4

The night had long since settled over the city when I slipped out of the party. The glow of candlelight, the soft clinking of glasses, the murmur of meaningless conversations—all faded behind me like a scene from a movie I had only half paid attention to.

Helen walked beside me, her movements fluid, almost dance-like, as if she were part of the shifting shadows cast by the streetlights. I had always admired the way she fit into the world, as if it naturally belonged to her. I was used to performing, to crafting my presence. Helen? She just was.

When we reached the club's entrance, I came to a stop.

"So..." I pulled my coat tighter around myself. "It was nice seeing you."

Helen smiled—softly, warmly, as if it were the most natural thing in the world that she had simply reappeared in my life after all these years.

"Do you think I'll just disappear again?" she asked quietly. "Let's walk a little longer."

I shrugged as she looped her arm through mine. For a fleeting moment, her smile wavered. Then she took my hand and pulled me along the sidewalk.

The colorful houses of Brighton glowed in the night, their shades muted under the streetlights. Mint green, blue, yellow—they were meant to feel cheerful, but something about them felt off.

A gust of salty sea air suddenly rushed toward me.

The rows of townhouses stood tightly packed together, yet in the darkness, they seemed to pull apart, as if something invisible was breathing between them. Somewhere in the distance, laughter echoed.

Her fingers were slender, slightly cool, but not unpleasant. It was a familiar touch—one from childhood, from nights spent under blankets whispering stories only we understood.

That strange tingling ran down my spine again. There was something. Something in the way her fingers curled around mine. A subtle pressure, almost imperceptible. Not tight enough to call it holding on, but not casual enough to ignore.

I tried to keep pace with her.

And it was in her eyes, too—that flicker of something. Was something weighing on her?

It was only a shadow. A fleeting moment, an expression so subtle it slipped away before I could grasp it—like she had cracked open a door just to slam it shut again.

I blinked. What was that?

Images flashed through my mind—Helen at nineteen, sitting in her room with her arms wrapped around her knees. Helen waking me in the middle of the night because she didn't want to be alone. Helen, who had been strong for so long that people almost believed it.

And now? Now she was walking beside me, smiling, with a hint of shadow in her eyes that I couldn't quite place. Then, suddenly, I felt it. A stirring. An instinct to protect.

But from what?

For just a moment, I tightened my grip on her hand—almost imperceptibly, just as she had done before. Then I let go.

Helen raised an eyebrow slightly, as if she had noticed something, too.

"Will I see you tomorrow?" she asked casually.

"Okay. Good night," I replied before I even knew why.

I turned and walked away without looking back.

But a quiet, dark whisper lingered in the back of my mind. God only knows why...

🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️

The night was still young. Or maybe it was already old, creeping into the early morning hours without anyone noticing. I certainly hadn't.

My heart was still racing—not from the wine, but from Helen. From Levi. From life. It was a rush that had nothing to do with alcohol.

Helen was back. After twelve damn years. And it didn't even feel strange. Just right. As if she had never really been gone.

And Levi—oh God, Levi—had been real. Not just on a screen, not just in my imagination. I had seen him. I had almost touched him.

My head buzzed.

This wasn't the kind of night you ended with makeup remover and brushing your teeth.

I let myself fall onto my bed, pulled my phone from my pocket, and unlocked it with a swipe. The numbers on the screen blinked at me.

3:27 AM.

Perfect.

Without thinking twice, I propped my phone up on my nightstand, opened the app, and started a spontaneous livestream. The light from my bedside lamp cast a soft, flattering glow over my face.

The chat exploded instantly.

"Claire? OMG, you're awake?"

"A surprise at three in the morning?!!"

"I knew my gut was telling me to stay up!!"

I smiled, setting my most mysterious expression—just the right mix of sleepiness, intrigue, and that perfect balance between being relatable yet untouchable.

"I had a feeling there was something special in the air tonight." My voice was soft, almost a whisper.

"And when I looked at the cards..."

I let the sentence hang in the air, picked up my tarot deck, and shuffled the cards slowly, deliberately.

The viewer count climbed.

"Pull a card for me!!"

"I have a bad feeling... "

"Claire, please, tell me what you see!!"

My gaze drifted over the comments.

I wasn't looking for a name.

I was looking for uncertainty. Desperation.

For someone drowning in their own fear, someone who would cling to every word I said like it was a lifeline.

Then I found them.

"Claire, my boyfriend has been acting weird. I keep dreaming about dark water. Does that mean anything?"

I smiled.

Bingo.

"Dark water..."

Slowly, I drew a card. Turned it over. Let the moment breathe.

My expression shifted—just barely, but enough to be felt.

"The Tower."

The chat erupted.

"Oh my God!!"

"Shit, that's the worst one, right?!"

"Not The Tower 😭😭😭"

I placed the card gently in front of me and took a slow, deep breath—for drama.

"Dark water... a tower collapsing..."

I made my voice sound thoughtful, distant.

"I see... secrets. Something that has to fall apart because it was built on a lie. Your boyfriend... has he told you everything? Or is there something he's hiding?"

A pause in the chat. Then:

"He has been distant lately..."

Hah.

"You need to be careful," I whispered. "The water... it's showing you that you have to dive deeper. But be ready for what you might find."

A fresh flood of messages poured in.

"Oh God, Claire, you're so powerful!"

"I need to talk to him..."

I pressed my fingers lightly to my temples, as if channeling their energy.

"Tonight, sleep with a glass of water by your bed," I advised softly. "When you wake up, look at it. If the water is clear, you have nothing to fear. If it's cloudy... then you'll know what to do."

Oh, I loved this. The power. The control.

The way they hung on my every word, like they were a lifeline instead of—well—just carefully crafted phrases.

After a few more minutes, I ended the stream, keeping my voice warm, soothing.

"Remember: The universe speaks. You just have to listen. Trust your intuition."

I whispered it, just like always.

I set my phone aside, and sank back into my pillows.

A satisfied smile spread across my lips.

Good night, world.

I'd had my fun for tonight.

🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️

My eyes were fixed on the clock on the wall as the professor's monotone voice droned through the lecture hall—a never-ending stream of technical terms and theories that interested me about as much as next week's weather forecast.

I had already examined my nails three times, analyzed the pattern on my bag, and debated whether to grab coffee or whiskey during the break. Or both.

Then my phone vibrated on the desk.

My gaze flicked over the other students. Some were already nodding off, others doodling absentmindedly in their notebooks.

I cast a casual glance at my screen.

1 new message. Unknown number.

I unlocked my phone with a swipe and read.

"Hello, Claire. I've heard about you. Levi will be at Elara tomorrow night. I could put you on the guest list. Interested?

—Samuel Grant"

My pulse skyrocketed.

I blinked.

Once.

Twice.

Then I read the message again.

Samuel Grant. Levi's manager.

He had heard of me. And that meant—what, exactly?

That Levi had noticed me? That my name had come up in his orbit? That I wasn't just another anonymous admirer but someone who had, at the very least, made a small ripple in his universe?

The corner of my mouth twitched.

Of course, he'd heard of me.

I was Claire fucking MacRae.

A slow smile crept onto my lips as I read the message again. And again. And then once more, just to make sure I wasn't hallucinating.

He had seen me.

Now, I had my chance. My thumb hovered over the screen.

"I could put you on the guest list. Interested?"

Interested? Ha.

I hit reply.

"Obviously."

I imagined Samuel reading my Obviously with a knowing smirk. Or maybe showing it to Levi.

And Levi pausing for a moment. Maybe he'd raise an eyebrow. Maybe he'd been picturing, since last night, what it would be like to see me standing across from him in a dark room.

I leaned back in my chair, my vision blurring slightly as the possibilities unfolded in my mind.

Levi, tall and lean, in the corner of the club. His eyes on me. Watching me.

At first, just casually. Then more intently.

His gaze drifting over me, assessing. The way the dim lights caught the sheen of my skin. The way my dress hugged my waist.

My smile—just challenging enough to intrigue him, but not easy enough to let him win.

He'd look at me like I was a goddamn vision.

Like he could undress me with a glance—just because I let him.

His fingers, hovering just a breath away from my skin.

My lips, slightly parted but not too much—this was about control.

I imagined the moment his carefully crafted aloofness cracked, just slightly. The moment he leaned in. His fingers brushing my neck.

His breath at my ear—hot, demanding, heavy.

My heart pounded at the thought.

My thighs pressed together, instinctively.

Levi wasn't the type to be easily impressed.

He was the enigmatic one. The unattainable one.

But that was exactly what made it thrilling.

I would drive him insane.

And soon, he would want only me.

My breath hitched.

I opened my eyes and grinned.

The thought of Levi—of what was about to happen—sent a delicious shiver down my spine.

My body already knew this wasn't just a fantasy.

It was a plan.

A scenario about to unfold.

All that was left was to decide what to wear.