Miralle woke before anyone came to check on her.
Not because of fear. Because the room was unfamiliar.
The ceiling was too smooth. The light came in from the wrong angle. For a few seconds, she didn't remember where she was, and then she did — not all at once, but in pieces. The clothes in the wardrobe. The phone on the bedside table. The absence of noise.
She sat up and listened.
Nothing.
No neighbours arguing. No traffic horns. No footsteps outside the door.
She got out of bed and stood still, half-expecting something to happen because she had moved. Nothing did.
The bathroom was attached. Clean. Unused. The towels folded with precision, like they were waiting to be disturbed. She washed her face and studied herself in the mirror longer than usual.
She looked the same.
That felt strange.
A knock came at exactly eight.
Not loud. Not polite. Just enough to be heard.
A woman stood outside with a garment bag and a clipboard. She introduced herself with a first name only and didn't offer conversation.
"Breakfast will be downstairs in twenty minutes," she said. "You're expected to attend."
Expected.
Miralle dressed slowly. The clothes fit without alteration. That bothered her more than if they hadn't. She checked the time twice before leaving the room.
Downstairs, the table was set for two.
Adrian was already seated.
He looked different in daylight. Less severe, maybe. Or maybe the light simply made him easier to look at. He nodded once when she entered.
"You slept," he said.
"Yes."
"Good."
She sat across from him. The food was untouched. He waited until she picked up her fork before eating himself.
"You're meeting people today," Adrian said.
Miralle didn't respond immediately.
"Who?" she asked.
"Associates," he replied. "People who will remember you."
"And what am I to them?"
Adrian paused, as if deciding how precise to be.
"Someone who belongs here," he said.
Miralle looked around the room. Everything suggested permanence. Heavy furniture. Neutral colours. No photographs.
"That's not something people usually accept without explanation," she said.
"No," Adrian agreed. "Which is why we'll give them one."
He slid a small folder across the table.
Inside were photographs. Her and Adrian. Standing close. Not touching. Sitting side by side. Taken from angles that suggested familiarity.
She recognised none of the moments.
"These were taken yesterday," Adrian said. "And earlier."
"Earlier than what?"
"Earlier than when you noticed."
Miralle closed the folder. "You planned this."
"Yes."
"For how long?"
He finished his coffee before answering. "Long enough."
She didn't ask more. She was learning when questions produced nothing useful.
After breakfast, a car took them to a building she didn't recognise. This one had a name. Discreet lettering. Security that pretended not to exist.
Inside, people waited.
They stood when Adrian entered. Not formally, but instinctively. Conversations stopped. Attention shifted.
Miralle stayed half a step behind him, exactly where she had been told to stand.
"This is Miralle," Adrian said, when someone finally asked. "She'll be joining us."
No explanation. No elaboration.
A woman smiled at her. It didn't reach her eyes.
"Nice to finally meet you," the woman said. "We've heard very little."
"That was intentional," Adrian replied.
The woman laughed, like it was a joke.
Miralle said nothing.
They moved through the room slowly. Introductions came in fragments. First names. Roles hinted at but never clarified. Everyone seemed to be watching her without doing it openly.
At one point, someone asked, "How long have you two been together?"
Adrian answered before Miralle could think. "Longer than people assume."
He didn't look at her when he said it.
Later, when they were alone near a window, Miralle spoke quietly. "You didn't tell me what to say."
"You didn't need to," Adrian replied. "You listened."
"That's not the same thing."
"No," he said. "It's better."
On the drive back, Miralle stared out the window. She tried to remember faces, names, connections. Everything blurred together.
"They don't trust me," she said.
"They don't trust anyone," Adrian replied. "Trust is irrelevant."
"What isn't?"
He glanced at her. "Consistency."
Back at the house, the atmosphere shifted. The staff disappeared into the background. The silence returned.
Miralle followed Adrian into a smaller room — not an office, not a living space. Something in between.
"You did well," he said.
"I didn't do anything."
"You didn't contradict me," he replied. "That's enough."
She hesitated. "You're using me."
"Yes."
"For what, exactly?"
This time, he didn't answer immediately.
"For leverage," Adrian said finally.
Against whom?
She didn't ask. The answer wouldn't come yet.
Instead, she said, "What happens if I stop being useful?"
Adrian studied her in a way that made her feel assessed, not threatened.
"Then this ends," he said.
"And I leave?"
"Yes."
She nodded. "That's clearer than before."
He turned to leave.
"Adrian," she said.
He stopped.
"You said people would remember me," Miralle continued. "What happens when they remember me for the wrong reasons?"
His voice was calm. "Then I'll know the plan is working."
He left the room.
Miralle remained where she was, standing between spaces that weren't meant for her. She understood something important then.
She wasn't here to be liked.
She was here to be seen.
And once seen, she would be difficult to remove.