Chapter 2: The ghost between us
1509 Words
“What a small world,” Jerome said, walking closer but Maria stepped backwards. From the corner of her eyes she saw Celine stepping back into the DR.
“We need to talk,” He said, but she scoffed.
“If you're here to congratulate me or ask for a thank you from me for sponsoring _”
“We have a past and__” she raised her hand.
“A past that should remain buried. Now, if you'd excuse me I'm tired and need to rest.” She walked into the dressing room, her chest heaving heavily.
“Who the hell was that and how do you know him?” Celine asked.
“Jerome Ansel, Mateo's father.” She gasped and Maria nodded.
The next morning, Rio shone brightly under the sunlight, but Mariana barely noticed. Her phone buzzed endlessly with congratulatory messages, interviews, and offers, yet her mind was stuck on one face,the man she thought she’d never see again.
Jerome Ansel.
The name had sent her pulse spiraling last night when he’d introduced himself as the owner of Ansel Enterprises. But it wasn’t his title that haunted her. It was his eyes,the same deep steel-gray that had once looked into hers five years ago before everything went black.
She stood at the balcony of her apartment, the city below pulsing with samba and traffic. Celine was in the living room, feeding Mateo bread.
“Are you still thinking about him?” Celine asked, not looking up.
Mariana didn’t answer immediately. “He’s here for business,” she murmured. “Brazil’s a hub for arts investments now. Besides I can't wait to return to my house,I wanna leave this rented box.”
“Please,” Celine scoffed. “That man didn’t fly all the way here just for art. The way he looked at you last night could melt the Christ statue.”
Mariana turned sharply, glaring playfully. “Celine.”
“What? I’m just saying. You should at least talk to him. Maybe get closure.”
But closure was the last thing she wanted. Jerome was part of a chapter she’d buried—the night of the gala, the mysterious drink, the dizzying heat, the feeling of his breath against her skin… and the emptiness she woke up to the next morning.
No note. No call. Just silence.
Later that afternoon, the rehearsal hall buzzed with energy. Music pulsed from the speakers as dancers moved in sync, their reflections swirling in the mirrored walls. Mariana, dressed in black leggings and a cropped top, corrected a younger dancer’s pose.
“Point your toes. Feel the rhythm, don’t fight it,” she instructed, her voice calm yet firm.
Suddenly, the double doors opened. Conversations halted.
Jerome Ansel walked in.
He wasn’t in a suit this time,just rolled-up sleeves, slacks, and confidence that filled the room.
“Mr. Ansel,” the production manager stammered, hurrying over. “We weren’t expecting—”
“I’m just here to observe,” Jerome said smoothly. His eyes, however, were fixed on Mariana.
Her heart stuttered, but she didn’t falter. “We don’t allow distractions during rehearsal,” she said coldly, hands on her hips.
Jerome’s lips curved slightly. “Then I’ll stay out of the way.”
He took a seat in the corner, unbothered by her glare. As the music resumed, he watched her move,not as a businessman, but as a man spellbound.
Every twist, every turn, every deliberate movement seemed like she was dancing with anger, with power, with heartbreak.
When the session ended, Jerome approached.
“You’re magnificent,” he said quietly.
Mariana grabbed her towel. “Save the compliments for the press. They eat that up.”
“I’m not the press.”
“Exactly. So why are you here?”
He hesitated. “Ansel Enterprises is expanding into Brazil’s performance industry. I wanted to see local talent.”
She crossed her arms. “You mean me.”
Jerome’s silence confirmed it.
“You could’ve sent an agent.”
“I wanted to see for myself what I,what we lost.”
Her throat tightened. “We lost nothing, Jerome. We had one night. You disappeared.”
His jaw flexed. “No, you disappeared.”
She turned away sharply. “I don’t want to play this game.”
“Neither do I,” he said softly, but his eyes betrayed a storm.
Over the next few days, Jerome became a fixture in the rehearsal hall. Always at the back, quiet but attentive. Occasionally he’d discuss stage lighting or sponsorships with the organizers, but everyone knew he was there for her.
He never crossed the line, never spoke of the past again. Still, his presence was magnetic. Every time she caught his gaze, her heartbeat betrayed her.
Celine noticed first. “You’re losing focus,” she teased one evening. “Your turns are late, your gaze is off.”
Mariana sighed. “Maybe I’m just tired.”
“Or maybe a certain billionaire is haunting your rhythm.”
“Celine,” Mariana groaned.
Her friend grinned wickedly. “If he keeps coming, at least charge him rent.”
That evening, after the others had left, the hall was quiet except for the faint hum of the air conditioner. Mariana stayed behind to practice.
She didn’t hear the door open.
“Still chasing perfection?” Jerome’s voice echoed softly.
She froze, then straightened. “Don’t you have a flight to catch?”
“I extended my stay,” he said, stepping closer. “Brazil’s too beautiful to leave so soon.”
Her laugh was hollow. “So this is business expansion?”
“It is,” he replied, eyes locked on her. “But not the kind you think.”
Silence stretched between them, filled with the weight of unspoken words.
Finally, she broke it. “Why are you really here?”
Jerome exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Because that night has haunted me for five years. I woke up, and you were gone. No trace. I thought maybe I’d imagined you.”
Mariana’s breath caught. “You think I left? I woke up in another room,alone. You were gone.”
Jerome blinked. “What?”
“I thought you used me and left before dawn.”
“I thought you ran off before I could find you.”
They stared at each other, confusion and disbelief swirling between them.
“How is that even possible?” she whispered.
Jerome frowned, thinking. “That night… we both had that drink Mandrin offered.”
Her pulse spiked. “Mandrin,” she repeated slowly. “He was managing my career back then. He handled the hotel arrangements too.”
Jerome’s eyes darkened. “He approached me that night. Told me he represented you. Gave me your number, said we’d meet for a private chat. You came, we drank, and then everything went… blank.”
Mariana pressed a hand to her temple, the memory surfacing like a bruise. “I remember dizziness. Then—nothing. I woke up in another suite with a note from his assistant saying I’d over-partied and needed rest.”
“Same with me,” Jerome muttered. “I woke up in a completely different room. My assistant said security had moved me for privacy reasons.”
They exchanged a look of dawning horror.
“Mandrin,” she whispered again, anger lacing her tone. “He must’ve drugged us. He didn’t want me anywhere near foreign investors. He was afraid you’d sign me under your company.”
Jerome nodded slowly. “It makes sense. A scandal like that would’ve ruined your public image,and any contract.”
Her hands trembled with fury. “He ruined my life for control. I quit his management months later when I realized how manipulative he was.”
Jerome’s jaw hardened. “He played us both.”
For a long moment, neither spoke. The hall’s silence pressed down like a confession.
Then Mariana met his gaze. “It doesn’t change what happened. We can’t rewrite that night.”
Jerome stepped closer. “Maybe not. But we can stop pretending it meant nothing.”
Her breath hitched. “Don’t.”
“I can’t,” he murmured, eyes burning. “You’ve been in my head every day since that night.”
She turned away, blinking hard. “Jerome, I have a life now. A career. A son—” She stopped abruptly, realizing what she’d said.
Jerome’s voice dropped, sharp. “A son?”
Mariana froze, realizing too late the slip that had escaped her lips.
He took a step closer, eyes narrowing. “Mariana… How old is he?”
Her silence was deafening.
Jerome’s pulse pounded in his ears. “Five?” he demanded quietly.
Mariana swallowed hard, her throat tight.
Outside, thunder rolled over Rio’s night sky.
She met his gaze, voice trembling but defiant. “This conversation is over and for the record he's my friend's son, Celine.”
And before he could stop her, she walked out, leaving him standing alone.
- Writer
