The calm after Jason’s return had been deceptive.
It carried the stillness of a lake before a storm — glassy, silent, but trembling beneath the surface.
Days had fallen into a careful rhythm again. The gallery hummed quietly with business; critics praised her exhibition, collectors reached out with interest, and Isabella fussed over future collaborations like the loyal friend she was.
On paper, Gigi’s life had never looked better.
But something about the air around her felt… off.
She couldn’t name it yet — that faint, uneasy weight pressing at the edge of her thoughts.
It began with the small things.
A missing document from her files.
A phone call that dropped mid-sentence.
Sultana showed up earlier than usual, her tone unusually bright, her perfume sharper, her laughter forced.
