LENA’S POVIt was nearly midnight when my phone rang.I stared at the screen, the contact glowing like a pulse in the dark: Grandfather.My chest tightened. He rarely called—messages, yes; a carefully chosen word dropped through Harlin now and then, definitely. But not a call. Not this late. And not directly.I picked it up on the fourth ring.“Lena.”His voice hadn’t aged a day. Still sharp, low, authoritative. A voice that could cut marble if it wanted to.“Grandfather,” I said, trying to mask the hesitation in my tone. “It’s late.”“I didn’t call to chat about the weather.”Of course not.My hand tightened around the phone. I was already walking toward the windows of my office, the city glittering below in sterile silence. I had stayed late tonight, clearing reports and re-reading old data. But the moment I heard his voice, every spreadsheet and deal felt miles away.“There’s been a noise in the wind,” he continued, slowly. “About a man. A ghost. They’re saying Kiander is alive.”I
LENA'S POVThe water was still, glass-like, except for the gentle ripple trailing behind my fingers.I leaned back, submerged to my shoulders in the heated pool, the pale moonlight splintering on the surface. Smoke curled lazily from the cigarette between my fingers, mixing with the rising steam in ghostly patterns.It was quiet here.No meetings. No calls. No sharp voices disguised as guidance. Just silence… and truth.And it hurt.My robe was discarded somewhere on the stone ledge. The cigarette pack lay open beside a half-full glass of scotch. I hadn’t planned to come out here tonight. I hadn’t planned to think. But some truths don’t wait for permission.They claw their way up through the fog, demanding to be heard.I closed my eyes and let myself sink a little deeper, the warm water hugging my collarbones. My other hand, free of the cigarette, drifted in slow arcs beneath the surface—aimless, like me.The truth wouldn’t stop whispering.They were working together.Grandfather and
LENA'S POV The weekend air was warm and sweet, touched with the scent of blooming grass and the distant murmur of bees. The clearing we picked for our picnic was wrapped in soft sunlight, the kind of light that made everything feel a little less heavy. Kian and I had barely been official for a week, but there was something about being with him today that made the world feel whole. We set up the blanket beneath an oak tree that leaned ever so slightly, like it was bending to listen. The basket between us was filled with lemonade, strawberries, a couple of sandwiches we haphazardly threw together that morning, and a container of fresh mango slices Kian insisted on adding, claiming, "They taste like joy." He stretched beside me on the blanket, one hand propping his head up, the other absentmindedly toying with the edge of my dress. His fingers moved like he was trying to remember something tactile, something he couldn’t quite name. "You’ve been awfully quiet," I said, brushing a s
LENA'S POVIt had only been a week since Kian and I defined our relationship again, but the truth was, the ghosts of his past were still trailing us. I couldn’t shake the feeling that if we didn’t start pulling some of those pieces back together, we’d never feel solid.So I did what any self-respecting, curious woman would do.I brought in Clara.Clara had always had a talent for sniffing out truth, and she’d known Kian back then—before everything fell apart. If anyone could draw something out of him, intentionally or not, it would be her.The bar was dim but elegant, lit by rows of pendant lights and the flicker of tea candles in glass jars. Clara sat in the back corner booth like a queen surveying her domain, her eyes instantly narrowing on Kian the second we entered.We slid into the booth, Clara opposite Kian. She didn’t speak for the first ten seconds, just studied him."You look the same," she said finally. "Except... softer. Less guarded."Kian gave a slow nod, the corners of h
LENA'S POVThe tension in my chest didn’t fade after Kian walked off with Tara for their little discussion. If anything, it deepened, settling in the pit of my stomach like a stone I couldn’t digest. I returned to my office and dropped into my chair, mentally composing a hundred different messages I wouldn’t send.Then, without knocking, Clara entered.She was carrying two coffees and wearing that amused expression that said she was about to ruin me with honesty and caffeine."I saw your face from the elevators," she said, placing one of the cups in front of me and sliding into the chair across the desk. "Something’s up. And if I had to guess, it’s tall, charming, and temporarily memory-wiped."I sighed, rubbing my temples. "Tara.""The one with the kid and the silky voice?""That’s her."Clara took a slow sip. "What did she do?""Nothing technically," I muttered. "Kian bumped into her last week. Helped her son cross the road. Today, she’s talking about real estate partnerships and wa
KIAN'S POV The air was thick with the scent of salt and worn wood. Dusk had wrapped the coastline in a shade of burnt gold, the last fingers of sunlight trailing across the edge of the porch. Mr. Alcante sat where he always did around this hour—a chair that looked like it had been built before I was born, his back hunched slightly, a half-carved piece of driftwood in his hand. I stood in the doorway, watching him. For weeks, maybe months now, questions had twisted inside me like old ropes, frayed and knotted. But tonight, they felt like they might finally come undone. "Can I sit?" I asked. He didn’t look up, just nodded toward the empty chair beside him. I crossed the wooden floor slowly, the boards creaking beneath my steps. When I sat, I could feel the silence between us pressing in. It wasn’t uncomfortable—it was just heavy. "Where did you find me, Mr. Alcante?" He paused, the small knife in his hand freezing mid-whittle. "You know where," he said without looking at me. "I
KIAN'S POV The next morning, I woke with a sense of clarity I hadn’t felt in a long time. The previous night’s conversation with Mr. Alcante still echoed in my head, but it no longer weighed me down. It gave me purpose. A reason to act. He was still sleeping when I left the house. I scribbled a note, placed it on the kitchen counter, and tucked the blanket around him one last time before stepping out into the crisp morning air. The coastal breeze was stronger than usual, whipping through my shirt as I climbed into the truck. The roads were quiet this early, the world still shaking off the last traces of night. When I pulled into the small-town pharmacy, the bell above the door jingled as I walked in. The shelves were lined with everything from painkillers to vitamins, old carpet underfoot muffling my steps. And there she was. Behind the counter, the same woman who had helped me a few weeks ago when Mr. Alcante was in a bad medical state. Her hair was pulled into a messy bun, gla
Harlin's POV The warehouse was dimly lit, the kind of place where shadows made promises and secrets were born in the silence between breaths. Harlin stood at the center, surrounded by six men in dark jackets, each of them brimming with energy, barely able to keep still. A single bulb swung above their heads, casting long, wavering silhouettes on the cracked cement floor.Maps, photos, and documents were spread out on a rusted metal table. At the center of it all—Kian's face. A clean shot from the last gala, sharp suit, unaware eyes. Harlin’s lips curled as he stared at it."He's too comfortable," Harlin muttered, tapping the photo with a gloved finger. "Back in the spotlight, surrounded by people who think he’s harmless. He’s not. He’s the problem."One of the goons, a burly guy named Torque, stepped forward. "We’re ready. Just give the word, and we’ll clean it up. Silent and clean. No trails."The others nodded, pumped with adrenaline, knuckles cracked, minds already running through
The rain had stopped by the time Harlin pulled up in front of the Clementine estate. The sprawling mansion sat beneath the gray clouds like a lion at rest—imposing even in its silence. He stepped out of his car, adjusted the collar of his coat, and made his way past the iron gate that groaned open with the memory of old secrets.Mr. Clementine was waiting.He always was.The old man sat by the fireplace in the study, a glass of untouched scotch in his hand, the flames casting flickering shadows across the lines of his aged face. His cane rested against the leather armchair, but his posture was sharp, alert. He looked up as Harlin entered, his blue eyes unreadable."I assume this isn't a courtesy call," Clementine said.Harlin remained standing. "It's about Kian Davenport."The old man's eyes narrowed. He said nothing."He’s alive. Walking around like he didn’t vanish five years ago. Getting close to Lena again. Too close."Clementine raised the glass to his lips but didn’t drink. "You
Harlin's POV The warehouse was dimly lit, the kind of place where shadows made promises and secrets were born in the silence between breaths. Harlin stood at the center, surrounded by six men in dark jackets, each of them brimming with energy, barely able to keep still. A single bulb swung above their heads, casting long, wavering silhouettes on the cracked cement floor.Maps, photos, and documents were spread out on a rusted metal table. At the center of it all—Kian's face. A clean shot from the last gala, sharp suit, unaware eyes. Harlin’s lips curled as he stared at it."He's too comfortable," Harlin muttered, tapping the photo with a gloved finger. "Back in the spotlight, surrounded by people who think he’s harmless. He’s not. He’s the problem."One of the goons, a burly guy named Torque, stepped forward. "We’re ready. Just give the word, and we’ll clean it up. Silent and clean. No trails."The others nodded, pumped with adrenaline, knuckles cracked, minds already running through
KIAN'S POV The next morning, I woke with a sense of clarity I hadn’t felt in a long time. The previous night’s conversation with Mr. Alcante still echoed in my head, but it no longer weighed me down. It gave me purpose. A reason to act. He was still sleeping when I left the house. I scribbled a note, placed it on the kitchen counter, and tucked the blanket around him one last time before stepping out into the crisp morning air. The coastal breeze was stronger than usual, whipping through my shirt as I climbed into the truck. The roads were quiet this early, the world still shaking off the last traces of night. When I pulled into the small-town pharmacy, the bell above the door jingled as I walked in. The shelves were lined with everything from painkillers to vitamins, old carpet underfoot muffling my steps. And there she was. Behind the counter, the same woman who had helped me a few weeks ago when Mr. Alcante was in a bad medical state. Her hair was pulled into a messy bun, gla
KIAN'S POV The air was thick with the scent of salt and worn wood. Dusk had wrapped the coastline in a shade of burnt gold, the last fingers of sunlight trailing across the edge of the porch. Mr. Alcante sat where he always did around this hour—a chair that looked like it had been built before I was born, his back hunched slightly, a half-carved piece of driftwood in his hand. I stood in the doorway, watching him. For weeks, maybe months now, questions had twisted inside me like old ropes, frayed and knotted. But tonight, they felt like they might finally come undone. "Can I sit?" I asked. He didn’t look up, just nodded toward the empty chair beside him. I crossed the wooden floor slowly, the boards creaking beneath my steps. When I sat, I could feel the silence between us pressing in. It wasn’t uncomfortable—it was just heavy. "Where did you find me, Mr. Alcante?" He paused, the small knife in his hand freezing mid-whittle. "You know where," he said without looking at me. "I
LENA'S POVThe tension in my chest didn’t fade after Kian walked off with Tara for their little discussion. If anything, it deepened, settling in the pit of my stomach like a stone I couldn’t digest. I returned to my office and dropped into my chair, mentally composing a hundred different messages I wouldn’t send.Then, without knocking, Clara entered.She was carrying two coffees and wearing that amused expression that said she was about to ruin me with honesty and caffeine."I saw your face from the elevators," she said, placing one of the cups in front of me and sliding into the chair across the desk. "Something’s up. And if I had to guess, it’s tall, charming, and temporarily memory-wiped."I sighed, rubbing my temples. "Tara.""The one with the kid and the silky voice?""That’s her."Clara took a slow sip. "What did she do?""Nothing technically," I muttered. "Kian bumped into her last week. Helped her son cross the road. Today, she’s talking about real estate partnerships and wa
LENA'S POVIt had only been a week since Kian and I defined our relationship again, but the truth was, the ghosts of his past were still trailing us. I couldn’t shake the feeling that if we didn’t start pulling some of those pieces back together, we’d never feel solid.So I did what any self-respecting, curious woman would do.I brought in Clara.Clara had always had a talent for sniffing out truth, and she’d known Kian back then—before everything fell apart. If anyone could draw something out of him, intentionally or not, it would be her.The bar was dim but elegant, lit by rows of pendant lights and the flicker of tea candles in glass jars. Clara sat in the back corner booth like a queen surveying her domain, her eyes instantly narrowing on Kian the second we entered.We slid into the booth, Clara opposite Kian. She didn’t speak for the first ten seconds, just studied him."You look the same," she said finally. "Except... softer. Less guarded."Kian gave a slow nod, the corners of h
LENA'S POV The weekend air was warm and sweet, touched with the scent of blooming grass and the distant murmur of bees. The clearing we picked for our picnic was wrapped in soft sunlight, the kind of light that made everything feel a little less heavy. Kian and I had barely been official for a week, but there was something about being with him today that made the world feel whole. We set up the blanket beneath an oak tree that leaned ever so slightly, like it was bending to listen. The basket between us was filled with lemonade, strawberries, a couple of sandwiches we haphazardly threw together that morning, and a container of fresh mango slices Kian insisted on adding, claiming, "They taste like joy." He stretched beside me on the blanket, one hand propping his head up, the other absentmindedly toying with the edge of my dress. His fingers moved like he was trying to remember something tactile, something he couldn’t quite name. "You’ve been awfully quiet," I said, brushing a s
LENA'S POVThe water was still, glass-like, except for the gentle ripple trailing behind my fingers.I leaned back, submerged to my shoulders in the heated pool, the pale moonlight splintering on the surface. Smoke curled lazily from the cigarette between my fingers, mixing with the rising steam in ghostly patterns.It was quiet here.No meetings. No calls. No sharp voices disguised as guidance. Just silence… and truth.And it hurt.My robe was discarded somewhere on the stone ledge. The cigarette pack lay open beside a half-full glass of scotch. I hadn’t planned to come out here tonight. I hadn’t planned to think. But some truths don’t wait for permission.They claw their way up through the fog, demanding to be heard.I closed my eyes and let myself sink a little deeper, the warm water hugging my collarbones. My other hand, free of the cigarette, drifted in slow arcs beneath the surface—aimless, like me.The truth wouldn’t stop whispering.They were working together.Grandfather and
LENA’S POVIt was nearly midnight when my phone rang.I stared at the screen, the contact glowing like a pulse in the dark: Grandfather.My chest tightened. He rarely called—messages, yes; a carefully chosen word dropped through Harlin now and then, definitely. But not a call. Not this late. And not directly.I picked it up on the fourth ring.“Lena.”His voice hadn’t aged a day. Still sharp, low, authoritative. A voice that could cut marble if it wanted to.“Grandfather,” I said, trying to mask the hesitation in my tone. “It’s late.”“I didn’t call to chat about the weather.”Of course not.My hand tightened around the phone. I was already walking toward the windows of my office, the city glittering below in sterile silence. I had stayed late tonight, clearing reports and re-reading old data. But the moment I heard his voice, every spreadsheet and deal felt miles away.“There’s been a noise in the wind,” he continued, slowly. “About a man. A ghost. They’re saying Kiander is alive.”I