It was just another dull morning in Evelyn's jewelry shop. Sunlight poured through the large glass windows, catching the sparkle of gold and gemstones arranged neatly behind the glass displays. Everything looked just as it always did. Clean. Quiet. Calm. Evelyn Brown moved with her usual poise, graceful and intentional, as she made her way around the shop, making sure everything was in order before opening hours began.
She stopped briefly by the cash register, adjusted a stack of invoices, then continued on to the section where she kept her recent designs. Her fingers glided lightly over each case, until they stopped over one shelf. She didn’t know why, but something had drawn her to it. Her hand hovered for a second, then reached forward to pull out a small custom-made mirror glass crystal box tucked neatly at the far end. It made a soft sound as it slid forward on the glass. This wedding band. She frowned slightly. Why is this still here? The diamond ring inside had been fully paid for almost a year ago. The client, what was her name again? Evelyn couldn’t remember. But she remembered how special the request had been. The woman had placed a unique order, picking out a rare design that Evelyn had crafted personally. It had taken her weeks to complete. It was one of her proudest works in months. Beautiful. Bold. Delicate in all the right places. But the customer never came back to pick it up. No messages. No cancellation. Nothing. Evelyn slowly opened the box. The diamond sparkled as if it had a light inside of it. She stared at it for a moment. There was something about the way it shimmered. Something strangely familiar. She tilted her head slightly, trying to place the feeling rising inside her. Her fingers tingled. Then, acting on a sudden impulse, as if guided by something unseen, she slipped the ring onto her finger. The room shifted. A cold breeze rushed past her. The light around her dipped and flickered, like the world had just blinked. The bright morning sun that had been shining moments ago suddenly turned faint. Evelyn gasped. Everything around her went dark for a second, just one second. In that tiny moment, she saw someone. A face. Sharp and elegant. Beautiful, but full of sadness and rage. A woman dressed in white. A veil covered her head, flowing down to her shoulders. She reached out, her hand stretching toward Evelyn. Her eyes were wide. Her lips were parted like she wanted to speak, but no sound came out. And then it was gone. Evelyn blinked. The lights came back on. The shop was silent again, just as it had been a moment ago. Except now, the sound of the bell above the door rang softly as it opened. Ònààrà stepped inside, brushing wind off her shoulders. “Are you okay, Evelyn?” Her voice brought Evelyn back to the present. Her heart was beating faster than usual. She looked up and managed a soft smile, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Yeah. I’m fine. I just... spaced out for a second.” Ònààrà stepped closer, her eyes narrowing with quiet concern. She looked at Evelyn carefully, noticing something off. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Evelyn let out a small laugh, trying to shake off the feeling. She looked down at her hand. The ring was still there. Shining. Sitting snug on her finger. Ònààrà saw it too, but said nothing. Quickly, Evelyn removed it and returned it to the box, snapping the lid closed and placing it back into the shelf. The moment passed. But something lingered in the air. A presence. Evelyn couldn’t explain it, but she couldn’t shake off the feeling that someone was still watching her. The days that followed didn’t help. In fact, things only got worse. Evelyn started having dreams. Strange ones. At first, they were blurry. A woman in a white dress, giggling as she ran through a flower field. The smell of lilies in the air. Then the sound of people wailing. A scream. Blood staining a white satin gown. Each night, the dreams became more vivid. More real. She started waking up breathless, her sheets tangled, her skin cold. The scent of lilies followed her out of her dreams. So did the taste of something metallic in her mouth. Something like blood. And always, she saw the same face. The woman who had appeared to her when she wore the ring. That same sad, angry face. Sometimes Evelyn swore she saw it reflected in car mirrors. Or in passing strangers. Once, even in her own reflection. The woman felt familiar. But Evelyn didn’t know why. Then, one night, the dream changed. It wasn’t blurry. It wasn’t random. It wasn’t just a haunting echo from someone else's life. This one was different. This one was a memory. Her memory. Evelyn’s face twitched slightly in her sleep. Her expression kept changing. On the edge of the bed, Ònààrà sat calmly. She watched Evelyn quietly and placed Evelyn's right hand gently into hers. In the dream, Evelyn sat in her shop, just like any normal day. A woman was sitting across from her. Confident. Poised. The woman placed a large envelope on the table between them. “I hear you are one of the finest jewelers in the city, Evelyn.” Evelyn blushed slightly and smiled. “How may I help you today?” The woman gestured to the envelope. “It contains detailed descriptions and pictures of what I want.” Evelyn nodded, reaching into the envelope and pulling out the sheets. She examined each one carefully. “Rare, isn't it?” The woman asked with a small smile. Evelyn shrugged, returning the smile. “Indeed. But not impossible to make.” The woman laughed lightly. “I will be needing some basic information to register your custom order,” Evelyn said, handing over a form and a pen. “What about my bill?” the woman asked. “That will be sent electronically,” Evelyn replied with a soft giggle. It didn’t take long. The woman filled out the form, signed, and handed it back. “I look forward to a masterpiece,” she said, standing to leave. “Of course,” Evelyn said, standing as well. She extended her right hand for a handshake, holding the form in her other hand. “Thank you for stopping by…” she glanced down at the paperwork. Her eyes froze for a moment on the name. “Thank you for your trust, Ms. Hayes.” The woman gave a small smile. “Please, call me Celine. Just Celine.” Evelyn jolted awake, sitting up straight in bed, her breath heavy. There was only one word on her lips. “Celine.”Claire’s phone buzzed softly on the nightstand. The sound was faint, almost timid, but in the silence of her room it felt loud, insistent. She turned her head slowly, her body already heavy from the exhaustion that had clung to her all week. With effort, she reached for it, her fingers trembling as though they already knew what waited for her.Darren’s name lit up the screen.Her chest tightened instantly, a sharp ache cutting through her ribs. For a second, she froze, unable to breathe. The sight of his name alone was enough to stir everything she had been trying so hard to bury. She pressed a hand to her stomach as though steadying herself, as though the gesture could shield her from the truth pressing down on her. Her throat burned, and before she even opened the message, tears had begun to rise.The past week had been a blur. She had dragged herself to work, forcing a smile, but her body betrayed her. The exhaustion was unbearable; her energy slipped away no matter how much she tr
The city outside his window seemed too alive for the restlessness he felt. Midday light poured in unfiltered, turning the glass into a harsh, gleaming pane. Below, the streets bustled with rhythm and purpose: honking cars locked in argument, vendors calling out in hopeful tones, and the steady hum of footsteps rising and fading like a tide. Darren leaned his shoulder against the frame, one hand in his pocket, the other resting idly on the sill. It should have been an ordinary day, but nothing in him felt ordinary anymore.His reflection ghosted faintly back at him in the glass, layered over the brightness outside. He stared at that faint double image as though it were mocking him: Darren, the successful, the controlled, the man who always knew how to bend a situation into his favor. But for once, his own face did not look convincing.Celeste.Her image intruded uninvited, the memory of her from last night seated at the dining table. She had been different then, really different. Not t
The day had not fully broken through the haze of her thoughts when Celeste made her decision. Katie’s words lingered in her ears. It wasn’t merely the loyalty that struck her, it was the rare, unflinching devotion of someone who had chosen her, even beyond death.Seated at the dining table, the glass cup now warm beneath her fingers, Celeste lifted her eyes to Katie. The young woman’s posture was polite, restrained, but her eyes carried a weight that belied her calm. She had come here prepared to risk much by speaking the truth, and that kind of faith deserved something more.Celeste inhaled slowly, then placed the glass cup down with deliberate care.“Come with me,” she said.Katie blinked, uncertain, her brows knitting ever so slightly. “Celeste?”“Follow me.” Celeste rose gracefully, her chair sliding back across the marble floor. Without another word, she turned toward the sweeping staircase that climbed into the private wings of the mansion.Katie hesitated. Her visits here were
“Celeste.”Katie’s voice carried softly yet firmly across the dining hall, breaking the quiet hum of morning. She didn’t bother with titles, as though her first name was enough. Celine had once asked her to do that, a way to preserve some intimacy in the formal world of business.Celeste lifted her eyes from her untouched teacup. She forced a smile. “Katie. You’re here without warning.”The younger woman stepped forward, sliding gracefully into one of the high-backed chairs at the end of the glass dining table. Her gaze flickered briefly, first to Ònààrà, who leaned lazily against the archway, then back to Celeste. A stillness settled between the three women, heavy with unspoken things.Katie folded her hands in front of her, knuckles pale. She didn’t speak immediately. Instead, she drew a leather folder from her bag and placed it on the glass. The soft thud of paper against the polished surface rang louder than it should have.Celeste’s eyes dropped briefly to the file, then back to
The steam from her evening bath still clung faintly to her skin as Evelyn crossed the quiet room. Bare feet sank into the softness of the carpet, her damp hair tumbling loosely down her back, leaving tiny droplets that kissed the silk of her nightdress. She hummed as she moved, an absent-minded tune with no real name, the kind that seemed to float out of her without effort.The day had left her oddly light. A full day spent outside, a full day in her own consciousness. And Darren, her lips curved involuntarily at the thought, Darren had been there. The laughter, the way he had looked at her, the ease she hadn’t expected. She had told herself it was only an outing, nothing more, but her heart had betrayed her with every quickened beat.She slipped beneath the sheets, pulling the covers up to her shoulders. The bed welcomed her with a familiar comfort, but it felt different tonight warmer, softer, like it was wrapping her in something she had almost forgotten existed: happiness. Evelyn
The little garden café was tucked away from the city’s noise, its wrought-iron tables scattered beneath flowering jacaranda trees. Sunlight sifted through violet blossoms, spilling onto the stone path where Darren walked beside her. He had chosen the place deliberately, somewhere quiet, somewhere that promised discretion. Yet as they stepped inside, Evelyn could feel the stares. Even here, a few heads turned, whispers trailing after them.She held herself steady, straight-backed as Celeste, but her heart was thudding with a rhythm that belonged only to Evelyn. It had been weeks since she had lived a day in her own skin during daylight, unmasked, unmeasured. And though she was still hiding, pretending to be Celeste, something about the morning had refused to let the mask hold completely.Darren pulled out her chair. She murmured thanks, and when their eyes met briefly, she felt an unsettling current. He was looking at her differently today. Not the wary, strategic gaze of a man negotia