Silver stopped by Café Lune before work, her fingers curling around the warmth of her usual order—a vanilla latte with oat milk. The soft and rich familiar scent steadied her. She dragged her small suitcase along the pavement, the wheels clicking over every crack in a rhythm that matched her pulse.
She wondered how she'd cope now that she had to retrieve the jewel with Princess and Edward today. Two days with him—it already felt endless. Still, beneath the anxiety, something else stirred: excitement.
This was one of the biggest showcases in New York City. Maybe she could get recognized, she thought. Maybe her designs would finally have a name attached to them.
The boutique wasn't far, so she reached it in minutes. Silver set her cup down on the counter and threw herself into work, hiding behind routine.
Edward came in not long after. The shift in the air was instant. She felt him—quiet, composed, heavy with control.
He greeted the receptionist, his voice even. When he walked past her, she lifted a stack of files just high enough to shield her face. She was grateful he didn't notice.
From the lounge came Morticia's voice, sweet and smooth as honey. Silver's jaw tightened. Of course. Morticia had made a career out of that tone. Everyone knew her true talent was how easily she charmed the right people.
The bell above the door chimed again. This time, it was Princess.
Silver rushed to greet her, mumbling a quick, "Good morning."
Princess looked effortlessly elegant, as always—her fitted cream dress caught the light, her hair pulled back with a gold clasp that gleamed like authority itself.
She acknowledged Silver's greeting with a slight nod.
"Come to the lounge," she said simply.
Once inside, Princess spoke first. "I won't be able to go with you," she said, adjusting her purse strap. "My father wants to see me—it's urgent. Morticia will go instead."
No one probed her further. But Silver caught a brief, sharp glance exchanged between Morticia and Princess—the kind of look that didn't belong to polite company. It made her skin prickle.
Edward nodded once. "We leave in ten."
◆◆◆
The drive to the museum was uneventful. No one spoke except for occasional chatter from Morticia, her voice light against the silence. Silver sat by the window, watching the city fade into quiet roads and open fields. In the rearview mirror, she noticed the security vehicle trailing behind them.
Edward drove with both hands firmly on the wheel, jaw tense, eyes fixed ahead. His suit jacket was off, sleeves rolled up, and his tie hung loosely around his neck. The fading sunlight caught on his wristwatch as he adjusted the wheel—controlled, precise, always in command.
A few times, he tried to engage her with simple questions, but she kept her answers brief—polite but distant. Each time she caught his gaze in the mirror, her pulse quickened.
By the time they reached the museum, evening had settled. The last golden streaks of daylight shimmered off the tall glass doors. The building stood wide and gleaming—modern yet dignified.
A short, round man in a dark blue suit greeted them at the entrance, smiling warmly. "Mr. Black?" he asked, extending a hand. "I'm Mr. Logan, curator of the museum. Welcome."
"Thank you," Edward replied, shaking his hand firmly.
Trailing behind Mr. Logan was a younger woman—tall and sharp-featured, with neatly pinned hair. "This is my assistant, Clara," Logan introduced. "She'll handle your accommodations."
"Pleasure," Clara said, nodding politely before walking alongside the women.
Mr. Logan led them through the museum, his voice echoing slightly off the marble walls. The air carried a faint scent of polish and metal. Edward's gaze darted to cameras, exits, and guards—assessing every potential vulnerability.
"The jewel is kept in the West Wing," Mr. Logan explained, gesturing toward a corridor. "We'll retrieve it for you tomorrow. Everything has been well secured."
Edward's brow furrowed. "West? The security looks thin." He signaled one of the guards. "Three men stationed there overnight."
Mr. Logan smiled slightly. "Our museum is very safe, Mr. Black. The West Wing is rarely targeted."
Edward shook his head. "We'd rather be safe than sorry."
Logan hesitated, then nodded. "Two rooms have been prepared—one in the North Wing and one in the West Wing."
"That won't work," Edward said immediately. "We'll need rooms in the same wing."
"I'm afraid those are the only rooms available," Logan replied, apologetic but firm.
Before Edward could respond, Silver spoke up. "It's fine," she said quietly. "We'll stay in the North Wing. It's closer to the main hall anyway."
Logan nodded to Clara. "Right this way," she said, gesturing for them to follow.
Silver rolled her suitcase behind her as they walked, Morticia chatting about décor and lighting. Edward watched until they disappeared down the corridor.
Logan cleared his throat. "I'll walk you to your room, Mr. Black."
As he moved, Edward's attention caught a flicker of movement near one of the marble pillars. A figure emerged, first a shadow, then solidifying into a shape he recognized. His body tensed.
He turned to his men. "Stay with the ladies," he ordered low and firm. "Don't let them out of sight."
Then he turned to the curator. "I'll find my way."
Mr. Logan nodded politely and left.
Once he was gone, Edward stepped closer to the hall's edge, eyes narrowing. The figure moved quickly, limping slightly.
He exhaled slowly. "I should've known you'd show up," he muttered.
Years had passed since he last saw him, but Edward hadn't forgotten. Mike Raven, the jewel master—a ghost who appeared only when something valuable was about to vanish.
And now, it seemed, the ghost was back.
◆◆◆
As they walked toward the North Wing, Silver sensed movement behind them. She glanced over her shoulder and spotted two security guards following closely.
"Why are you following us?" she asked, brow furrowed.
"Mr. Black instructed us, ma'am," one of the guards replied evenly.
Silver tightened her grip on the suitcase handle. She hated being watched—being controlled. It felt suffocating, as though the walls were closing in. Just until tomorrow, she reminded herself.
Beside her, Morticia tilted her head, voice sweet and teasing. "Well, isn't this flattering? Our very own shadow."
Silver exhaled slowly through her nose and said nothing.
They resumed their pace behind Clara, who walked ahead with precise, purposeful steps. At last, they reached the door. Clara swiped her access card, then handed another to Silver.
"Press this bell if you need anything," she said, pointing to a button on the wall. "Enjoy your stay." She offered a polite smile before leaving them.
Silver paused, scanning the room. It was spacious and understated, with two twin beds, crisp white linens, and soft lighting casting a warm glow over the beige walls. A small sitting area was tucked into one corner, complete with a low table and two chairs. Sharing a space with Morticia, even for a night, felt like a small personal invasion.
Morticia leaned against the foot of her bed, a sly smile tugging at her lips. "I hope you don't snore," she said lightly.
"Don't—" A sharp buzz from Silver's phone cut off her words. She pulled it from her purse, warmth settling in her stomach as she saw the caller.
With a soft thud, she dropped her suitcase onto the bed and went out, leaving Morticia staring as she left.
Silver stepped out into the quiet corridor, looking briefly at the guards stationed at the door. She walked a few steps further, finding a small alcove where the call wouldn't be overheard.
"Hey, Silver," her mother's voice came through warm and bright. "Meet the baby!"
Silver's eyes widened as the view on the screen came into focus. Her sister's child blinked up at her, tiny fingers curling and uncurling. Soft tufts of dark hair framed the round little face, and the baby's eyes—wide and curious—seemed to take in everything at once.
"Oh my God…" Silver breathed, a laugh slipping past her lips.
"He's beautiful," her mother said, smiling. "Look at that little nose. And those cheeks!"
Silver grinned, holding the phone closer. "He's perfect. I… I can't believe he's here."
She paused, thoughts drifting to her own child. Would she be as filled with awe? Fear? She tried not to think too hard, letting herself savor the moment.
"You've got to come see him soon," her mother said. "He's already trying to reach for the screen."
Silver laughed again, mingling with a soft whimper from the baby. She hesitated for a second, wondering if she should tell her mother about her own pregnancy. Not yet. Not when everything was still uncertain.
"We can't wait till you get here."
Silver nodded, wiping a tear that had escaped despite herself. "Me too. Thank you for letting me see him."
"Anytime, sweetheart. We'll talk again soon. Love you."
Silver blew her a kiss and ended the call. She lingered a moment imagining holding her own child someday. The thought was fragile and tentative, but it brought a strange warmth amidst the anxiety of the days ahead.
Then her phone buzzed again. An unfamiliar number flashed across the screen.
"Hello?" she answered, curiosity tinged with unease.
The words on the other end hit her like a sudden, heavy blow. Her breath hitched, and the phone slipped from her hand, hitting the marble floor with a sharp crack.
"Silver!" Edward's voice broke the stillness, urgent and close.
She didn't hear him approach; she only felt his arms catch her—firm and steady—before she hit the ground. Her pulse thundered in her ears, and the edges of the hallway blurred into a swirl of color and light.
"No…" Her voice broke, raw and strangled. "No, no, no!" Her cry echoed through the corridor, bouncing off the walls.
Edward held her tighter, one hand steadying her back, the other cradling her head against his chest. "Shh," he murmured softly, calm and low. "I've got you."
Her fingers clenched his shirt, trembling. The air felt too thin, the lights too bright. The words she'd just heard echoed relentlessly, a silent scream hollowing her from within.
For what felt like an eternity, the world shrank to the steady beat of his heart and the sharp ache of what she couldn't unhear.