CHAPTER 3

Chapter 3: Two Lines, One Secret

I felt like I was being mocked by the stark white of the restroom tiles. The plastic stick tightened between my fingers as my hand shook. Two lines. Two clear, indisputable lines. I was hit by a wave of nausea that was far more intense than the morning sickness I had been experiencing for weeks.

expecting a child.

The sound of the phrase reverberated through my room like a thunderclap. carrying a ghost's kid. A kid born to a guy who had disappeared, leaving just a single, memorable night and a faint odor.

The chilly porcelain of the bathtub seeped into my skin as I slumped onto its edge. A frenzied mix of emotions rushed across my thoughts.

Shock, incredulity, a glimmer of something like happiness, swiftly buried by a surge of rage.

I had lost him. abandoned me without leaving a trace, a name, or a farewell. I was carrying his kid now.

The two pink lines on the pregnancy test served as a sharp reminder of the night that had completely altered my life as I gazed at it. A gunshot and a chilly, empty bed marked the end of a night filled with passion and whispered promises.

I wasn't gullible. I was aware of the dangers. However, there was something about him—the heat of his touch, the intensity of his gaze—that gave me the impression that this was more than just a brief meeting.

Ignorant.

I stood there with the mirror looking back at me. Normally vibrant and alive, my eyes were gloomy and frightened. Normally smooth and radiant, my skin was drawn and pallid.

I was by myself. Totally, totally alone.

I was seized with a harsh, icy determination at the idea of pursuing him, of attempting to track down a guy who had purposefully eliminated himself.

I wouldn't do that. I would not ask for clarification or acknowledgement. This kid would be raised by me alone.He wouldn't get the gratification from me.

I collected the pregnancy test's leftovers, wrapped them in tissue, and threw them in the garbage. It seemed like a symbolic act of resistance to physically throw them away. This wouldn't define who I am. I refused to be defined by him.

The weeks that followed were a haze. Fatigue became a daily companion, and the morning sickness worsened. However, I persisted, concentrating on my job and creating a life for both my pregnant kid and myself.

I kept it to myself. Not my family, not my friends. The secret was mine, a burden I bore by myself.

I started going over my recollections of that evening again in an attempt to find any hints or information that might help me identify him. His silky, rich voice. His deep, black eyes.

He walked with a serene assurance that verged on conceit.

However, nothing was present. No occupation, no location, and no name. Only a phantom, a ghost, a guy who only lived in my mind.

I came discovered a shot from the masquerade one evening while looking through old pictures on my laptop. A friend's shaky photo of the dance floor. I could see him in the backdrop.

His black suit blended into the shadows as he stood close to the edge of the dance floor, back to the camera. However, there was something about his stance, the way he carried himself, that made me realize something.

I strained to see his face as I zoomed in on the picture. However, the picture was excessively hazy and grainy.

Then I saw another thing. A tiny, hardly noticeable detail. His right hand has a ring on it. A snake wound around a sword, a ring with a unique pattern.

That ring was not new to me.

A vivid and distinct recollection came to the surface. He had touched my hand as we were exiting the dance floor the night of the masquerade. I could feel the ring's chilly metal and its elaborate pattern on my flesh.

I looked everywhere I could find the ring, including jewelry websites and antique shops. Hours went by as my head pounded and my eyes burned.

I finally located it.

A personalized signet ring with a private security company's crest on it. A company renowned for its illustrious clientele, confidentiality, and...disappearances.

I could not get the firm's name out of my head; it was a harsh reality. "Serpent & Steel."

My heart was racing as I gazed at the TV. He was more than a ghost. He was a guy with secrets and a history. And they were hazardous secrets.

A feeling of dread descended over me as I shut off the laptop. I had located him. I had discovered a track, at least. Was I prepared to follow it, though?

I was surprised by a knock on my door. I paused, reaching for the doorknob with a shaking hand.

My breath froze in my throat as I opened the door.

A tall, graceful lady with piercing blue eyes and a face that was both lovely and menacing stood in front of me. She exuded strength and authority from her well-tailored outfit.

"Salome," she remarked in a calm, collected tone. "We must speak."