54.

Alina didn’t look back.

She couldn’t.

Every part of her was trembling, still echoing with the vision that had seared itself into her bones. Her bare feet had carried her farther than she realized until she found herself outside the mansion gates, her breath coming in short, uneven gasps. Her heart was still beating to the rhythm of something ancient, something terrifyingly familiar.

The sound of Caelan’s voice calling her name had faded behind her, but it haunted her all the same.

By the time she reached her condo, night had fallen completely, cloaking the city in soft light and quiet hums. Her fingers fumbled with the keys. When she finally stepped inside, the silence welcomed her, swallowing the lingering echoes of marble halls and jade dragons.

She changed into something warm, something soft, and curled up on her bed with her laptop. The faint glow of the screen was the only light in the room. Her fingers hovered over the keys.

For the longest time, she didn’t know what to type.

But eventually, she started with the only name that came to mind.

Caelan

The results poured in instantly. Pages of praise. News articles. Elegant photos from publishing events. Interviews. A profile so polished, so carefully constructed, that it made her feel even smaller than before. There were no personal details. No vulnerabilities. No stories behind the man who had stood before her like he knew her soul.

Just achievements and influence.

Power and mystery.

She scrolled further, desperate for something real. Her eyes scanned headlines until one caught her attention.

"The CEO With an Eye for the Mythical: Caelan and His Fascination with the Jade Dynasty"

Her pulse quickened.

She clicked.

The article wasn’t long, but it was rich with details. Caelan had once funded an archaeological restoration project focused on ancient Eastern artifacts. He had even attended a private ceremony in a remote province, where he donated a significant sum toward the preservation of a ruined temple. The piece described him as respectful, passionate, and “eerily connected” to the mythology surrounding the Jade Dynasty.

Alina’s cursor hovered over the link embedded within the article.

She clicked again.

This time, the page was older. A scan of ancient folklore records. The font was small. The language was poetic.

And it began with a fire.

“In the age of jade and stars, there reigned a Queen of Flame and a King of Silence. She, wild as the phoenix, burned in loyalty and fury. He, veiled in shadow, vanished before the fall. It is said the Queen set fire to the heavens when her King disappeared into ash. And the dragon, carved from jade and blood, closed its eyes and slept until time itself broke its silence.”

Alina’s throat tightened.

She kept reading.

“They say the dragon will awaken only when the soul it once guarded returns in the form of flesh. When the Queen, no longer flame but memory, touches the beast, it shall gleam anew. Then the veil will crack. Then truth will rise.”

Another scroll.

“Some believe the dragon is merely a relic. Others say it is an artifact tied to rebirth. One thing is constant in every telling: the Queen perished by fire. The King was never found.”

Alina sat frozen, her laptop warm on her lap, her hands cold.

None of it should have meant anything. None of it should have mattered.

But it did.

Because she had seen the flames.

Because she had cried out a name that wasn’t unfamiliar, but too familiar.

Because when her fingers brushed that dragon, something inside her cracked open like a sealed door.

She closed the browser slowly and leaned back against the wall. Her eyes found the window, where moonlight softened the edge of the night. It was quiet outside. The world slept peacefully. But something in her was still awake.

Still waiting.

Still afraid.

She couldn’t go back to Caelan.

Not yet.

Not when her mind was filled with stories of burning queens and vanished kings. Not when the weight of that touch still lingered in her fingertips like a secret.

She needed time.

Time to think. Time to breathe. Time to stop trembling every time she remembered the pain in her voice when she had called his name in that memory. Or dream. Or vision. Whatever it was.

No. She couldn’t go back.

Because she didn’t even know what questions to ask him.

And that terrified her more than the answers ever could.