Ch. 59
The front doors of the mansion clicked shut behind me, the late afternoon sun spilling through the grand foyer windows. I had barely set my bag down when my mother appeared, her composed elegance unraveling into visible concern.
"Selene! What happened to your arm?" she exclaimed, her eyes locking onto the bandage. The authority in her voice wavered, panic seeping through despite her attempt to stay composed.
I lifted my arm slightly, showing her the neatly wrapped gauze.
"I scraped it, Mom. It's nothing serious."
"Nothing serious?" she echoed, aghast. "Do you have any idea how much blood you could've lost? Who was with you? Did anyone call—"
"Mom," I interrupted gently, my voice calm and steady—the kind that usually stopped her mid-spiral.
"Ethan brought me home. I'm fine."
Her hands hovered over my arm, fluttering as if she could will the injury away through sheer worry.
"Fine?" she repeated, frowning. "Your arm looks terrible! Did you faint? Did you hit your head? Selene, tell me everything."
I took a slow breath, allowing a small, knowing smile to form at the corner of my lips. Over the years, I had learned the trick with her—honesty, without dramatics.
"We were on our way home when we came across a patient on the street. We brought him back to the hospital where he was admitted. He wasn't in a stable condition and scratched me. A nurse treated the wound. That's all," I explained evenly.
"Honestly, Mom, there's nothing to worry about."
She let out a sharp breath, relief mixing with lingering anxiety.
"Selene, I swear... you're always so calm about everything," she muttered.
"Do you even feel pain like normal people do?"
The question made me pause.
"I do, Mom," I answered quietly. "I just... choose not to let it control me."
Her expression softened, though a trace of suspicion remained.
"Hm. Fine. I trust you," she said at last. "Go change your clothes. I'll prepare dinner."
She patted my hand, a brief warmth cutting through my fatigue. But exhaustion crept in quickly—a dull ache behind my temples, heavy with the day's events: the hospital, the encounter with Jerome, and the constant awareness that the world I lived in was never quite as ordinary as it seemed.
"I think I'll go rest," I said calmly.
"It's been a long day, and I need some time to... recharge."
"Rest?" she blinked, brows knitting.
"Selene, you're not going to—"
"I'll be fine, Mom. Truly," I reassured her, letting my composed demeanor do the convincing.
"Please, just excuse me."
She hesitated, then nodded, concern giving way to reluctant acceptance.
"Alright. But call me if you need anything. Anything at all."
I nodded and turned toward the staircase. My footsteps were soft against the polished marble, and the moment I reached my room, I released a slow breath—finally allowing myself to collapse onto the bed and let the calm fade.
The soft rustle of silk sheets and the warm quiet of my room lulled me into a deep, almost unnatural sleep. My mind, fatigued yet restless, drifted into a dreamscape that felt both familiar and... wrong.
The world shifted without warning.
I was no longer Selene in my room—I was an observer, standing at the edge of a scene that unfolded with unsettling clarity, as if I were watching pages of a story come alive.
A story I recognized... but didn't fully know.
Night cloaked the street in dim amber light. Lina the female lead... walked alone, her steps cautious but unhurried. The air felt heavy, the kind that pressed against the chest and warned of danger.
Then it happened.
A sharp cry echoed from a narrow alley.
Lina froze.
A young girl struggled in the grasp of two men, her small hands flailing as she tried to break free. Fear twisted Lina's face, but hesitation didn't last long. She ran toward them, shouting, her voice slicing through the silence.
The men turned.
That was her mistake.
I watched helplessly as they lunged—not just for the girl, but for Lina too. Panic erupted. Lina fought back, screamed, begged, but the alley swallowed her voice whole. One of the men hissed that she'd seen too much. That they couldn't let her live.
As they dragged her deeper into the shadows, Lina's phone slipped from her pocket, clattering softly onto the pavement.
The men didn't notice.
But someone else did.
The scene twisted again.
Raze stood beneath a flickering streetlamp, staring down at the phone in his hand. The screen was unlocked. A recording was still playing.
He frowned, thumb hovering—then pressed stop.
Curiosity pushed him to open the file.
The sound that followed made his blood run cold.
Lina's voice shaking and desperate pleading for help. The scuffle. The muffled cries. The unmistakable terror of someone who knew she might not survive the night.
Raze's expression hardened.
He didn't hesitate. He dialed the police immediately, his jaw clenched, eyes already scanning the darkness as if he could will himself into the scene.
The world shattered again.
This time, I saw Ethan.
He looked exhausted—thinner, worn down, shadows carved deep beneath his eyes. He was shouting, his voice raw with anger and desperation.
And then—
He pushed me.
I stumbled back, even as a spectator, I was irritated.
I couldn't make out his exact words, but I felt them. Accusations. Blame. Desperation twisted into cruelty. Whatever he was saying, it was harsh enough that my chest tightened—as if his anger had found its way into my own bones.
Before I could think further, everything slowed.
The chaos faded.
And then I saw her.
Liana stood before me—alive. Safe. Smiling softly, as if she knew something I didn't. Her lips moved, soundless yet clear.
The moment those words formed, the dream shattered.
I gasped awake, sitting upright in my bed, my heart pounding violently against my ribs. The room was dark, silent but my mind screamed with questions.
That scene...
Is that part of the novel?
I pressed a hand to my chest, breathing hard.
The mystery had begun.
And somehow, whether I liked it or not I was already part of it.