The chandeliers glittered like frozen constellations above the ballroom, each crystal reflecting the radiance of a hundred golden candles. Music swirled through the air—violins and flutes weaving together in an elegant waltz—while gowns of silk and velvet brushed across the polished marble floor. Laughter rang out, glasses of wine clinked, and courtiers whispered behind jeweled fans.
Evelina moved among them like a vision spun from moonlight. Her gown shimmered silver and pale blue, hugging her slender form before spilling into a waterfall of fabric. Pearls adorned her hair, her neck, her ears, but even among all the glittering finery, it was her eyes that drew attention—deep, storm-gray, alive with quiet strength.
But that night, she felt none of the celebration's joy.
Her smile was practiced, a mask she had perfected after years of playing the noblewoman in court. Her heart, however, beat with unease.
Something was wrong.
The air seemed too heavy, the laughter too sharp, the smiles too forced. She couldn't explain why, but a cold shiver traced her spine as though fate itself whispered a warning.
A friend approached her, a woman draped in emerald silk. They had grown up together, or so Evelina had once believed. Now, looking at the woman's smile—curved too sweetly, hiding venom behind painted lips—Evelina felt a pang of dread.
"My dear Evelina," the woman cooed, offering a crystal goblet filled with ruby wine. "You look breathtaking tonight. Come, drink. The night is young."
Her instincts screamed. Something was in that glass. Poison? Betrayal? But refusing would draw suspicion, and already eyes lingered on her from across the ballroom.
With a breath that trembled in her chest, Evelina accepted the goblet.
The first sip burned. Metallic, bitter, wrong. Her throat tightened. Panic clawed its way into her chest as she staggered back, the music and laughter melting into a distant roar.
"Are you unwell?" the woman asked, feigning innocence, but Evelina caught the fleeting glimmer of triumph in her eyes.
Her knees buckled. The goblet slipped from her grasp and shattered against the marble floor.
And then—
"Evelina!"
A voice, deep and desperate, cut through the haze. Strong arms caught her before she struck the ground. She blinked through the blur of pain, her gaze rising to meet storm-gray eyes she knew better than her own.
Damian.
The man who had been her anchor in a world of masks and lies. The man she loved, though their bond had been a dangerous secret whispered only in the dead of night.
He held her close, his grip trembling as her body convulsed. "Stay with me," he begged, his voice raw. "Don't you dare leave me like this."
Her lips curved faintly. Even as darkness pulled at her, his face was the last thing she wanted to see.
"I will find you…" she whispered, her breath ragged. "Across time… across lifetimes… I will always find you."
And then everything went black.
---
Aria jolted upright in bed with a strangled cry.
Her chest heaved as though she'd been the one choking on poison, her skin slick with sweat. Her bedsheets clung to her, twisted from thrashing in sleep. The sound of her own heartbeat thundered in her ears, too loud, too real.
It had been a dream. Just a dream.
But why did it feel like a memory?
The name lingered on her lips, barely audible. "Damian…"
Her breath shuddered. She didn't know a Damian. She had never worn a ball gown or danced in a golden-lit hall. She was Aria Lane—twenty-four years old, hopelessly overworked, stuck in a cramped city apartment with peeling paint and a temperamental radiator. Her life was ordinary. Boring, even.
So why did her heart ache as if it had just been torn from her chest?
She pressed her palms over her face, forcing back tears she didn't understand. Sleep was impossible now. The memory—no, the dream—still pulsed inside her, vivid as though it had been carved into her very soul.
Dragging herself out of bed, Aria shuffled toward the kitchenette. The clock glared 6:12 AM in harsh red digits. Too early. Far too early.
She filled the kettle, set it on the stove, and leaned against the counter. The silence of her apartment pressed in around her, broken only by the hum of the fridge and the faint drip of a faucet that refused to be fixed.
Her phone buzzed.
A message from Lila, her best friend and eternal morning person: "Up yet? Don't forget we're carpooling today. And for the love of all that's holy, wear something that isn't your sad gray sweater."
Aria managed a weak smile. Trust Lila to drag her out of her spiral with blunt honesty. She typed back: "I'll try. No promises."
By the time she had showered, dressed, and painted concealer under her eyes, the nightmare had dulled but hadn't disappeared. It clung to her like a second skin.
---
The city was awake by the time she stepped outside, a sea of noise and motion. Car horns blared, vendors shouted, and buses hissed at stops while streams of pedestrians surged along the sidewalks. The morning sun filtered between tall buildings, casting sharp stripes of light and shadow.
Lila pulled up in her dented blue hatchback, waving energetically from the driver's seat. "Aria! Hurry up before the vultures at work start circling my desk again."
Aria slid into the passenger seat, exhaling at the familiar chaos of her friend's car—coffee cups, stray receipts, and the faint scent of vanilla perfume.
"You look like death," Lila observed cheerfully as she pulled into traffic. "Bad dream?"
Aria hesitated. If she told Lila the truth—that she had died in a ballroom with poison in her veins and a man's name on her lips—her friend would laugh it off. Or worse, worry.
"Something like that," Aria murmured. "Couldn't sleep."
Lila glanced at her, one brow raised. "Well, no offense, but the gothic heroine vibe kind of works for you. Pale, tragic, mysterious."
Aria huffed a laugh despite herself. "Great. Just what I need."
---
By midday, she was at her desk, drowning in spreadsheets and unanswered emails. The monotony should have grounded her, but instead, it only made the dream echo louder in her head. Every clink of a coffee mug sounded like a goblet hitting marble. Every flicker of gray in the corner of her eye made her heart race.
She told herself it was stress. Imagination. Nothing more.
Until she saw him.
It happened in the most ordinary way—on the corner near the office, as she left for lunch. He was just a man in a dark coat, his hair windswept, his posture confident. But when he turned, when his eyes met hers across the crowd—
Gray. Storm-gray. The exact shade from her dream.
Her breath caught. The city noise faded into silence. For one suspended moment, it was only the two of them, bound by something neither could explain.
Recognition flared in his gaze, sharp and unguarded, as though he too had seen her before, long ago, in another world.
Her lips parted. A thousand words pressed against her throat, but nothing came out.
And then the crowd surged between them, breaking the connection.
By the time she pushed forward, he was gone.
Aria stood frozen on the sidewalk, her pulse hammering. The dream hadn't been just a dream. She knew it now with terrifying certainty.
The promise whispered in that ballroom—I will find you across lifetimes—was real.
And fate had just kept its word.