Chatper Three – The Calm Before the Ghosts
894 Words
The sun slid across the marble floors like it knew it was intruding. Rachael opened one eye, then the other, slowly adjusting to the light that filtered through her soft white curtains. Her room smelled like lavender and clean air — fresh bedsheets, gleaming floors, no hint of the chaos she carried inside.
She sat up wordlessly.
Hair: sleek ponytail, not one strand out of place.
Fit: charcoal grey cargo skirt, black cropped hoodie, thick-soled sneakers, and clean mid-ankle socks folded sharp.
On her wrist: silver watch, two bangles.
Necklace: thin, silver, minimal but loud in meaning.
Her crossbody bag? Hanging like part of her body — always close.
She didn’t dress up. She dressed loud. Quietly.
Downstairs, breakfast had been laid out like a banquet ad. Fruit platters like color explosions. French toast stacked beside syrup so golden it looked fake. Three types of juice. Silver glint everywhere.
Tracy was already sipping mango juice through a straw with her feet curled under her on a velvet chair. “I feel like we’re about to be asked to summon a prince. Why so extra?”
Tyler, fresh out the gym in sweats, responded, “That’s rich people breakfast. You drink your hydration in gradients.”
Mika didn’t even look up. She had her front camera open, lip gloss in hand. “There are three juices and no Wi-Fi in the balcony. Priorities are broken.”
Theodore sat silently at the head of the table — black button-down, sleeves rolled, watch gleaming. Knife slicing through eggs with annoying calmness.
Then Rachael entered.
Charcoal and black. Sleek ponytail. Crossbody secure. Silver details shining. Not a color out of place. Not an ounce of emotion showing.
Mika paused her camera.
Tracy raised her brows. “Well damn. You look like you mugged a fashion editor.”
“Compliment accepted,” Rachael muttered, sliding into a seat.
“You coming with us to shop for engagement drama, or you going to act mysterious and ghost us?” Mika asked.
“I’ll come,” she said without blinking, taking a slice of toast and chewing like it owed her something.
An hour later, they walked into Valencia Boutique and were immediately swallowed by soft jazz, glass displays, and price tags that hurt feelings.
Tracy gravitated to the yellows and florals. Mika tried on a velvet two-piece and did three mirror twirls.
Rachael?
She lingered near a rack of pleated skirts, then walked past it like it bored her. She adjusted her crossbody and reached for a display tray of silver hairpins. Ran her fingers through them. Selected one with a lilac gem.
“You trying that on?” Mika asked, slipping her arm through hers.
“No.”
“But you picked it.”
“I just like how it looks.”
“You’re such a contradiction,” Mika laughed.
“Yeah,” Rachael said flatly, “I like to keep people confused.”
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Across town, Theodore lounged in the game room while Tyler threw a stress ball at the wall like it owed him money.
“You’re weird lately,” Tyler said. “Weirder than usual.”
Theodore raised a brow. “Insightful.”
“Come on. You like her.”
“She’s a hurricane.”
“And you like the way it rips through your peace.”
Theo stayed silent.
“Just say it, bro. You’re hooked.”
Later that afternoon, the crew reunited at Mandiria Dreamland, the city’s glitziest amusement park. Rides flashing. Speakers blasting. Popcorn and fried food in the air.
Rachael hadn't changed. Still black and grey. Still crossbody. Still sharp ponytail. She stood out like she didn’t care to.
Tracy was in yellow. Mika rocked a red plaid skirt and white boots. Tyler wore all grey and still smelled like cologne. Desáun arrived late, hoodie up, chewing gum with a grin like he ran the place.
They moved through games, rides, screaming, laughing — until, somehow, Rachael and Theodore were the only two left.
“You look like a villain in a YA movie,” she said, spinning around to face him.
“You look like someone who doesn’t belong at an amusement park,” he replied.
“Good. Now win me a teddy bear.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Are you serious?”
“I always am.”
He sighed, stepped up to the booth, missed the first two shots.
She clapped mockingly. “The richest man in Mandiria can’t pop balloons.”
He grunted, nailed the last shot, and handed her a purple bear.
She grabbed it dramatically. “Aw! You do love me.”
His eyes locked on hers. “Don’t joke like that.”
“Why not?” she asked softly.
He didn’t answer.
They boarded the Ferris wheel. Up in the air, lights below like shattered stars.
She leaned into his shoulder, soft and slow, letting her perfume slip between them.
He didn’t flinch.
“You don’t seem like the cold, soulless type up here,” she whispered.
“You don’t seem fake either. But here we are.”
She laughed gently.
He turned toward her slightly. His fingers brushed her wrist, grazing her bangles. Her pulse didn’t jump.
But his did.
And for the first time… he looked scared of himself.
Inside, Rachael smirked.
Let him fall.
Let him break.
Let him beg.
- Writer
