The Ghost Of The Fairmont’s

Celeste didn't believe in ghosts.

Not really.

But as she stood in the hushed grandeur of the Fairmont's abandoned main theater, a strange unease curled in her stomach. Dust motes swirled in the pale morning light filtering through stained-glass windows. Rows of velvet-covered seats stretched before her, their once-rich red fabric now faded and torn. The ornate ceiling fresco—cherubs and stars entangled in a celestial dance—was cracked but still breathtaking.

She could almost hear the echoes of old films flickering across the massive screen, the hushed murmur of an enraptured audience, the warm laugh of her grandmother beside her.

It had been nearly fifteen years since she'd last set foot in this place.

Now she was responsible for saving it.

"Don't tell me you're scared."

Adrian's voice startled her out of her thoughts. She turned to find him leaning casually against the proscenium arch, watching her with that maddening smirk.

She rolled her eyes. "Not scared. Just thinking."

"That's dangerous," he mused.

She huffed, crossing her arms. "Did you actually come to contribute, or are you just here to gloat about dragging me into this mess?"

Adrian pushed off the arch and walked toward her, hands tucked in his pockets. "Little of both." His gaze swept the theater. "But mostly, I wanted to see what has you looking like you just saw a ghost."

Celeste scoffed. "I don't believe in ghosts."

"Really? Because I'm pretty sure this place is haunted."

She snorted. "Oh, please."

"I'm serious." He gestured around them. "Old building. Tragic history. Plenty of reasons for a few lingering spirits."

Celeste arched a brow. "Tragic history?"

Adrian's smirk faded slightly. "You really don't know?"

She frowned. "Know what?"

He walked toward the front row and leaned against the stage. "Back in the late '40s, a fire broke out during a packed showing of Casablanca. The exits were blocked—bad renovations. A few people didn't make it."

A chill ran down Celeste's spine. "I never heard about that."

Adrian shrugged. "Not exactly great PR for the town. It got buried under more 'acceptable' history. But some of the older locals remember." He tapped the armrest of a nearby seat. "Supposedly, this was the favorite seat of a woman who died that night. People say they still see her sometimes."

Celeste rolled her eyes, trying to shake the sudden tightness in her chest. "That sounds like a story someone made up to keep kids from sneaking in."

Adrian smirked. "Maybe. But you have to admit, it adds to the charm."

Celeste shook her head, unwilling to entertain ghost stories when she had real problems to solve. "Speaking of charm, I went through the original blueprints over the weekend. We need to talk structural integrity."

Adrian sighed. "And here I thought we were bonding."

"Not in this lifetime."

She pulled out her binder and flipped to a page covered in handwritten notes. "The foundation is solid, but some of the beams supporting the mezzanine level are in worse shape than expected. If we don't reinforce them properly, we're going to have serious safety issues."

Adrian studied the notes, then glanced up at the mezzanine. "What's the alternative?"

"Keeping as much of the original structure as possible, but adding discreet steel reinforcements to support the weight." She tapped another page. "I also need to bring in a specialist to assess the ceiling fresco. If we don't restore it correctly, we risk losing it altogether."

Adrian exhaled. "You don't do anything halfway, do you?"

Celeste met his gaze evenly. "If we're doing this, we're doing it right."

A pause. Then, to her surprise, Adrian nodded. "Fine. Call your specialist."

She blinked. "Just like that?"

He smirked. "Don't look so shocked. You might be annoying, but you know what you're doing."

Celeste narrowed her eyes. "That was dangerously close to a compliment."

Adrian grinned. "Don't get used to it."

Before she could fire back, a loud bang echoed from somewhere deep in the theater.

Celeste jumped. Adrian straightened, his expression shifting from amused to alert.

"What the hell was that?" she asked, heart pounding.

"Probably one of the workers," Adrian said, but there was a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes.

Celeste turned toward the source of the noise. It had come from backstage.

She hesitated. Don't be ridiculous. It's just an old building settling. Nothing more.

And yet…

Adrian must have sensed her reluctance, because his smirk returned. "What happened to 'I don't believe in ghosts'?"

She shot him a glare. "Shut up."

He chuckled. "Come on, let's check it out."

They made their way toward the back of the theater, stepping carefully over loose floorboards and debris. The old dressing rooms loomed ahead, their doors slightly ajar. The air here was colder, thick with the scent of dust and time.

Celeste hesitated before reaching for the nearest door.

It creaked open, revealing a space frozen in time. A cracked vanity mirror, its edges lined with yellowed photographs. A lone chair, tucked neatly beneath a dust-covered counter.

And then—

A whisper.

Soft. Indistinct.

Celeste stiffened. "Did you hear that?"

Adrian's brow furrowed. "Hear what?"

She swallowed, scanning the room. Nothing. Just shadows playing tricks on her.

Get a grip.

She cleared her throat. "Never mind."

Adrian gave her a knowing look but didn't press. "Come on. Let's finish the walkthrough before your ghosts scare you off."

She ignored him, but as they left the dressing room, she couldn't shake the feeling of unseen eyes watching.

Maybe it was just an old building settling.

Or maybe the Fairmont's ghosts weren't ready to let go.