mouth opens but no sound comes out. Marcellus Gregory tilts his head slightly.

Then a maddening smile tugs at his perfect lips.

“Miss me, little wolf?" he asks softly.