Scarlett sat on her fire escape that night, knees hugged to her chest, a chipped mug of tea cooling in her hands.
The city stretched out below—quiet, pulsing, alive in the distance. But up here, on the fourth floor of a weathered brownstone with creaky plumbing and thin walls, it felt almost peaceful. Real.
Nothing like the gallery, where she’d felt… what? Unsettled? Intrigued? Seen?
She took a slow sip of her tea. Mint. Comforting.
Lucien Draven’s voice echoed in her head like a dream she hadn’t quite shaken off.
“You have something.”
Yeah, she did. Bills. Student debt. Chronic overthinking. And a barely-functioning radiator.
That was something.
The fire escape creaked behind her, and she didn’t even flinch. “You’re up early,” she called.
A slim figure climbed through the window with a small grunt of effort. “You left the door locked again.”
“Did I?” Scarlett smiled without turning. “Oops.”
Her younger sister, Eva, flopped down beside her. Her oversized hoodie practically swallowed her, and her short curls were sleep-mussed and rebellious. She shoved Scarlett playfully with her shoulder.
“Gallery girl too busy for her baby sister?”
Scarlett chuckled. “Not a baby anymore. Twenty-two and full of attitude.”
“Twenty-three,” Eva corrected. “And still cooler than you.”
They sat in silence for a moment, shoulders pressed together, the city humming beneath them.
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Scarlett finally spoke. “Weird night.”
Eva tilted her head. “Gallery stuff?”
“Yeah. No. Sort of.”
She hesitated. Should she tell her about Lucien? She didn’t even know what to say. Hey, I met a walking storm in a suit who knew the name of a dead girl and looked at me like he could hear my heartbeat from across the room? Yeah, that sounded sane.
Instead, she said, “Ever meet someone and just… felt something shift inside you?”
Eva’s brows rose. “You mean like in a ‘he’s hot and brooding and smells expensive’ kind of way?”
Scarlett laughed despite herself. “Maybe. But also no. Like… something you can’t name.”
Eva’s eyes narrowed. “So, a mysterious hot guy. That’s worse.”
“Why worse?”
“Because that’s how the haunting starts. Or the heartbreak. Or both.”
Scarlett rolled her eyes, but the weight in her chest didn’t lift.
The next morning, Scarlett stepped into her favorite coffee shop—Milo’s, a second home of sorts—and was immediately greeted by the smell of espresso, cinnamon, and mild chaos.
Behind the counter, her best friend Camille was arguing with a customer while expertly making two lattes and texting one-handed.
“Sir,” Camille said sweetly, “if you want a frappe, go to a franchise. We serve emotions here. In cup form.”
Scarlett grinned.
Camille spotted her, waved the guy off with a “namaste, basic,” and practically leapt over the counter to hug her.
“You survived the opening!” Camille squealed. “Tell me everything. Was there drama? Tears? Secret scandal?”
“Just a weird guy and some flickering lights,” Scarlett muttered.
Camille’s brows shot up. “Weird guy? Please say he was gorgeous and slightly dangerous and said cryptic things that made no sense.”
Scarlett stared at her.
Camille gasped. “Oh my god he did. You’re in.”
“I’m not in anything,” Scarlett said quickly. “I just—”
“Felt something you didn’t understand?” Camille offered.
Scarlett blinked. “Okay, how—?”
“I’ve watched a lot of romance movies. I know the signs. So,” she leaned in, “mysterious billionaire?”
Scarlett said nothing.
Camille’s jaw dropped. “Shut. UP.”
That night, back at her apartment, Scarlett stared at the old photo tucked into the edge of her mirror. A faded shot of her and Eva as kids, barefoot on the grass, their mother laughing in the background.
Her heart twisted.
Her mother had died six years ago. The pain had dulled, sure, but it still had sharp edges when she wasn’t paying attention.
“You have something.”
What did Lucien mean? And why did his voice feel like it had roots in her bones?
She didn’t believe in destiny.
But something was definitely beginning.
