Chapter 26 #2
"That should work." Serenity pulled off her right glove, flexing her fingers. "It's old, probably an heirloom. Family pieces carry strong emotional resonance." She held out her hand. "Give it here."
Stone placed the case carefully in her palm.
The change was immediate. Serenity's eyes rolled back slightly before closing completely. Her body went rigid, every muscle tense. A small sound escaped her throat—distress, pain, something.
I held my breath, watching. Waiting.
The seconds stretched into eternity.
Finally, her eyes opened. She exhaled shakily, her hand trembling slightly as she lowered it.
"That was... intense." She took a moment to collect herself. "I saw an old woman. She was crying."
"And?" I stepped closer, unable to help myself. "A funeral? A wedding? What was the context?"
"I couldn't tell." Frustration bled into her voice. "I think she was sad. Like she'd lost someone she loved deeply." She shook her head. "But remember—if this is a family heirloom, the vision might have nothing to do with Julia directly. It could be her grandmother, her great-grandmother, anyone."
My hopes deflated. "Was there more? Anything with Julia in it?" If not, we were back to square one. Guessing. Hoping. Drowning in uncertainty.
"Yes." Serenity met my gaze, and something in her expression made my heart stutter. "I saw you and Julia. Kissing."
The world tilted.
"It was real," she continued softly. "I felt the emotion behind it. The connection. But—" her face fell. "I can't tell you if it was the past or the future."
"There has to be a way." My hands curled into fists at my sides. I needed to know. Needed to. Because if it was the past, it meant nothing—just a memory of what we'd already had. But if it was the future...
If it was the future, it meant we had a chance. Meant she was coming back. Meant this wasn't over.
"Think, Serenity," Stone urged. "The setting. Were you somewhere you'd recognize?"
"Yes." I latched onto the idea desperately. "Were we at my house? A restaurant we've been to? Or somewhere new—a place we've never gone together?"
She closed her eyes, clearly trying to pull more details from the vision. "You were both dressed up. Julia in an elegant dress, you in a suit and tie." Her brow furrowed. "But nothing distinctive about either. And the location... it was blurred. I couldn't see where you were."
"He wears a suit every day," Stone pointed out, gesturing to me. "The shirt and tie colors change, but the basic look is the same. That doesn't help us."
"I know." Serenity's voice was thick with regret. "I'm sorry, Quentin. I wish I could give you more."
The hope that had flared died as quickly as it had ignited.
"Wait." Stone took the decorative case and twisted it open, removing the lipstick itself. "Try this. Just the lipstick, without the case."
He handed it to Serenity.
"Charlotte Tilbury, Pillow Talk." She read the label, then looked at me uncertainly. "I'm not sure this will—"
Her words cut off as her body went rigid again. Harder this time. A tremor ran through her, visible enough that Stone moved closer, ready to catch her if she fell.
My chest constricted. What is she seeing?
When her eyes opened, she looked shaken. Vulnerable in a way I'd rarely seen from her.
"Two things." Her voice came out unsteady. "First—you were together. In bed. Under the covers, thank heavens—I didn't see anything. But I still couldn't tell if it was past or future."
Stone shook his head. “That doesn’t help. What was the second thing you saw?"
Serenity turned the lipstick over in her hands, examining it more closely. "This." She twisted the base, and the bottom cap came free.
My blood ran cold.
A small thumb drive sat nestled in the hollow base of the lipstick tube.
"This is professional-grade spy equipment," Serenity said quietly. "Not something you pick up at a gadget store."
The room spun. I gripped the edge of Julia's desk, needing something solid to anchor me.
No. Please, no.
Stone took the drive carefully, holding it up to the light. "Custom work. High-end. The kind of thing intelligence agencies use."
Or assassins. Professional killers who need to smuggle information.
"Get it to Forrest." My voice sounded distant, like it was coming from someone else.
“I’m on it—but first—” He hesitated. “You should go home. Get some rest. I’ve got men watching your place. You’ll be safe.”
I closed my eyes. "Just go."
He left.
The silence that followed seemed to suck all the life out of me.
I sank into Julia's chair—the chair she'd sat in every day for weeks, sorting my mail, taking my calls, smiling at me across the office. The leather still held a faint trace of her perfume.
"I'm sorry, Quentin." Serenity's voice was gentle.
I didn't want her pity. Didn't want her sympathy. "It might not be what it looks like."
"It might not," she agreed. But her tone said she didn't believe it.
Neither did I.
A spy. She was a spy the whole time. Gathering intel. Probably everything on that drive could destroy me.
"Tell me about the bedroom," I asked, desperately grasping at straws. "The vision of us together. The bed, the linens, the lighting—there must be something that indicates past or future."
"Quentin..." Serenity's expression held sympathy. "Even if it was the future, we've already changed things by finding that drive. By investigating her. The future's not fixed—it's constantly shifting based on our choices."
"Shit."
"Yeah."
I dropped my head into my hands, elbows on the desk. Everything felt like it was unraveling.
"If it helps…" Serenity’s voice softened. “You both looked happy. Really happy. The kind of happiness that's hard to fake, even in a vision."
I looked up at her, searching her face for false hope. "And if it's real? If what we had was genuine?"
"Then it'll work out." A small smile touched her lips. "Look at me and Stone. He thought I was a con artist when we met. I thought he was an uptight killjoy. But here we are."
"And if it's not real?"
Her smile faded. "Then you'll do what needs to be done. You know that better than anyone."
"Shit," I said again, more quietly this time.
She moved toward the hallway, pausing in the threshold. "If it's true love, you'll find a way."
Then she was gone, her footsteps fading down the hall.
I stared at the empty space, the weight of everything crashing down on me. "Shit," I muttered.
Her voice drifted back from somewhere down the corridor: "You can say that again."
Despite everything, the corner of my mouth twitched. "I just did," I whispered to the empty office.
The silence pressed in on me. I stood, crossed to my office and the small bar cart I kept near the window. Poured two fingers of Macallan. Then three. Then four.
I downed half of it in one swallow, welcoming the burn.
Then I put the bottle away—drinking myself numb wouldn't solve anything—and sank into my chair. Leaned back. Laced my fingers behind my head and stared at the ceiling.
Somewhere in this mess was an answer. A truth I could hold onto.
Julia was either the woman I was falling in love with, or the woman sent to destroy me.
And I had no idea which.
But I was going to find out.
Even if the truth killed me.
Especially if the truth killed me.
Because I couldn't live like this—suspended between hope and devastation, trust and betrayal, love and death.
I closed my eyes and saw her face. The way she'd looked at me across that dinner table, tears streaming down her cheeks as she confessed.
I'm so sorry, Quentin.
Was she sorry for lying? Or sorry she'd fallen for the man she was supposed to kill?
"Where are you, Julia?" I whispered into the empty room. "And are you coming back to me? Or was I just a mark all along?"
The silence gave no answers.
Only the ticking of the clock on the wall, counting down the seconds until I'd have to make a choice I wasn't ready to make.
Trust her.
Or end her.
There was no middle ground.
Not in this life.
Not in this world.