CHAPTER 286: CHAPTER 286 BACK TO SKYLINE

The flight back to Skyline stretched on endlessly, though the captain insisted it was just under seven hours.

Time did not obey clocks when your mind was chasing itself in circles.

I barely touched the champagne the flight attendant pressed into my hand. Instead, I spent most of the journey staring at the clouds through the oval window, chewing on the inside of my cheek until I could taste copper.

The man in the seat beside me, a trim sort of executive with a navy suit and a smile polished to boardroom standards, decided I looked like an easy target for conversation.

‘First time visiting Skyline?’ he asked, with the kind of bright cheerfulness that belonged to someone determined to network at thirty thousand feet.

‘No,’ I said, adjusting the blanket across my lap.

He leaned closer, as if I had just opened the door to more. ‘Do you live there or work there? I’m in tech investments myself. Always interesting to meet someone new in the city. What line are you in?’

‘I design jewellery,’ I said flatly.

His eyes lit up. ‘How fascinating. There’s a lot of synergy between luxury retail and tech investment right now. Partnerships, new retail platforms, personalisation algorithms. I’d love to hear more about your business.’

‘I don’t want to talk about my business,’ I said, tugging my earphones from my bag.

He laughed as though I were joking. ‘Just a short conversation. What’s the name of your studio? Perhaps I can help you with capital expansion. Growth strategies, that sort of thing.’

I put my headphones in and turned to the window.

That was the end of that.

He muttered something under his breath, but I had stopped caring. All I could see were the storm clouds shifting below us, their shadows swallowing the sea. My thoughts dragged me back to the island, to Ashton’s feverish skin, to the way he gripped my wrist as though he might never let go.

Then to Lea.

By the time the wheels touched down on the runway, my chest felt as though it had been wrapped in barbed wire.

***

The cab dropped me off outside Mira Joie. It was early evening, but the windows were still glowing. Through the glass, I saw Priya hunched over her desk, two pencils stabbing through her bun, her hands busy with a necklace that glittered under the lamp.

When I pushed open the door, the bell jingled faintly.

Priya looked up and froze, then let out a squeal. ‘Mira! Finally!’

Before I could say a word, she rushed at me, arms wide. The pencils clattered to the floor as she pulled me into a hug.

‘Do you know how close I came to scratching your name on the wall like a prisoner counting days?’ she demanded. ‘You vanish for weeks, and I am drowning here.’

Her desk confirmed it. Coffee cups, sketches, gem samples, orders stacked in folders. My chest tightened with guilt.

‘I’m sorry,’ I said.

‘Sorry is not going to stop me turning into a corpse buried under unfinished commissions,’ she said, half laughing, half on the verge of tears. ‘Look at this. Three custom orders overdue, one supplier demanding blood, and I had to beg someone to help with deliveries. I almost sold my soul to keep this place alive.’

I squeezed her shoulders. ‘I’ll fix it. I’ll be here more. I promise.’

She pulled back and narrowed her eyes at me. ‘Do you mean that, or is this just a brief visit before you fly back to Paris, to your new job?’

I opened my mouth, but she had me.

‘Never mind,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘I didn’t mean to sound so pushy. Just... don’t disappear on me again, please. This is your studio, you know.’

‘I won’t,’ I whispered.

But I was already lying. Because even as I hugged her again, even as I looked around the studio that had once been my pride, my thoughts slipped away.

***

The taxi slowed in front of Ashton’s house. My stomach flipped, as though the road itself had tilted.

The lights glowed in the windows. Warm. Inviting. And utterly not mine anymore.

I stood on the pavement, gripping my bag until the handles dug into my palm. I had lived here, laughed here, cried here. I had kissed him in that doorway, danced with him in that living room.

Now I was just a trespasser.

I hovered at the gate. My hand lifted, then fell. Lifted again.

What would I even say? That I had come back, hoping he would open the door and forgive me instantly? That I wanted to step into a life I had thrown away?

I was still deciding whether to run when the door opened.

‘Miss Mira?’

Carmen Alvarez stood there, apron tied neatly, her lined face softening into astonishment.

‘Carmen,’ I breathed.

She hurried down the steps and gripped my hands. ‘Oh, Mirabelle, you’re back. I knew you’d be back!’

Something broke in my chest.

‘Come inside. Quickly,’ she said, tugging me through the gate. ‘It is too cold to stand here.’

I stepped into the hall, inhaling the familiar scent of polished wood. It felt like walking into a memory.

Carmen shut the door firmly and turned to me with a frown that melted into a smile. ‘You look thinner. Have you eaten properly?’

‘I’m fine,’ I said, but my voice cracked.

‘You are never fine when you say that,’ she scolded gently. ‘Come. Sit. I’ll make tea.’

She led me to the sitting room. Nothing had changed. The rug, the photographs, the books stacked by Ashton’s chair. My chest ached.

‘Mr Ashton is not home yet,’ Carmen said, answering my unspoken question. She set down the teacups, and her eyes softened. ‘I heard what happened, but I refuse to believe it. You and Mr Ashton, you two are meant to be together.’

I smiled bitterly. I wished I felt as confident as she sounded.

She sat opposite me. ‘I kept your room the same. He never allowed me to move anything. He didn’t want me to touch it.’

My throat tightened. ‘Carmen...’

‘He still cares,’ she said, as if she could will me to believe it. ‘But he will never say it. You know how he is.’

Before I could answer, my phone buzzed.

I pulled it from my bag.

A news alert glared up at me.

Breaking: [Ashton Laurent Spotted with Lea Lopez. Rumours of Engagement.]

A photograph filled the screen. Ashton in a dark suit, Lea by his side, her hand brushing his sleeve as though she had every right.