Bad Feeling

Not long after engrossing herself in work, Whitney’s phone buzzed against the table, slicing straight through her concentration.

She jumped slightly, snapping her head toward the vibrating device, the screen flashed. ‘Miriam Moschino Milan.’ 

Her stomach clenched, the moment she saw her mentor's name flash on the phone. 

Not that she was afraid, but Miriam was the one person she trusted without hesitation, but with the pressure of expectations. 

On the contrary, Miriam only called when something mattered, without wasting time, Whitney slid her finger across the screen. “Miri?”

“Cara mia,” Miriam’s rich Italian accent poured through the speaker, warm and brisk at the same time. “Tell me you are sitting down.”

Whitney blinked. “I am.”

“Good, because if you faint, I am not there to catch you and honestly I am wearing heels today.”

Whitney huffed a soft laugh despite the knot in her chest. “What’s going on?” She asked. 

At the same time, there was a rustling on the other end, papers shuffling, a sigh. “We received the final executive list for the competition, there are changes. Annoying and powerful ones.”

Upon hearing that, Whitney straightened in her chair. “What kind of changes?”

“A new senior investor has been added as a special guest judge, very high-level and private. They sent no photo, no résumé, nothing.” Miriam’s voice dropped a pitch. “And you know what that means.”

Whitney’s fingers tightened around the phone. “Either someone important or someone dangerous.”

“Exactly, the board is acting like they’re handling a bomb wrapped in diamonds. They shifted schedules, changed the scoring system, and added confidentiality clauses for the staff.” She clicked her tongue sharply. “Which means this man, and it is a man. He has money, power, and a reputation they’re terrified to mishandle.”

Saying that, Whitney’s pulse throbbed in her ears, a powerful, secretive, and High-ranking man. 

He gave no name or showed any face, thinking about that made her body give a subtle, involuntary shiver.

“Miri…” Whitney lowered her voice. “I need you to tell me the name. Even if it’s unofficial.”

“I would tell you if I had it,” Miriam replied, frustration threading through her tone. “But they haven’t released it to anyone in Milan. It is being handled by the local board only. Very hush-hush.”

Whitney who had a bad feeling about these whole changes swallowed hard, thinking what if?

Aiden was powerful, wealthy, and well-connected in all supernatural and human spheres. And if the universe hated her, which it often seemed to, this sort of secrecy was exactly his style.

She forced herself to speak evenly. “Okay. It’s fine. I’ll handle it.”

“Whitney,” Miriam said gently, slipping into her mentor's voice, soft but firm. “You are brilliant, when they see your work, whoever this mystery peacock is will either bow or choke.”

That dragged a genuine, shaky laugh out of her. “You always know what to say.”

“Of course, I didn’t raise a coward. Now go win this, sì?”

Whitney exhaled slowly. “Sì.”

“Good girl. Call me after rehearsal tomorrow.”

Just like that, the call ended with a soft click and at the same time, Whitney stared at her reflection in the darkened phone screen. 

Her silver hair fell forward, catching the harsh overhead fluorescent lights, casting pale streaks across her eyes. She brushed it back, steadying her breathing.

She slid the phone into her tote bag and stood, pushing the chair back quietly shoving those thoughts down the drain as she didn’t want to bother thinking this actually had something to do with him and whatever it was that was coming, she would face it head-on. She's no longer the hopeless orphan, although not that rich but she has a name for herself. 

In the next seconds, Whitney lifted her chin and stepped out of Room 204, her heart already beating faster, like it sensed the next collision fate was preparing for her.

Meanwhile, she didn’t make it five steps down the hall before someone’s shadow crossed in front of her.

Whitney stepped aside automatically, giving the shadow’s owner room to pass. 

At that moment, a tall man in an all-black suit brushed by her with a polite nod, his eyes buried in his phone. Not dangerous or supernatural. Just tall with an intimidating persona. 

Her breath eased out shakily as she walked toward the exit, but the prickling between her shoulder blades didn’t fade. If anything, it clung tighter, like static electricity crawling beneath her skin.

By the time she reached the lobby doors, she kept glancing behind her calmly, with quick looks over her shoulder, pretending she was just adjusting her hair. But no one was following her, staring back, or even looking up from their screens. Still, the feeling remained. 

The moment Whitney pushed out into the evening, the sky had faded into a deep navy blue, the streetlamps flickering on one by one, washing the sidewalk in pale golden halos. 

A car passed, splashing through a shallow puddle, and Whitney pulled her jacket tighter around her.

Her apartment wasn’t far, but tonight the walk felt longer. As she reached her building, she climbed the stairs quietly and unlocked the door as silently as possible.

The moment she stepped inside, warmth wrapped around her as the faint flavor of vanilla, and crayons filled the air, with the soft hum of the living room lamp she’d forgotten to turn off.

“Mom?” Oliver’s sleepy voice drifted from the hallway.

Whitney blinked. “Why are you awake?”

He padded toward her in mismatched socks, rubbing his eyes. “Liam said you were late, so I waited. He fell asleep. I didn’t.” He yawned, still blinking at her like an owl.

Whitney’s tension cracked at the edges, yet she knelt, brushing his hair back. “I’m here now.”

He nodded solemnly, as if that solved everything in the universe, he held up a folded paper from behind his back.

“What’s that?” she asked.

“A drawing,” he mumbled. “For you.”

She unfolded it, revealing a crooked house, two boys badly drawn but smiling, and a tall woman with ridiculous silver hair that swooped like a superhero cape.

Whitney laughed softly. “You made my hair look like a weapon.”

“It is,” Oliver said with total seriousness. “It hits people.”

She snorted. “That was one time.”

He shrugged, unimpressed with her excuses. “Still counts.”

Whitney scooped him up, his small arms looping around her neck. She carried him into the bedroom he shared with Liam. 

Liam was sprawled diagonally across his bed, hugging a pillow as it owed him money.

She tucked Oliver in next to him, smoothing the blanket over both boys. Oliver’s eyes drooped but didn’t close all the way.

“Mom?” he whispered.

“Yes?”

“Did someone follow you today?”

Hearing that, Whitney froze as her heart thudded hard and loud in her ribcage. 

“Why would you ask that?”

Oliver’s brows scrunched. “I don’t know, but you smell like you’re scared.” Her breath hitched, even though she was still bothered but it was better than being followed actually. 

This is not the first time, her boys were too perceptive and too in tune with things she didn’t want them sensing yet.

She kissed his forehead. “I’m fine, go to sleep, baby.” She uttered and, slowly his eyes closed, and at the same time, his breathing steadied.

Meanwhile, Whitney remained there a moment longer before slipping quietly from the room, gently closing the door behind her.

The apartment was dark except for the lamp in the living room, casting soft light over the furniture. She moved to the window, pushing the curtain aside with her fingertips.

Outside, the street was empty, and calm, however, something deep inside her stirred an instinct, a whisper, and a tug she couldn’t ignore. 

It felt like a presence brushing along the edges of her mind, very much familiar and dark.

Suddenly, Whitney’s fingers tightened around the curtain.

“No…” she breathed. “You can’t be here.” She stood there for a long moment, her eyes scanning every shadow, glint of metal, and shape that didn’t belong.

But the street remained the same and normal just like the way she met it when they returned from Milan. 

Her pulse finally eased just a little and in the next moment, Whitney let the curtain fall back into place and pressed her forehead against the cool glass behind it.

“I won’t run again,” she said internally and strode to her room to retire for the night.