Through Time, For You.

Episode Six.

I scan the sea of black and white as I sip from my wine glass, the sleek black dress that I had bought earlier today, clings to my every curve like a second skin. Mr. Harrington is nowhere in sight. I take another sip, shifting from one aching foot to another. My black heels – another last-minute mistake – feel like tiny torture devices. A quick glance at my phone tells me it's been thirty minutes since I arrived but still no sign of him. My mind takes me back to the text from yesterday and I shiver – fear crawling up my skin. Leaving my spot on the wall, I weave through champagne glasses and elegant gowns – the hum of polished laughter ringing in my ears. The Zephyrlink event was beautiful as well as it was chillingly familiar. The crystal chandelier hung at the center of the hall, adorning the hall in dazzling lights. The live band at the far corner of the room played soft jazz that hummed in the background. Once again, I'm struck at how much wealth was in this room – more than enough to buy my entire block, that was for sure. And just like the first time, I pause by the balcony doors, letting the cool night air wash over my heated skin.

“You look like you want to be anywhere else but here,”

Even before I turn, I know who it is. The sense of déjà vu tightening my chest for the umpteenth time.

“Hey Will,” My voice is level, contrary to the raging storm inside me. God, I love alcohol sometimes.

“I knew I'd find you here,” he moves to stand beside me, the ghost of a smile on his face. He looked dashing in his three-piece midnight blue suit. His hair combed away from his brown eyes. Will and I had always felt comfortable around each other. Maybe because of our shared interest in wanting to look out for the same person. But after so many shared drinks later, we grew closer than ever. I smile, my mind drifting away from darker thoughts.

“You look nice,” he says.

“And you don't look too bad yourself either,” Just like his cousin, they both had that annoying Harrington charm that bordered on cockiness.

“Well, I did put effort into this suit. You could at least pretend to be impressed,” he says, leaning a bit closer like he was expecting me to back down.

Sighing, I pretend to examine his outfit, “ Fine. You look splendid, Will, a ten out of ten,” I reply, exaggerating my words and trying my best impression of his British lilt.

He doubles over, laughing, and I can't help but laugh too.

“That's the worst British accent I've ever heard,” he breathes, trying to catch his breath. My chest tightens seeing him laugh like this. The last time I saw him, he was mourning his cousin's death. At that moment, I see him. Miles Harrington. Cutting through the sea of guests and heading directly our way. Will turns, following my gaze. Mr. Harrington looks menacing in his raven black suit that was probably tailored to perfection. Muscles shift beneath the fabric as he stalks towards me like a predator, making the back of my neck prickle. My breath catches as his gaze locks on me, sharp enough to cut through the fog in my head.

“Enjoying ourselves, are we?” His voice is as cruel as I remember, the warning clear. “Don't mistake this for a social call.”

His jaw is tense – Hazel eyes unreadable.

“Chill out, mate” Will says, slinging an arm casually around his cousin's shoulder, “June and I were just about to find you”

Miles shrugs his cousin's hand away, a controlled move, before his shoulders relax, but not before I catch the subtle flex of his jaw.

“I'll see you inside June,” Will's voice is lighter now, but when he turns to Miles, he mutters something too low for me to catch before leaving us. Alone.

I don't ever remember feeling uncomfortable around Mr. Harrington before his death. Scared – sure – he had that effect on everyone but never this bone‐deep awareness of him.

“You look bea-” he stops abruptly, clearing his throat, “Nice. You look nice”

When I look up, Mr. Harrington isn't looking at me.

“Thank you”

“We should head in. We have people to meet,” he offers his hand.

“Yeah, we should,” my voice catches. I guess I still wasn't used to seeing him again. I clear my throat, fixing my hand at the crook of his elbow as we head inside. The air smells like sweet wine and money, the event feeling like a film on repeat. My chest tightens as every clink of glass and every laugh plays out like a movie I've already watched unfold. I guess this was my new reality. If this was the price for saving Mr. Harrington, I'd do this. For him.

And you.

My subconscious whispers. But I shove that down, not quite sure I was ready for that conversation.

As we approach the other end of the room, I hear rather than see Layla Ravenhood – the only daughter to one of the most powerful men in Seattle – voice, sweet and smooth. Laced with the kind of confidence that made her hard to ignore. The kind of confidence I wished I possessed. And who also took a liking to Mr. Harrington. I roll my eyes at her shrill voice as she made a beeline for my boss.

“Miles,” she called, her face a perfect mask of worry, “How long has it been?" I thought I'd never see you again after London. Thank goodness daddy decided to take on this project with you,”

Miles grimaces but keeps his smile in place though his eyes are anything but warm.

“Layla. You look lovely,”

“Well, I try” she says, her eyes tracking my hand where it remained nestled in the crook of his elbow. Like a kid caught with her hand in a cookie jar, I untangle it and take a step back. Her lips pull in a smirk as she latches her arm around Mr. Harrington.

“Let's dance.” It's not a question.

“Sure,” Miles’ voice is clipped but his hand finds the small of her back, and together they walk towards the dance floor.

They looked perfect together.

Shut up

I tell my subconscious as I snag another champagne flute. Taking a long sip, I try to focus on anything but the way Layla whispers something in Mr. Harrington's ear, earning a smile. She laughs, resting her head on his chest. The song had slowed to a calm melody, but I couldn't watch any longer. Downing the rest of my drink, my eyes slowly make their way back to the dance floor, but Mr. Harrington and his dance partner were nowhere to be seen. Layla's beautiful face comes into view. She has a cruel smirk on her face – a huge contrast to the one she threw Mr. Harrington's way.

“June, right?” Her voice sweet but venomous.

“Yes,”

“You know,” she inches closer, her face bare inches from my ear, “Miles has a way of making people think that they matter… but all that matters to a man like him is power. Which I have”

I don't know why she says this, but the jab hits nonetheless – like a blade between my ribs.

“I'll keep that in mind Ms. Ravenhood,” I mutter before storming off.

I find Miles on a balcony, leaning against the railing, tie loosened. He looked exhausted, his hair tousled like he had been running his hand through it.

“You okay?” I ask, standing beside him.

He turns – the moonlight carving shadows on his face before his lips tilt into a real smile. It's small, unguarded and pulls the air right out of my lungs.

“Sometimes, it gets hard to breathe.”

Before I can respond, my phone buzzes.

Anonymous: Let the dead stay dead.

Dread shoots up my spine. I glance up at the drink Miles is holding – the one a waiter had handed him earlier. My stomach dips.

“Miles, don't –”

But he's already tipping the glass to his mouth – confusion flickering in his eyes. I don't think – I lunge forward knocking the glass from his hand. It shatters against the floor, liquid splattering everywhere. A sharp sting burns my palm where the shards of glass had cut it, but I don't feel it. All I could hear was the pounding of my heart.

“June… what the hell?” A very angry Miles stands frozen, his brows shooting up.