The Mirror Between Us
656 Words
Chapter 4 — The Mirror Between Us
Aria’s breath froze in her throat.
The woman in the painting looked exactly like her — same eyes, same lips, same delicate curve of the face. Only… this woman wore a white gown, her expression calm, almost hauntingly peaceful.
She stepped closer, her fingertips trembling as she touched the edge of the frame. “This isn’t possible,” she whispered.
Damon stood beside her, his face unreadable but his jaw clenched tight. “That portrait was painted more than thirty years ago,” he said slowly. “Before you were even born.”
Aria turned toward him, disbelief flooding her eyes. “Then how— how can she look like me?”
He didn’t answer. He just stared at the painting — at her reflection through it. The storm outside rumbled again, echoing the tension between them.
Aria took a shaky breath. “Was she your mother?”
Damon’s eyes flicked to hers. “Yes. Isabella Blackwood.”
His voice softened on the name — a rare crack in his calm. “She died in this room.”
Aria stepped back slightly, her heart pounding. “And why does it feel like I’ve seen her before?”
Damon looked at her with an intensity that almost hurt. “Maybe you have. Maybe not in this life.”
The words hung between them like smoke — heavy, strange, impossible.
“Stop,” she said, shaking her head. “You’re talking like—”
“Like what?” he interrupted, his tone low and steady. “Like the universe sometimes repeats itself? Like souls find their way back — even when they shouldn’t?”
She opened her mouth to reply, but before she could — the lights flickered again.
For a second, everything went dark.
And in that brief moment, Aria felt something brush against her shoulder. Soft. Cold. Like a whisper made of air.
She turned sharply. No one was there.
“Damon…” she said, her voice breaking. “Did you feel that?”
He looked around, tense, eyes narrowing. “No. But you did.”
She nodded weakly. “Something… touched me.”
He stepped closer, his hand brushing against her arm. “You’re shaking.”
“I— I just want to leave,” she stammered. “Please.”
Damon didn’t argue. He reached for her hand, his fingers wrapping around hers — warm, strong, grounding her in the moment. The touch sent a pulse through her chest, a pull she couldn’t explain.
They left the room silently, but as Damon locked the door behind them, Aria glanced back one last time.
The painting’s eyes… seemed to be looking straight at her.
And the faintest shadow moved behind the canvas.
Back in the elevator, neither spoke. The silence between them was louder than thunder.
When the doors opened in the lobby, Damon finally spoke.
“I’ll have the room sealed again,” he said quietly. “And until I find out what’s going on, you don’t go there. Promise me.”
Aria hesitated. “Why do I feel like you’re hiding something?”
He looked at her — eyes cold, but lips trembling just slightly. “Because I am.”
Before she could ask anything more, he turned and walked away, his reflection fading in the mirrored walls.
Aria stood there, watching him go — her heart torn between fear and something she didn’t want to name.
When she finally stepped outside, the rain had stopped. But the air still carried the scent of lilies — the same scent from that locked room.
She looked up at the sky, her thoughts spinning. “Who are you, Damon Blackwood?” she whispered.
And from the hotel’s tallest window above, Damon watched her leave — his hand pressed against the glass, eyes dark with secrets.
“Soon,” he murmured under his breath, “she’ll remember everything.”
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- Writer
