2025-10-16 04:31:34Jones woke to the dull throb of his heartbeat pounding behind his eyes. The room spun faintly as sunlight leaked through the blinds. His mouth was dry, the bitter taste of alcohol clinging to his tongue.
He groaned, shifted — and froze. Someone was beside him. Marie. Her dark hair fanned across the pillow, soft against the sheets. For a long moment, he just stared, trying to remember how she’d ended up there. “Marie?” he rasped. She stirred, eyes fluttering open. “You’re awake,” she said softly, a trace of irritation beneath her calm tone. Jones rubbed his temples. “What… are you doing here?” “I came to your house last night,” she said. “You weren’t home. I was knocking when Max showed up — half-dragging you out of his car.” He blinked. “Max?” She nodded. “Yeah. You two went to a party. You got completely wasted. He brought you home.” Jones frowned, flashes of the night flickering — music, laughter, flashing lights, Max handing him another drink… then nothing. He exhaled. “I don’t remember any of it.” “I’m not surprised,” Marie said, crossing her arms. “You could barely stand. Max helped you inside, then left. I stayed because I was worried.” Jones met her eyes, guilt flickering through his exhaustion. “I’m sorry, Marie. You shouldn’t have had to see that.” She sighed. “Just… take care of yourself, okay? I don’t want to get another call or find you like that again.” He nodded. “Yeah. I owe you — and Max.” Her expression softened. “You do. Now go wash up. You smell like whiskey and bad decisions.” He cracked a weak grin. “Fair enough. Coffee?” “Make it strong.” Steam curled from the bathroom as Jones stepped out, towel draped over his shoulders, the small rose tattoo on his chest half-hidden. Cold water had chased away most of the hangover, leaving behind a dull heaviness and a quiet guilt. In the kitchen, the smell of frying eggs and coffee filled the air. The rhythmic clatter of utensils steadied him. By the time the toast popped, he almost felt human again. Marie appeared in the hallway, hair damp, wearing one of his oversized shirts. The hem brushed her thighs — she looked amused and unapologetic. Jones turned, spatula in hand. “Really? You’re raiding my closet now?” She tugged at the loose sleeves, laughing. “Relax. It’s temporary. My outfit’s in my bag — saving it for later.” She wandered into the parlor, pacing in thought. “You okay? Looking for something?” Jones asked, brow raised. “No, not at all. I’m not searching for anything… and I’m fine.” She paused, then sighed. “No. I’m not fine.” Jones frowned, surprised by her honesty. “You got plans today?” she asked, trying to sound casual. “Yeah,” he said with a sheepish smile. “Job hunting.” Marie was quiet for a beat, then said, “Skip it. You’ve got plenty of time for that. Come with me to my uncle’s art studio.” Jones slid a plate toward her. “Ah, the famous uncle with the fancy studio. You’ve only mentioned him a hundred times.” She smirked. “That’s because he’s amazing. You’ll love it there.” Breakfast passed with easy laughter — the kind that felt like sunlight breaking through the haze of the night before. A few hours later, they were in Marie’s black BMW, windows down, city air rushing in as music played softly. She sat beside him, now in a cream blouse and jeans, sketchbook balanced on her lap. Jones glanced at her. “So, what’s the plan at the studio? You painting, or showing off your uncle’s masterpieces?” “Maybe both,” she said, smiling. “He’s working on a new exhibition and promised to let me paint beside him. You can come watch — or, you know, not get drunk this time.” Jones chuckled. “Noted.” The car turned onto a wide street lined with trees and galleries. Ahead, the company name came into view — Kairos Art Space. Marie’s eyes brightened instantly. “We’re here.” Jones parked, stepped out, and watched her the way her excitement softened everything around her. Maybe, he thought, this wasn’t such a bad way to start over.
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CHAPTER 32
“Don’t—” he said. I looked at him blankly. “Don’t think about it,” he continued. “Whatever that old woman said—dump it. Don’t let it root itself in your head. We’ve got a case now. That’s what matters.” I nodded, though my chest still felt tight.“Aren’t you going to ask what happened?” He didn’t look at me. “I shouldn’t have to ask. You should be telling.” I hesitated. “Spill,” he said. “Barry—the site contractor—was murdered last night. And—” I told him everything. When I finished, the car was no longer moving. I hadn’t noticed when he pulled over. He stared ahead for a long moment before exhaling slowly. Then he turned to me. “Why didn’t you call me?” “I—I tried to talk to Michael—” “Michael isn’t me.” I dropped my gaze. “I was scared. I didn’t want to drag you into my mess.” His voice softened. “It wasn’t your mess. You didn’t do anything. Guilt won’t save you—solutions will.” I nodded. “So what now?” “First, I need to know you’ve told me ever
CHAPTER 31
Johnny slowed as the iron gates of the Walters’ estate rose into view—towering, ornate, unapologetically hostile. He barely had time to kill the engine before armed men stepped out from the hedges, weapons lowered but ready, eyes scanning him like a threat that had wandered too close.He rolled down the window, calm practiced into his bones.“Detective Johnny,” he said evenly. “I’m expected.”No one answered. Minutes stretched. Radios crackled. Then, finally, a nod. The gates parted with a slow, deliberate groan.Inside, the estate unfolded like a private kingdom—manicured lawns, marble paths, silence too expensive to disturb. A butler met him at the steps, crisp and unreadable, and guided him past the house toward the golf garden.Laughter carried on the breeze.Lucien stood with a club in hand, Old Walter beside him, while little Jason chased a rolling ball, giggling as it escaped his reach. The scene was almost disarming—warm, familial, deceptively normal.Old Walter spoke without
CHAPTER 30
The ride to my place was a graveyard of words. Nothing but silence and the weight of everything I couldn’t tell her. She kept glancing my way; I kept pretending not to notice. My head was already drowning in the mess at the site, and the fight at the gala still burned through my veins.The second we stepped in, I pushed the door open too hard and walked straight through the living room. Marie rushed in behind me, breath unsteady.“Jones—stop!” Her hand gripped my arm.I turned, jaw tight, pulse still punching through my throat. I could feel the leftover rage in my eyes, hot and unruly.“You’ve still not given me an answer,” she said. “What was that? And where were you all night? You disappeared for hours—No calls, no text—and then you show up starting a fight?”I exhaled sharply, the memory flashing through my mind. “I didn’t start a fight,” I said, voice low and rough. “He tried to—he tried to touch you and I can’t let that happen. You know me better.… I don’t let anyone touch what’s
CHAPTER 29
‐‐~ Jones ~‐‐Jones forced his shaking hands to grab his phone. The emergency operator picked up immediately, and he gave the location, told them someone was badly hurt, and that they needed to arrive fast.He didn’t stay longer than that.The moment the call ended, he ran through the rain toward Michael’s car. His heart was beating too fast, his thoughts scrambled. He didn’t understand what he saw, or what really happened, or why someone would target Barry of all people.He just knew he needed to get away before he completely fell apart.The tires screeched against the wet road as he sped back toward the event.The closer he got to the exhibition, the more his phone vibrated nonstop in his pocket—but he didn’t check it. He couldn’t. Not yet. His mind was still at the construction site, still seeing Barry drop past the elevator, still seeing the shadowed figure running away.When he finally reached the gallery, he parked carelessly—crooked and half over the line—and rushed toward the
CHAPTER 28
Continuation of chapter one.Kai — Arrival at the GalaThe ride to the Gala was silent, save for the low hum of the engine and the occasional vibration from my iPad. City lights streaked across the window—gold, white, violet—blurring together like an unfinished painting.I scrolled through the final catalog Clara had sent an hour ago: placement charts, lighting corrections, security grids, predicted turnout. My collections glowed on the screen—oil pieces, charcoal sketches, shattered-glass abstracts, fractured portraits. All bound to the theme of the exhibition:Past lives.Reincarnation.Echoes.Memories that didn’t belong to this lifetime.And threaded through nearly every work—subtle, half-hidden, sometimes only suggested in a shadow—was one recurring figure. The same silhouette. The same haunting outline.I still didn’t know who he was. Or why he kept appearing. Or why my hand seemed compelled to paint him, again and again.The thought gnawed at me, but tonight wasn’t for doubt. T
CHAPTER 27
AUTHOR’S NOTE:If you’ve read this far, congratulations — you’re officially one of the mystical art lovers, lol. I hope you’re enjoying this book. I’m truly sorry for the late and delayed update; please accept my sincere apology, guys.AUTHOR’S WARNING:Alright, listen up — things are about to get messy. Like really messy. These last few chapters dive straight into the characters’ past right before the Gala, and trust me, they’re all about to lose their minds in their own special ways.From this point onward, the story shifts. These next chapters will pull you beneath the surface and into the past — to the moments right before the Gala, where everything truly began. The characters you’ve been following will reveal themselves in ways you didn’t expect.Secrets will rot their way to the surface.Identities will crack open.Boundaries will be crossed without hesitation.And the truth behind Kai’s art and Jones’ life will grow darker, sharper, and far more dangerous.These scenes will exp
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