On the other side of the city, Mia sat before the vanity mirror, her long legs crossed, hands folded neatly in her lap. The soft hum of conversation drifted through the dressing room, barely registering in her ears. Her makeup artist dabbed foundation gently across Mia's flawless skin, chatting aimlessly about fashion trends and runway gossip.
It was all part of her routine—sit still, look pretty, play the role. But today, Mia's mind wasn't in the room.
Just days ago, a call from her friend's assistant had shattered her world.
Julian was dead.
The words still echoed in her mind, sharp and surreal. Julian wasn't just a friend—he was like a brother. And now, he was gone.
Her chest tightened as she thought of Carmilla, the grief she must be drowning in.
A soft sigh escaped Mia's lips, unintentional but loud enough to cause the makeup artist to pause.
"Is something wrong, Mia?" the woman asked gently, her brush still in hand.
Mia shook her head, avoiding eye contact. "Let's just finish the makeup."
The artist nodded quietly and resumed her work. Moments later, the dressing room door swung open. Mia didn't need to look up, she recognized the sharp rhythm of Kate's heels against the floor.
"Mia, we need to talk." Kate's tone was firm, businesslike. "The photos from the last shoot weren't up to standard. We can't afford more mistakes."
Mia exhaled sharply, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. She knew the shoot was important. She wanted to do better. But right now, the weight in her chest made it hard to even breathe.
"I'm sorry, Kate. I'll try harder. I promise."
Kate's sharp expression softened. She stepped closer, studying Mia's face, noting the exhaustion in her eyes.
"Is everything okay? You look worn out and it is not okay for this shoot." A pause. "Is it Julian?"
Mia nodded faintly. "I'm just tired."
Kate sighed, placing a firm but gentle hand on Mia's shoulder. "I know what it means to lose someone. But you can't let grief drown what's right in front of you."
Her voice was no longer managerial. It was sincere.
"We're on a tight schedule, Mia. I need you to push through this. Can you do that for me?"
Mia nodded, grateful for her understanding.
With a deep breath, she pushed the sorrow down—just for a while—and stepped onto the set. As the camera flashed, she became someone else: poised, perfect, unbroken.
But behind each smile, her heart remained heavy.
As the shoot ended, Kate pulled Mia aside with an unusually bright expression.
"I have news," she said. "You can go visit your friend. You've earned the time. Take a month. But come back ready."
"A month?" Mia repeated, her voice rising in surprise.
Kate nodded. "That's all I ask."
Carmilla stood at the edge of the gravesite, her fingers locked tightly in front of her. The midday sun beat down on her pale skin, but she felt none of it.
All she could feel was the hollow weight inside her chest.
Julian's casket was being lowered into the earth. She watched, numb, her eyes refusing to blink. Her brother,her closest confidant was gone. The pain was immeasurable, and yet she hadn't shed a single tear.
Around her, mourners gathered in black, faces veiled in grief. Carmilla's gaze drifted across the crowd and settled on a cluster of strangers dressed in polished designer clothes, standing apart from the others. They didn't look like mourners. They looked like royalty.
"Who are they?" she murmured to herself, her face written in questions.
Her father, Mr. Hunt, approached her quietly, noticing her uneasy expression.
"They're the Harringtons," he said. "They're also family."
Carmilla turned to him, startled. "Family? Dad… what do you mean? I've never seen them before."
He smiled, as if he had been waiting for this moment.
"Come. Let me introduce you."
Reluctantly, she followed him toward the strangers. The closer they drew, the more familiar their faces became. Had she seen them before? On television? In a magazine?
"This is my eldest daughter, Carmilla," Mr. Hunt said proudly. "Carmilla, meet the Harringtons. They're very influential—and they're part of our family."
Carmilla forced a polite smile, her confusion masked beneath practiced grace. "It's a pleasure to meet you."
The Harringtons, especially Mr. Arthur and Mrs. Margaret, seemed caught off guard, their surprise barely concealed.
"You're a beautiful young woman, your parents never told us they had such a beautiful daughter" Mrs. Margaret said warmly. "We haven't met, but I'm sure we'll come to know each other well."
"Our condolences," Arthur added, placing a hand on Mr. Hunt's shoulder. "Julian was a promising young man. We're sorry for your loss."
"Thank you," Mr. Hunt replied, nodding. "My wife is inside, with her close friends. She… she's holding up better than I expected."
"She's strong," Margaret said, though her tone suggested she had expected a scene.
As the Harringtons began to take their leave, Arthur turned back toward Mr. Hunt.
"Thank you for allowing us to host the reception. We'll be waiting for you at the estate."
Once their convoy disappeared into the distance, Carmilla finally turned to her father, her voice tight with frustration.
"Dad, why are they hosting Julian's reception? That should be our responsibility. Why are you letting them do this?"
He looked at her, the weight of unspoken truths clouding his expression. He nodded slowly, as though bracing himself.
"Like I said before… they're the Harringtons. The family your brother was supposed to marry into."
Carmilla froze, the words hitting her harder than she expected. Julian… engaged?
"Julian never told me…"
"He was waiting for the right time," her father said softly. "The arrangement was delicate. Powerful alliances, Carmilla. Old money, deeper roots. He was going to be part of something much bigger."
Carmilla looked back at the grave. The distance between her and her brother had never felt so wide.
Not just because he was gone but because there were parts of him she'd never known.