"Clai?" he looked at her with a confused expression, his tone laced with a tenderness Claire Whitmore hadn't noticed.
"You're talking to me?" Claire pointed at herself, unsure.
His brows furrowed even more. But Claire didn't have time to worry about formalities anymore. She stepped forward and asked directly,
"Are you Sterling Vale?"
He blinked, tilting his head slightly, his long lashes fluttering under gold-rimmed glasses. The innocent confusion in his eyes was dangerously disarming.
"Why would you suddenly call me that?"
Claire's eyes sharpened.
"Wait—do you have another name?"
He paused, then gave a soft laugh, as if amused by her question.
"Clai, are you playing a new game with me?"
"Game? What game?" Claire was confused too—but quickly snapped out of it and glared.
"Don't mess with me. I'm asking you a serious question!"
"Heh." He chuckled softly, bringing a hand to his lips, a gentle smile in his eyes.
"You haven't changed a bit. Sterling Vale was my stage name. My real name is Alexander Hale. Don't you remember?"
"Alexander Hale?" Claire frowned. "How do you spell that?"
Seeing she was dead serious, Alexander didn't argue. He gently took her hand and slowly traced the letters:
A-L-E-X-A-N-D-E-R H-A-L-E
His fingers were long and fair, his nails neatly trimmed. Claire was almost too distracted by the beauty of his hands to pay attention. But when he finished writing, she whispered his name aloud:
"Alexander Hale…"
A thought flashed through her mind—could the reason she found no trace of "Sterling Vale" online be because he used his real name, Alexander Hale?
Her eyes widened.
Suddenly, she yanked her hand back and took several steps away from him.
Two theories popped into her head:
Either she was dreaming…
She pinched herself—ouch!
…or she was cursed!
"Great, just great! I stared at a guy's face all night and literally lost my mind!" Claire covered her face, pacing in frustration, feeling like she was about to spiral.
"Stared at a guy?" Alexander's tone dipped slightly, his gaze sharpening.
"Who were you staring at?"
"You, obviously!" Claire snapped. She took a deep breath, closed her eyes, trying to calm herself.
She didn't notice the way his lips curled upward at her words, his eyes lighting with amusement and warmth.
"Clai," he said with a soft laugh, "Did you bring me a gift this time?"
Claire blinked open her eyes.
"Gift?"
Alexander gave a helpless smile and shook his head, clearly not upset, just indulgently exasperated.
Then, he unfastened the watch on his wrist and gently placed it on hers.
"I meant to give this to you. I didn't know when you'd show up again, so I kept wearing it. Now—it's finally back where it belongs."
It was a vintage piece—rose gold case, brown crocodile leather strap, automatic movement. Clearly expensive.
Claire felt the warmth of his skin still lingering on the metal. There was no chill. Just… familiarity.
But she didn't even know him.
Yet he looked at her like he'd known her forever.
Before she could say anything—
"Young Master—Oh? Miss Whitmore, you're here!"
An elderly man's voice interrupted from behind. Claire spun around to see a kind-looking older gentleman in a suit, holding a vintage camera.
Alexander smiled and called out,
"Butler Cross."
Claire frowned deeply.
Okay, if this were a dream and it was just him, maybe that would make sense.
But now there's a butler?
She rubbed her chin, trying to make sense of it all. Everything felt so out of place—just like the first time she'd traveled abroad, surrounded by foreign landscapes, knowing she didn't belong.
"Clai, look at the camera."
Snapping out of her thoughts, she looked up—Butler Cross was aiming the lens at them.
She hadn't even realized she was standing behind Alexander now.
She looked down and noticed—she was wearing that outfit. The one in the photo.
Suddenly it clicked.
"Ah!" she gasped.
"What's wrong?" Alexander turned toward her, concerned.
Claire was wide-eyed, slightly breathless.
"I've seen this photo! The photo of us—here—this exact moment!"
She struck the same pose: arms crossed, a mischievous smirk at her lips, head slightly tilted.
"Click!"
The shutter went off. Cross had captured the moment perfectly.
The flash was blinding. Claire instinctively closed her eyes.
And when the glare faded—
She opened her eyes…
And gasped.
She was back in the car.
---
Claire looked around in shock. She was sitting in the driver's seat—but her hands had come off the wheel!
A car was fast approaching from the front.
"Sh*t!" she hissed, grabbing the steering wheel and yanking it to the side.
She narrowly avoided a crash.
Then she glanced to the side—
A black car's window rolled down.
A man in sunglasses made a gun gesture at her again, signaling her to pull over.
What the hell?!
Wasn't this the moment before the crash?
Why is it happening again?!
She didn't stop.
Just like last time, the black car rammed into hers again.
This time, Claire wasn't scared—she was p*ss*d.
Oh, you wanna go again? Fine. Let's go!
She floored the gas, darting through traffic like a pro.
At the intersection, she yanked the wheel hard.
Screeeeech—
Her tires screamed against the pavement as she narrowly dodged the oncoming car this time.
She didn't stop. She gunned it down the road, weaving through the lanes, and finally lost her tail.
It wasn't until she pulled into the precinct parking lot that she finally let herself breathe.
Claire sat there for a moment, closed her eyes, and took a long, steadying breath.
Then she glanced at the passenger seat.
Her bag.
She reached for it, rummaging through—
No photo.
She froze.
The photo… was gone?
She searched everywhere, but it was nowhere to be found.
And then she remembered what had happened.
The photo… had burned into ash in her hands.
Her head throbbed. She instinctively rubbed her temples—
Then felt something heavy on her wrist.
She looked down.
And her eyes widened in disbelief.
It was the watch.
The one Alexander Hale had given her.
Claire sat there in stunned silence, then gave herself another pinch.
"Ow!" Not a dream.
She dropped her forehead onto the steering wheel, utterly drained.
"Sterling Vale… Alexander Hale… what the hell is going on?"