3

The party smelled like champagne and false sincerity.

I was used to this kind of event—shiny faces, expensive perfumes, conversations that evaporated into air before they could take on any real meaning. You drank, you smiled, you agreed. No one was really here, but everyone pretended it was the pinnacle of their oh-so-important lives. An exclusive club, only for the chosen few. The name of the place didn't matter because it was always the same circles moving within it. The nouveau riche heirs of empires far too old, models with legs far too long and dresses far too short, producers with too much money and too little talent. A society feeding off champagne and validation.

I stood at the edge of it all, a half-full glass in my hand, observing the scene. My black lace dress made me look innocent, but I knew my eyes told a different story. And then I saw him: Levi Reid.

I hadn't expected him. No one had told me he would be here. And yet, suddenly, he was there, as if the night itself had conjured him. He wasn't the center of attention, but it was impossible not to notice him. Tall, lean, effortlessly elegant in dark clothing that stood out starkly against the flashy designer suits around him. His hair fell slightly messily over his forehead, as if he'd only just decided to show up, without a second thought about the dress code. His presence felt almost reluctant.

But it was his eyes that held me captive. Gray-blue and piercing, almost silver under the chandelier's light. A gaze that seemed to see through everything without even bothering to try. I knew he was different. Not a typical actor, not one of those who threw themselves into Hollywood's glitz. He avoided the public eye, gave few interviews, refused to be dragged into the industry's absurd games. A myth, a shadow, a figure more mystery than man.

And I wanted him. Not in the shallow, admiring way the rest of the world did. No. I wanted to understand him. But I already knew it would be impossible. Maybe that was exactly why.

My gaze followed his every move as he wove through the room, seemingly detached from the conversations happening around him. A woman in a glittering dress spoke to him, her hand resting lightly on his arm. He nodded, barely smiled, yet she looked at him as if he had just handed her the universe.

I pressed my lips together, feeling the first stirrings of anger rise in my stomach. He didn't notice me. Not even a fleeting glance in my direction. And that was unacceptable.

I set my glass down slowly but my heart was racing, and I forced myself to stay calm, took a breath, trying to collect myself. Levi was only a few steps away. Why was I so nervous? I just needed to create that one moment—just one—where he saw me. No one ignored me on purpose.

Now or never.

I stepped forward, letting my fingertips graze the lace of my dress, steadying myself for the moment. I knew how to play the game. The first impression had to be perfect—a mix of restraint and curiosity, just enough to make him take a second look.

But just then, I heard a voice behind me.

"Claire."

And then, a little louder, "Claire."

A voice—soft and low, laced with a warmth I had long since forgotten.

I froze.

One name. One second. And the entire world seemed to shift.

I turned around slowly, and there she was. Helen.

I blinked. Once. Twice. Three times. As if my eyes refused to believe reality.

My sister. After twelve goddamn years.

I just stared at her, like a ghost from another life.

She looked different. Older, of course. Her hair, once a deep honey blonde like mine, was now a dark brown, almost black, cascading in soft waves over her shoulders. Her cheeks were thinner, her skin lightly tanned, as if she'd spent years in places with more sun than I had.

But her smile was the same.

Crooked, slightly teasing, full of warmth.

And in her amber eyes—the same as mine—that familiar spark still flickered.

My heart skipped a beat, and suddenly, nothing else mattered.

"Helen," I whispered.

I didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

So I did the only thing that felt right.

I threw myself into her arms.

"Helen," I breathed.

And then I laughed, just like that, because it was absurd, because it was unreal, because it was her. I felt her hold me, stronger than I had expected. She still smelled like vanilla and something else—something familiar and foreign at the same time.

"Shit, Helen, you're real," I murmured against her shoulder before pulling back, studying her as if I could read all the lost years in her face.

"Of course I'm real," she said quietly, her voice filled with that soft amusement that had always driven me crazy. "But I guess you weren't expecting me."

I could feel her laughter more than I could hear it.

"Not even close."

She grinned. Deep, soft, genuine.

And suddenly, it felt like I had been waiting all these years for this exact moment.

Helen led me to one of the semi-hidden tables in the corner of the room, far enough from the crowd but not completely secluded. Here, where the dim light from the golden retro wall lamps shimmered over our glasses, she seemed strangely detached—not like a memory from my childhood, but like a story I had told myself that had suddenly come to life.

"So," she began with that quiet, thoughtful smile I could never quite decipher. "You look good, Claire."

I scoffed lightly.

"I know. Social media works both ways, you know."

Helen smirked.

"Of course it does."

We both ignored the fact that neither of us had reached out.

She took a sip of her drink—red wine, dark as ink, gleaming silkily. Then she reached into her purse and pulled out her phone.

"I have someone you need to see."

A photo.

A man with golden-blond hair, his smile almost uncomfortably sincere. Soft features, kind eyes, that strange, effortless charisma that people seem to have when they've never truly doubted themselves.

"That's Theo," Helen said, a warmth in her voice that sent an involuntary chill down my spine.

I blinked.

"Your husband?"

She nodded.

"He's... special. Different from anyone else. He believes in the good, even when it's not there. Especially in me."

There it was again—that tone. The way she laced her words with a quiet hint of double meaning, like a joke only she understood.

I studied the picture more closely.

Theo was classically handsome, but not in the cold, untouchable way Levi was. No, he was the opposite—approachable, radiant, someone who drew people into his orbit not by distancing himself, but by inviting them in.

"How long have you been married?" I asked, more to fill the silence than out of real curiosity.

"Almost eight years."

"Wow." I raised an eyebrow. "And he's still alive? I'm impressed."

Helen laughed softly.

"Believe me, I've had my chances."

I looked at her. Her gaze was gentle but watchful. I wondered if she had meant it as a joke.

Then she swiped to the next photo.

A girl this time.

The same golden curls, bright green eyes, freckles scattered across her nose like tiny drops of sunlight.

"This is Kira," Helen said.

And her voice changed—softer, more real.

I swallowed, louder than I intended.

"Your daughter."

"My daughter."

I stared at the picture.

She was around twelve—the exact age she should be. And yet, I had never really thought about her. Not consciously.

Why was I surprised? Helen had had her at nineteen—a one-night stand, a surprise, maybe a mistake. And then she had disappeared from my life.

But now she was here.

And Kira was real.

I cleared my throat.

"She's cute."

"She's more than cute," Helen murmured. "And she's smart. Too lively for her own good. She would love you. She's just like you at that age."

Something tightened in my stomach.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Helen leaned back, her fingers playing with the stem of her wineglass.

"But that's not why I'm here."

I looked at her.

There it was again—that slight, almost imperceptible shift in her voice and eyes, as if she were pulling me into something I didn't yet understand.

"Then why?" I asked, keeping my tone neutral.

Helen tilted her head, weighing her words.

Then she smiled.

"Because it was time, Claire."

"Time for what?"

Her eyes flickered.

"To find you again."

It was a harmless sentence. Really.

But something about it sent a shiver down my spine.