CHAPTER 1 — THE MIRROR LIFE
The flash of cameras was blinding, even behind her tinted sunglasses.
Miriam smiled anyway — a perfect curve, rehearsed a thousand times. The kind of smile that got millions of likes, the kind of smile brands paid her to wear.
The red carpet outside the Eros Gala shimmered like liquid gold, a parade of fame and filters. Paparazzi shouted her name as she lifted her chin, her silver gown hugging every calculated line. Her hair was sculpted perfection, her skin glass-smooth under the lights.
She looked flawless.
She felt hollow.
"Just one more turn, Miriam!" a photographer yelled. She obeyed, letting the diamond earrings catch the light.
Inside, the noise softened. The air smelled of luxury — bergamot, champagne, and money. Influencers, models, and tech billionaires mingled beneath crystal chandeliers. Screens on the wall replayed her latest campaign: #UnfilteredGlow.
Irony never tasted so sweet.
She moved through the crowd like a performance — every tilt of her wrist intentional, every laugh timed. But her mind drifted. She wanted to breathe without being watched. To exist without a caption.
"Miriam, darling," her manager cooed, catching up. "Smile bigger. You're trending again. Alex Malgrave just walked in."
The name drew a flicker of interest. She'd heard of him — CEO of Malgrave Industries, a tech empire whispered about more than discussed. Mysterious, scandal-free, annoyingly composed.
Her manager leaned closer. "He's looking for a new public partner for his upcoming AI project. Play nice."
Miriam sipped her drink and let the words sink in. "Play nice" always meant "play someone's game."
Still, curiosity tugged at her.
Across the room, a man stood apart from the glittering crowd. Black suit, no tie. Sharp jawline, grey eyes that didn't soften when they met hers. He wasn't watching her like a fan — he was studying her. Measuring.
For a second, it threw her off balance.
Their gazes locked.
It wasn't attraction — not yet. It was recognition, though she couldn't say from where. Something about his stillness unnerved her. Everyone else in the room performed; he observed.
When she looked away, her pulse betrayed her calm.
---
Cut Scene – Balcony, later that night.
The party spilled into the terrace overlooking the city. Soft jazz floated from inside. Miriam slipped out alone, barefoot now, heels dangling from her fingers. The night air was sharp, her reflection ghosting against the glass panels.
She took out her phone, opened her live stream, and smiled at the screen.
"Hey loves," she purred. "We're at the Eros Gala tonight — it's stunning, honestly. I'll post more in the morning."
Hearts fluttered up the screen. Comments scrolled too fast to read.
And then one froze her mid-sentence:
> @anonymous: You hide well, Miriam. But I see you.
Her throat tightened.
"Uh— anyway," she stammered, ending the stream. The reflection in her phone screen stared back, eyes suddenly unsure.
The balcony door opened behind her.
"Talking to your ghosts?"
She turned. Alex Malgrave leaned against the frame, hands in his pockets. The city lights reflected in his eyes — unreadable, electric.
"Just my followers," she replied smoothly, masking her unease.
He stepped closer, slow, deliberate. "Followers. That's an interesting word. They follow what you show them… not who you are."
"And you think you can tell the difference?"
He tilted his head slightly, his voice calm but piercing. "I think you hide more than most. That's what makes you interesting."
Her heart beat faster, but she hid it behind a dry smile. "You've been watching?"
"I watch everything," he said, with no apology. "It's my business."
She frowned. "And what business is that exactly?"
"Information." His gaze dropped briefly to the phone in her hand. "The kind people sell. Or steal."
A chill slipped down her spine. He was too calm, too knowing. She'd met powerful men before — they usually wanted attention.
He wanted control.
"Well," she said, turning away, "if you're trying to recruit me, you'll have to go through my agent."
His voice followed her softly: "You'll come to me. You just don't know it yet."
She didn't look back.
Didn't have to. She could feel his stare, heavy and deliberate, like a signature pressed into her skin.
---
Visual cut — later that night, Miriam's penthouse.
The city glowed beneath her glass walls. She sat cross-legged on her bed, laptop open, notifications exploding.
Her latest post — a smiling photo from the gala — had hit three million likes.
Perfection on display.
Then, an email notification blinked at the top corner. No sender name, just a subject line:
> "I know your real name."
Her breath hitched.
She clicked it open. Inside was a single image: her old passport photo, years before she became Miriam.
The world seemed to tilt.
She closed the laptop slowly, staring at her own reflection in the dark window — two versions of herself overlapping like ghosts
A message appears on her phone: Incoming Call — Unknown Number.
The screen flickers to black before she answers.