CHAPTER 19

The Ghost from Her Past

The crowded café buzzed with laughter and clinking glasses, the smell of roasted coffee beans thick in the air. I kept my head down, stirring my untouched latte as the weight of my disguise pressed against me. The dark curls I wore now were different from the short blonde bob I had back then. The freckles I carefully painted across my nose weren't real, just another layer of protection. Yet, as I lifted my cup to my lips, I felt it—an unsettling presence.

Someone was watching me.

I shifted in my seat, casually glancing around. The moment my eyes met his, my breath caught in my throat.

Nathaniel.

The name thundered through my mind like an old storm cracking open the sky.

He was older, his jaw sharper, his stance more rigid. But there was no mistaking him. He hadn't changed in the ways that mattered—the same intense gaze, the same way his fingers curled around his coffee cup like he was lost in thought.

I forced myself to exhale, my fingers tightening around the warm ceramic in my hands. He hadn't recognized me yet. But he was staring, his brows slightly drawn together as if trying to place me.

I needed to leave. Now.

I pushed my chair back slowly, keeping my movements calm. If I ran, he'd know. If I panicked, he'd see.

But just as I grabbed my coat, he stood.

"Wait."

The word was soft, hesitant, but it felt like a gunshot in my ears.

I froze.

I had rehearsed this moment a hundred times in my nightmares. If he ever found me. If anyone from before ever did. But I had never planned for the possibility of him not knowing who I was.

He took a step closer. His eyes, those deep brown eyes I had once trusted, scanned my face like a puzzle missing a piece.

"Do I know you?"

I swallowed hard. My pulse hammered against my ribs, screaming at me to lie, to walk away, to never look back. But my throat felt tight, dry, uncooperative.

"I don't think so," I said, forcing a smile. "Maybe you've just seen me around."

Nathaniel frowned, his gaze not letting go of mine. "No… I—" His head tilted slightly, like a memory was just out of reach. "There's something familiar about you."

Every muscle in my body tensed. He was too close now, close enough to catch any mistake in my expression, any crack in my voice.

Think, Celeste. Think.

I let out a small laugh, shifting my weight onto my back foot. "I get that a lot."

His frown deepened, his eyes searching mine.

For a moment, I thought I had won. That doubt had swallowed him whole.

Then he said something that made my stomach drop.

"You remind me of someone I used to know."

The room spun. My heart kicked against my ribs like a caged animal.

I forced my expression to stay neutral. "Oh?"

"She was… important to me," he continued, almost to himself. His voice softened, as if the memory pained him. "But she's gone now."

My grip on my coat tightened. Keep it together, Celeste. Don't let him see.

"I'm sorry," I murmured, taking a careful step back.

He blinked, like shaking himself free from a spell. Then, to my horror, his gaze dropped to my wrist.

I had worn long sleeves. I always did. But in my rush to grab my coat, the fabric had slipped, revealing the faint, silver scar running along my skin.

His expression changed. His breath hitched.

I yanked my sleeve down, but it was too late.

"Wait." His voice was different now—sharper, laced with something raw. "How did you get that?"

I turned, heading for the door.

"Hey—wait!"

He caught my wrist before I could escape, his grip firm but not painful.

Panic flared in my chest. Every instinct screamed at me to run. To fight. To disappear.

But I didn't. I couldn't.

Because for the first time in years, someone from my past had touched me, and I wasn't sure if I wanted to break free or hold on.

"Celeste?"

My world cracked open.

His voice wasn't uncertain anymore. It wasn't questioning. It was sure.

He knew.

Everything inside me shattered at once. I yanked my wrist away as if burned, stumbling backward.

"No." My voice was barely a whisper.

He took a step forward.

I took a step back.

He looked like he had seen a ghost. And in some ways, he had.

"You're dead." His voice broke. "I—We thought you were dead."

I should have run. I should have.

But his eyes held something I hadn't seen in years. Something I hadn't let myself believe existed anymore.

Grief.

Real, raw, aching grief.

My throat burned. My vision blurred.

And then, without another word, I turned and bolted out the door.

I didn't stop. Not when I heard him call my name. Not when I felt the weight of my past clawing at my heels. Not even when my lungs begged for air.

I ran until the streets blurred into a dizzying haze of lights and shadows.

Until the café was gone. Until he was gone.

But even as I reached the safety of my apartment, locking the door behind me with shaking hands, I knew—

Nathaniel wasn't gone.

And now, neither was my past.