Three weeks later, spring in New York had passed its most enchanting phase.
The leaves had thickened into dense green shadows, and sunlight sat on the windowsills like honey—gentle, yet carrying a barely perceptible tension, as if something warm was about to burst.
That morning, Sebastian handed Allison a printed schedule. It had just one line:
"Don't make any plans for tonight. I have a surprise."
Allison smiled as she typed back a simple "Okay," her fingertips hovering over the screen for a few extra seconds. Her lips curled slightly without her noticing, as if a string inside her heart had been lightly plucked, sending a ripple of warmth through her.
By sunset, he came to pick her up.
Her favorite Norah Jones track was playing in the car.
In the backseat, a small bouquet of fresh daisies rested beside a box of lemon tarts—her favorite, because he never forgot the second date, when she'd said: "I like things that are a little sour, like a love confession that doesn't finish its sentence."
As soon as she stepped into the car, she laughed. "Are you proposing or kidnapping me?"
He glanced at her, eyes dancing. "Would you say yes if I were?"
"Depends on the size of the ring," she teased, her voice bright and carefree. She was completely relaxed, soft as those freshly picked daisies—unguarded, unafraid.
They drove out of Manhattan, chatting and laughing. The city skyline slowly faded from the windows, replaced by quieter neighborhoods and dimming light.
Finally, the car stopped in a quiet area of Queens.
"What is this place?" she asked, eyeing the sleek, modern building—white glass, clean lines. Her brows furrowed slightly.
"You always say you hate surprises," he said, smiling gently. "But this one, Allie—it's for you."
She didn't ask further. She simply followed him in.
The receptionist greeted them with a practiced smile. "Mr. Hall, your appointment has been confirmed."
Allison froze.
"You brought me… to see a doctor?"
"Not a doctor," he said quickly, gently taking her hand and giving it a reassuring pat. "A designer. Aesthetic consultant—one of the best. It's not what you're thinking. Just… subtle adjustments."
She turned to him, and the lightness in her eyes was gone.
"What kind of adjustments?"
His gaze softened, his voice low and tender, like rain falling over a rose.
"Allie, you know I've always liked you—your personality, your kindness… you made me believe in things again. It's just that…"
He paused, searching for words.
"Sometimes, I feel like… you remind me so much of her."
The air in the room thickened. Something invisible had been pulled from under her feet.
"Who?" Her voice had dropped.
"A girl I met while studying in Switzerland. She passed away years ago." His eyes flickered with memory. "The first time you smiled at me, I almost thought she had come back."
She stood still, her shoulders tightening as if bracing herself against a storm.
"I'm not asking you to become her," he added quickly, "I swear I'm not. But if you'd be willing… just a few gentle changes. Nothing drastic. The curve of your eyes, the tone of your voice… you already resemble her so much. I even had someone do a facial analysis."
Something inside her cracked.
"Subtle changes?" Her voice was a whisper—sharp as wind across a blade.
She looked up at him. There was no anger in her eyes—only a clarity so sharp, it chilled the air between them.
"So what is it that you love?" she asked. "Me—or the way I remind you of her?"
"I love you." The words left him in a rush. "It's just… I can't help seeing her in you."
She let out a quiet laugh—light, but hollow.
"You can't help it."
She took a step back. The room felt colder.
He reached out instinctively, but she sidestepped him.
"From the beginning, I told myself this felt too easy, too perfect. I thought maybe it was fate," she said softly. "But now I see—you never chose me."
She turned and walked briskly toward the exit.
But just as her fingers brushed the door handle, something in the air shifted.
A silence thickened behind her—then came the unmistakable sound of movement.
Four men in black suits emerged from the corridors, earpieces in place, sealing off her escape with quiet precision.
She spun around.
Sebastian hadn't moved.
But the warmth was gone.
His expression was distant, controlled—as if he'd walked off the set of a romance and into a plan he'd been crafting all along.
"What is this?" Her voice trembled.
"I don't want to hurt you," he said, as if reciting a surgical protocol.
"Allie, just cooperate. It doesn't have to be difficult."
"You're insane." Her voice dropped, as if hoping this was still a nightmare she could wake from.
"You look too much like her," he said, each word slow and clipped. "I can't lose her again. Not this time. This time, I'm going to keep her—completely."
"How dare you—" she snarled.
She turned and bolted, but two men caught her arms before she made it three steps.
"Take her to the upstairs room," Sebastian ordered, voice like ice. "If she struggles—sedate her."
"You're insane!" she screamed, struggling hard enough to dig her nails into her palms. Her eyes burned—not just with rage, but the sting of betrayal. The grief of trust collapsing.
He knelt beside her, reaching toward her face, his voice low. "I'm sorry. I'm just so scared… of losing you again."
She went still.
He mistook it for surrender. His shoulders eased slightly.
But in the next breath—her eyes lit up with a silver-blue glow.
Not tears.
Something older.
Something awakening.