Fitzmolean Museum

Shantali Mae Cross, a security guard at the Metropolitan Museum of Ancient Arts, encounters an impossible phenomenon during her night shift—smoke from the heating vents coalesces into the form of a cobra near ancient Egyptian canopic jars, showing her visions of possible futures. She sees herself accepting a promotion, arguing with a dark-haired man in a hospital, wearing a wedding dress, and standing at a graveside in autumn. Shaken by the experience, Shantali becomes obsessed with understanding what she witnessed, diving into research about serpent smoke divination practices. Her investigation reveals that others throughout history have experienced similar visions at crucial crossroads in their lives, but those who became consumed with interpreting and controlling their prophetic glimpses inevitably destroyed the very relationships and opportunities the visions had shown them. As Shantali spirals deeper into her research, she begins shutting out her boyfriend David, a fellow security guard who loves her deeply. When David witnesses the cobra phenomenon himself, he helps ground her in reality rather than obsession. Through her studies, particularly the warnings left by Dr. Amelia Thorne—a researcher who died alone after chasing similar mysteries—Shantali realizes the cobra's true message: choose love over fear, presence over obsession. The visions weren't warnings of tragedy but glimpses of a life fully lived with all its ordinary struggles and profound connections. When David proposes, Shantali chooses their real relationship over her pursuit of supernatural answers. She completes her research by writing a fictional novel about her experience, transforming obsession into art while helping future cobra witnesses understand that some mysteries are meant to guide rather than be solved. The story explores themes of choice versus destiny, the danger of sacrificing present love for future certainty, and the wisdom of embracing life's uncertainties alongside those who love us.

Summer morning, Wynter ran away from home to avoid his father's wrath towards her. Despite being mistreated by her grandmother and relatives, she chose to go to her grandmother's province since it was her last resort. She planned to stay there until the end of summer before her school starts. Through her stay in her grandmother's mansion, she experienced an unusual happening. A ghost named Theros appears in her room and starts to pester her. She was scared at first until she finds comfort in the ghost that made them become friends. Sa maikling panahon na pagsasama nila, nahulog si Theros kay Wynter at sa kabila ng pagkakaiba nila, naglakas loob na umamin si Theros. Kahit na may pagtingin din si Wynter kay Theros, Wyner decided to keep her feelings until her 18th birthday. Gusto niyang sa araw na 'yon sabihin kay Theros ang sagot sa pagtatapat nito. However, the supposed special day turns into a sorrowful one. Sa araw na dapat pagkikita nila ay walang sumipot na Theros. Wynter waited from dawn until dusk but he didn't come. She waited until her last day staying at her grandmother's home, but still, no one came. After a year, in an Art Museum, she saw Theros again, right in front of her eyes. Theros, on the other hand, didn't recognize her. He introduced himself as Aziz. Upang hindi pagtabuyan ni Theros, hindi na lamang niya ipinilit ang katotohanang may pinagsamahan sila noon. Sa paraang 'yon ay naging malapit muli sila. But what if Aziz was not the real Theros, but the twin brother, Ajax? Will she start again with Ajax, or continue the deal between her and Aziz?

The night my father collapsed, I learned some men negotiate with money… but Noah Thorne negotiates with lives. I never planned to marry a billionaire CEO, especially not the man my father owed $50,000 to. But when the hospital demanded an $80,000 deposit before surgery, life made the choice for me. While my mother sobbed in a cold hallway, Noah’s bodyguard arrived with an offer, an arranged marriage, a contract marriage that would clear the debt and cover every medical bill. When I confronted Noah, he presented the terms without cruelty: one year, no intimacy, public appearances only, and freedom after. He believed he was offering mercy but I felt like beautifully packaged captivity. Desperation crushed pride, and I signed. Our “marriage” was a seven-minute formality, no vows, no meaning. Moving into his penthouse was like stepping into a museum built to contain silence. Publicly, we were the perfect romance. Privately, we were strangers navigating a fragile arrangement thick with unspoken tension. Complications followed us: Noah’s elegant, smug ex who treated me like a placeholder, and my own ex-boyfriend, whose sudden reappearance triggered jealousy in Noah he couldn’t hide. Arguments, silences, and late-night moments softened something between us. Slowly, painfully, the man behind the empire emerged, the lonely boy shaped by loss, abandonment, and guarded walls. We began to care. We tried to deny it. Feelings weren’t in the contract but feelings don’t read contracts. Near the end of the year, Noah pulled away. I thought he wanted freedom. He signed the release papers with steady hands and a breaking heart. I was almost gone when he whispered the truth: “Please don’t go.” We tore up the contract. A year later, we married again, this time for love, not survival. This time, I chose him