POV: Celeste
The eviction notice was taped to my door when I woke up.
I stared at it, still half asleep, my brain refusing to process the words. Then reality hit like ice water.
THREE DAYS TO VACATE PREMISES. FAILURE TO COMPLY WILL RESULT IN LEGAL ACTION.
No, no, no, I whispered, ripping the paper off the door.
I'd been here one day. One single day.
I called the landlord immediately. He answered on the first ring, like he'd been expecting me.
Mr. Chen, there's been a mistake. I just moved in yesterday
No mistake, he interrupted. His voice was cold. First month's rent bounced. You wrote a bad check.
That's impossible! I gave you cash
You gave Adrian Cortez cash. He wrote the check to me. Now it's bounced, and you're out.
My stomach dropped. Adrian paid my rent?
With your money, apparently. Money that doesn't exist anymore. Mr. Chen sighed. Look, I'm sorry, Ms. Thorne. But I can't have nonpaying tenants. Three days. That's generous considering.
He hung up.
I stood there holding my phone, shaking. Adrian had controlled everything. Even this. He'd made sure I'd have nowhere to go.
My phone rang. Unknown number.
Hello?
Celeste Thorne? A woman's professional voice. This is Jennifer from First National Bank. I'm calling about your account.
Hope sparked. Yes! There's been a mistake. My ex fiancé
No mistake. The account was legally transferred to Adrian Cortez per signed documents. However, there's an outstanding balance of fifteen thousand dollars in fees and penalties.
The room spun. Fifteen thousand?
You took out a business loan last month. Mr. Cortez defaulted, but you're listed as cosigner. Payment is due in full by Friday, or we'll be forced to take legal action.
I never signed for a loan!
Our records show otherwise. Have a good day, Ms. Thorne.
Click.
I couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. Fifteen thousand dollars I didn't have for a loan I never took.
Adrian had destroyed me so completely there was nothing left.
I grabbed my jacket and left the apartment. I had to find a job. Any job. Today.
I spent six hours walking to every gallery, every art dealer, every museum in the city.
Nobody would see me.
At Morrison Gallery, the receptionist recognized my name and literally laughed. Adrian Cortez sent an email to everyone in the industry. You're blacklisted, honey. Nobody's touching you.
At Chen Fine Arts, security escorted me out before I even finished explaining who I was.
At the Museum of Modern Art, my old colleague Rebecca saw me coming and hid in the bathroom.
By five o'clock, my feet hurt, my stomach was eating itself, and I wanted to cry.
I stopped at a coffee shop and checked my bank account on my phone.
Balance: $23.47
That was it. Twenty three dollars to my name.
I bought the cheapest thing on the menu a small black coffee and sat in the corner booth, trying not to fall apart.
My phone buzzed. A text from a number I didn't recognize:
Still thinking about our offer? Time is running out.
I stared at it. The mysterious text from last night. The one that said he's been looking for you.
Before I could respond, another text came through:
You have three days until eviction. Two days until the bank lawsuit. One day until you have nothing left to lose. Make the smart choice, Celeste.
My hands started shaking.
How did they know about the eviction? About the bank? I'd just found out myself this morning.
Who were these people?
I looked at the black envelope in my bag the job offer from Ashcroft Enterprises. I'd been carrying it around all day like a security blanket.
Personal Art Curator. Salary negotiable.
What did negotiable even mean? Enough to pay fifteen thousand dollars in debt? Enough to find a new apartment?
My coffee was cold now. I hadn't even drunk it.
A businessman at the next table was eating a sandwich. The smell made my stomach growl so loud he looked over.
I looked away, embarrassed.
When was the last time I'd eaten? Yesterday morning, before the engagement party. Before everything fell apart.
I had $18 left after the coffee. Not enough for food and bus fare home.
I chose bus fare
Back at the apartment, I sat on the mattress and stared at the black envelope.
My phone buzzed again. Another unknown text:
The car comes tomorrow at 8:30 AM. Be ready. This is your only chance.
My only chance at what?
I pulled out my laptop thankfully one of the three things Adrian had left me and Googled Ashcroft Enterprises.
Thousands of results. Articles about business deals, real estate acquisitions, charitable donations. The company owned hotels, office buildings, and restaurants. They were worth billions.
But there were almost no pictures of the CEO. Just one blurry photo from a distance a tall man in a dark suit. I couldn't see his face clearly.
Lucian Ashcroft remains one of the city's most private billionaires, one article said. Known for ruthless business tactics and an almost obsessive need for control.
Great. A control freak billionaire wanted to hire me. Why?
I searched Lucian Ashcroft personal life.
Almost nothing. No wife. No girlfriend. No scandals. It was like he didn't exist outside his company.
One gossip blog claimed he'd been searching for someone for years. A mysterious woman he saw once and never forgot. But that sounded like made up drama.
My stomach growled again. I ignored it.
I picked up the job offer and read it for the hundredth time.
Personal Art Curator. Report directly to Lucian Ashcroft. Salary negotiable. Housing provided. Start immediately.
Housing provided. That meant a place to live. Food. Safety.
Everything I didn't have.
But why me? I was nobody now. A disgraced gallery owner with no money and no reputation.
Unless...
I pulled the mirror out from under my pillow. The silver frame gleamed in the dim light.
The man in the vision. The one with storm gray eyes who died saving me.
Could it be...?
No. That was crazy. Lucian Ashcroft was a billionaire CEO. He couldn't be the same man from the mirror.
Could he?
My phone rang, making me jump. Unknown number again.
I answered. Hello?
Ms. Thorne. A woman's voice calm, professional, smooth as silk. This is Iris Zhang, executive assistant to Lucian Ashcroft.
My heart stopped. How did you get this number?
Mr. Ashcroft asked me to call. Have you considered our offer?
I don't understand. Why does he want to hire me? He doesn't even know me.
There was a pause. Then: Doesn't he?
The words sent chills down my spine. What does that mean?
It means Mr. Ashcroft has been waiting for your call, Ms. Thorne. He's been waiting for a very long time. Are you ready to accept?
I... I need to know why. Why me?
Another pause. Longer this time.
Because, Iris said quietly, you're the only person who can save him. And he's the only person who can save you. The car arrives at 8:30 AM tomorrow. Be ready.
She hung up.
I sat frozen, phone pressed to my ear, listening to dead air.
You're the only person who can save him.
Save him from what?
I looked at the mirror again. At my reflection staring back.
Then, just for a second, the glass rippled.
And I saw him again the man with storm gray eyes. But this time he wasn't dying. He was standing in a huge office, looking out a window at the city below.
He turned toward me, like he could feel me watching.
Our eyes met through the mirror.
And he smiled.
The vision vanished.
I dropped the mirror, gasping.
That was impossible. The mirror showed death, not living people. Not smiles. Not
My phone buzzed. One final text:
Tomorrow, everything changes. Trust fate, Celeste. It's been trying to bring you together for five years.
I read it three times.
Five years.
Five years ago, Mom gave me the mirror. Five years ago, she died.
And according to Iris Zhang, Lucian Ashcroft had been waiting for five years.
For me.
But I'd never met him. Never even heard his name until yesterday.
So how could he have been waiting?
Unless the mirror worked both ways.
Unless he'd seen me too.