10. PICTURES

Hope cleared her throat, stepping forward slightly. “Who is it, sir?”

Caelan’s gaze lifted from the papers, his expression unreadable. “Alina Martin. She’s a student—around twenty, if I’m not mistaken. I need to know everything about her.”

Will exchanged another glance with his sister, his curiosity piqued. “Alina Martin, the college student?”

“Yes,” Caelan confirmed, his tone giving nothing away. “I want to know her background, her interests, her connections—everything.”

Hope nodded, though the confusion lingered in her eyes. “Consider it done, sir.”

As they left the office, the twins couldn’t help but exchange whispered thoughts.

“Did you see that?” Will murmured as they walked down the hallway.

“Yeah,” Hope replied, still puzzled. “The boss has never shown interest in anyone before. And now he wants to know everything about a girl?”

“Strange,” Will agreed. “But if he’s asking, there must be something more to it.”

“Definitely,” Hope said, her mind already buzzing with questions. “We’ll just have to find out what it is.”

As they headed to their respective tasks, the curiosity about Alina Martin grew. What could have possibly sparked Caelan’s interest in her? And more importantly, what did it mean for the future?

Back in his office, Caelan leaned back in his chair, his thoughts returning to the girl who had, without trying, begun to occupy his mind. There was something about Alina Martin, something he couldn’t quite define, but it was enough to set things in motion. Enough to make him care.

**~☆~**

The office was a testament to grandeur, a space that resonated with power and elegance. Tall windows framed the room, their heavy drapes drawn back to let in the cold light of the moon. The silver beams illuminated the dark oak furniture, casting long shadows that danced across the polished floor. At the center of it all sat Caelan, his figure draped in a tailored suit that fit his broad shoulders perfectly. The room was silent, save for the soft ticking of an antique clock perched on the far wall, marking each passing second with a mechanical precision that seemed to mock the turmoil within him.

Caelan's hand hovered over the sleek, glass surface of his desk, his fingers trembling slightly as they moved with deliberate slowness. His breath hitched when he clicked on the folder that held the remnants of his most treasured memories. The screen flickered for a moment, and then her image filled the space before him.

Alina.

Her smile was captured in the warm, golden light of a summer afternoon. The way her lips curved, the sparkle in her mismatched eyes—one blue, one green—was enough to freeze time in its place. The picture had been taken on a regular day of her life, it was actually stolen from her Instagram profile and was transferred to him by his assistants. His mind roamed around the flashbacks where everything had seemed perfect, as if the universe itself had aligned to give them that fleeting moment of happiness. Caelan could almost hear her laughter, feel the warmth of her hand in his, and the softness of her lips against his as they had stolen a kiss beneath the shade of a blossoming tree.

His chest tightened as he scrolled through the pictures, each one like a dagger twisting deeper into his heart. There she was, twirling in a meadow, her hair catching the light as it fanned out around her. In another, she was reading a book, completely absorbed, her fingers playing with a strand of her hair absentmindedly. And in the last, she was looking directly at the camera, her eyes filled with something that made Caelan's breath catch—a deep, unspoken love, the kind that could consume a man whole.

Caelan’s fingers trembled as he reached for the glass of honey water beside him, but he didn't lift it to his lips. Instead, he stared into the amber liquid, his reflection distorted in the surface. A tear slipped from the corner of his eye, gliding down his cheek with a slow, deliberate path, and for the first time in centuries, Caelan let it fall. The single tear landed in his drink, sending ripples through the liquid, much like the ripples that had spread through his life the moment he realized she was gone.

The last kiss they had shared burned in his memory, as vivid as if it had happened moments ago. It had been desperate, filled with the knowledge that their time together was running out. He could still feel the way her fingers had clung to his lapels, her body pressed against his as if she could anchor him to the earth, as if she could prevent the inevitable. But nothing could stop the pull of his master's command. Duty had called, and Caelan had answered, leaving her behind with a promise that he would return.

And he had returned—but not to the Alina he had left.

He had come back with a gift, something that was meant to be a symbol of his devotion, now locked away in the confines of his locker. It had been meant for her, the Alina who loved him, who waited for him. But that Alina was gone, lost to the cruel twist of fate that had brought her doppelgänger into his world.

This new Alina… she looked the same, moved the same, even spoke with the same soft lilt to her voice. But her eyes—those beautiful, mismatched eyes—held none of the warmth, none of the fire that had once set his soul alight. She was a stranger wearing the face of his beloved, a cruel mockery of the woman who had once made him feel alive in a way that no amount of power or wealth ever could.

His heart ached, the pain so sharp it was almost physical. How could he explain it, even to himself? How could he reconcile the fact that she was here, but not here? That she was alive, but in a way that was far worse than death? Every time he looked at her, he was reminded of what he had lost, of the life they could have had if only things had been different.

Another tear slipped free, followed by another, and soon Caelan found himself unable to hold back the torrent of emotion that he had kept buried for so long. The tears fell freely now, each one carrying with it a piece of the sorrow that weighed so heavily on his heart. He was a man who had lived for over fifteen hundred years, who had seen empires rise and fall, who had amassed more power than any mortal could ever dream of. But none of it mattered, none of it could fill the void that had been left by the loss of her love.

Caelan leaned back in his chair, his eyes closing as he let the memories wash over him. He could still see her, the real her, in the back of his mind—her smile, her laugh, the way she would tease him when he was being too serious. He could hear her voice, soft and melodic, whispering words of love that he would give anything to hear just one more time. But the memories were just that—memories. And no matter how vivid they were, they could never bring her back.