On the other hand, in Miller's new room at Pine Valley, she walked in after a sumptuous and pleasantly lonely dinner. Feeling the need for her nightly routine, she walked to the vanity table to trim her hair lower before bed. She picked up the scissors and suddenly froze, her own reflection startling her. Her eyes had turned blue. Not her normal color, but a shimmering, unnatural azure blue.
She frowned, her heart skipping a beat. What was going on? Thinking it might be a trick of the mirror, she quickly picked up her phone and opened the front-facing camera. The image on the screen confirmed it: her eyes had indeed turned that mesmerizing, shimmering blue. She wasn't drunk; she was completely sober, but she couldn't understand what was happening. She shut her eyes tightly, counting to three in her head. When she opened them again, her reflection showed her eyes had returned to their normal, familiar color. Now that was very odd. She shut her eyes again, trying to will the change, but this time, nothing happened. Frustrated and confused, she slapped her forehead. She was probably just exhausted and seeing things.
But unbeknownst to her, somewhere across the Pacific Ocean, in a steel-lined room, a dull, unremarkable crystal resting on a metal podium suddenly lit up from within, pulsing with a faint, ethereal blue light. An elderly man who had been cleaning a nearby shelf dropped his rag in shock, his face draining of color as he stared at the glowing crystal, his expression filled with disbelief. He hurried out of the room immediately, muttering continuously, "This can't be real, this can't be real."
----
A week had passed since Devion got married, but the atmosphere in the Pine Valley estate suggested nothing of the sort. Miller had proven to be, in her own quiet way, the perfect person for the contracted job. She understood the unspoken rules and stayed meticulously in her place, to the point that their paths had not crossed once since the day she moved in. According to Mama B's reports, she would leave the house after lunch and return just before dinner, retreating directly to her room afterwards. She never once went out to explore her surroundings, and for this, Devion was really satisfied. It was the exact arrangement he wanted.
Until that evening, It was a warm evening, and Devion had returned home earlier than usual, having come directly from a concluded business meeting rather than returning to the office. He took a quick, refreshing shower and settled down at the dining table for dinner. At the same moment, Miller walked downstairs. She paused mid-step upon seeing him, and his eyes lifted, noticing her in return. After a brief, awkward hesitation, she continued her journey into the room.
She was dressed in baggy, faded, and utterly graceless pajamas. The worn fabric slanted off one shoulder, revealing a sharp collarbone and a tantalizing glimpse of her shoulder as she sat down at the far end of the table, as far from him as possible. "You can just pretend I am not here," she said in a low, almost inaudible voice.
He said nothing; he had planned to do exactly that. But for some inexplicable reason, the line of her collarbone was distracting him, a beautiful pale curve against her worn pyjamas. Dinner was served, and they began eating in a heavy silence. She reached across the table to pick up a piece of chicken wing, and the movement caused the neckline of her pajamas to shift. Before he could stop himself, the question slipped out, his voice cutting through the quiet. "Do you dress this way every night?"
The question confused her, her brows furrowing slightly. Nevertheless, she replied, "Yes. I am sorry if it disgusts you." She self-consciously smoothed the crease on her pajama top, pulling the fabric a little tighter to adjust the gracelesseness.
But he wasn't disgusted. It was something else entirely, a restless, simmering heat he hadn't anticipated. He thought the feeling would pass, but instead, all he could think about was the night at the hotel, the feel of her skin, the weight of her, the smell of her, and the way she had made him forget everything. He had never felt this raw, visceral pull with Adele, no matter how many times she had deliberately paraded her model's body in front of him. He wondered if it was because Miller's exposure was entirely unintentional, an uncalculated act of carelessness. But still, it made no sense that the sight of a single collarbone could make him this restless. His hand clenched tightly around his fork, the metal digging into his palm.
Just then, he remembered something. That night at the hotel, in the dim light, he had noticed her collarbone was marked. He had thought it was a tattoo of numbers, and even now it was still there. No... looking at it closely now under the bright dining room lights, it wasn't just numbers. It was a precise, inked code.
At that exact moment, Miller noticed his intense, unwavering gaze fixed on her. She looked down at herself and realized with a jolt that her clothing was still slanted, and he was staring directly at her exposed skin. Her face darkened instantly with a flush of anger and humiliation. She adjusted her top immediately, the movement sharp and defensive, dropped her fork with a clatter that echoed in the silent room, and, without a word, stormed upstairs, her appetite completely gone. How dare he? He could ask about her dressing but not ask her to adjust herself. How dare he?
Devion, on the other hand, lost his appetite too. He abandoned his half-eaten food, picked up his phone, and typed a swift, direct message to Ethan: "F49-153. Look into this code."
The reply was delayed, but Ethan eventually replied. "Yes, sir."
But on his end, Ethan sighed, his shoulders slumping. He had thought he could spend the rest of the night watching movies since Devion had gone home early. But no. His beautiful, relaxing fantasy had been destroyed before it could even begin.