3. THE GHOST FROM HER PAST

ELARA’S POV

The night after the gala, everything felt wrong. I went back to work like nothing had changed.

It was as if I had not seen a world that was never meant for me, as if I had not stood in front of a man who looked at me like I truly mattered.

But nothing felt the same. The diner smelled the same, the plates felt the same in my hands, and the noise of people talking and laughing filled the air as always.

Still, I could not settle. My thoughts kept going back to him, to the way he spoke, the way he looked at me, and the way he said my name like it meant something.

I told myself it did not matter because people like him did not think about people like me after the moment passed.

So I worked. I cleared tables, wiped down counters, and kept moving so I would not think too much.

Then i felt it. There was a strong presence right behind me, so close that the back of my neck tightened before my mind could catch up.

I turned, and everything inside me stopped. When Silas Throne stood there, for a moment, i thought my mind was playing a trick on me.

But it was him, the same face I had not seen in years, the same eyes I used to know so well, only now everything about him was different.

He was dressed in dark clothes that look expensive. A watch was gleaming at his wrist, while two men stood a few steps behind him, watching the room with sharp eyes.

Silas did not look like the boy I once loved, but like someone powerful, someone who no longer belonged to my past anymore.

My chest tightened, and anger rose so fast that it almost made me step back.

He had left without a word, no reason, no goodbye, disappearing the same way my father did. I was not that kind of woman who forgave things like that.

“Elara,” he said, and my name sounded different in his voice now.

He took a small step closer, and I saw something in his face I did not expect to find there, something that looked very much like urgency.

“Please, I need to talk to you,” he responded.

I did not answer, and i did not let him see anything in my face as i turned and walked away.

“Elara, wait,” he called after me, his voice low but sharp.

I did not stop, keeping my hands tight at my sides and my heart beating too fast against my chest.

If I stayed, I would start asking questions. And if I asked questions, I might begin to care again. I refused to let that happen.

So I chose silence. I chose pride. And I walked away, leaving him standing there just the way he had once left me.

Still, something felt wrong about it all. He should not have been there, not in a place like this and not now. It did not feel like it happened by chance at all.

It felt planned. I pushed the thought away and turned my focus back to my work, even though my hands were not nearly as steady as they had been before. I told myself it did not matter, that he did not matter, and I almost believed it.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

But I could still feel him in the room the way I have always felt it, the way I had felt it that night at the hotel, like something I could not escape.

Hours passed and the diner grew quieter around me as people left one by one until only a few tables remained.

I was clearing the last set of plates when one of the kitchen staff walked up to me.

“This is for you,” he replied, holding out a small folded note.

I frowned and took it slowly.

“Who gave you this?” I asked and he gave a small shrug and said that a man outside had handed it to him.

My stomach tightened because I did not need to ask which man it had been. I opened the note and found only a few words written inside, a time and a place and nothing else. There was no name and no explanation.

I stared at it longer than I meant to. My mind filled with questions I did not want to ask.

Why now, and why him, and what exactly did he want from me after all this time?

I folded the note once and then again, my fingers moving slowly and without purpose, the way they always moved when my mind was somewhere else entirely.

I should have just thrown it away and forgotten that I saw him. I kept telling myself that I wouldn't go and that he didn't matter to me anymore.

I tried really hard to believe my own words. For a second, I almost thought I was telling the truth.

But I did not throw the note away. I slipped it into my pocket and kept working, even though I could feel its weight like it was something much bigger than a piece of paper.

And deep down, I knew I was about to find out the truth, whether I was ready or not.