Elise Harper had never run so fast in her life.
Rain-slick pavements flashed beneath her sneakers, neon signs bleeding red and violet across the puddles. Julian's hand locked around hers, pulling her through Lumora's midnight streets toward The Lumora Loft.
The anonymous text still glowed on her screen:
Meet me at the gallery at 11:55 p.m.
Come alone or the next post goes live—your real "secrets."
—L
Eleven fifty-three.
Two minutes to unmask the watcher who had stalked them in Crestwood Park.
Two minutes to save her career—or watch Liam burn it to the ground.
Julian's breath came in sharp bursts beside her. "We're not letting you walk in alone," he growled, notebook clutched under one arm like a weapon.
"I know," Elise panted. "But if Liam's inside—"
A scream of tires cut her off.
Headlights pinned them against a brick wall. A black sedan screeched to a halt, door flying open.
Maya spilled out, soaked curls plastered to her face, tablet glowing in her hand.
"GET IN!" she yelled. "I hacked the blog's IP—our watcher is already inside the gallery!"
Julian yanked Elise into the back seat. Maya floored it, wipers slashing at the storm.
"How?" Elise gasped.
"Remember the blurry photo on Lumora Canvas?" Maya said, eyes wild in the rear-view mirror. "Metadata had GPS. It's not Liam. It's—"
The Loft's glass façade loomed ahead, every light blazing.
"—Clara," Maya finished.
Elise's world tilted.
Her sister.
Her fierce, protective, lawyer sister.
────────────────────────
11:57 p.m.
The gallery doors were unlocked.
Inside, spotlights carved white cones through the dark, illuminating empty walls where Elise's paintings were supposed to hang tomorrow.
Clara Harper stood dead centre, arms folded, raincoat dripping on the marble.
In her hand: a USB drive.
"Finally," Clara said, voice colder than the storm outside. "I was starting to think you'd let Liam finish the job."
Julian stepped in front of Elise, shoulders squared. "Start talking."
Clara's laugh was brittle. "You think Liam's the mastermind? He's a pawn. I wrote every lie on that blog."
She tossed the USB; it skittered across the floor.
"Proof. Emails, forged invoices, doctored photos. Enough to bury Elise for good."
Elise's knees buckled. Julian caught her.
"Why?" she whispered. "You're my sister."
Clara's eyes glittered—hurt, fury, something broken.
"Because you were going to throw your life away on fairy-tales and star-boys!" she snapped. "Mom and Dad sacrificed everything for your art degree. I buried myself in law school so you could chase dreams. And the second some astronomer bats his lashes, you forget who kept you afloat?"
Elise's tears mixed with rain on her cheeks. "You ruined me to… protect me?"
"I ruined the version of you that was going to fail," Clara said. "The Loft rejected unstable artists. I made sure they rejected you before you could be humiliated publicly. Then I'd swoop in, 'fix' it, and you'd come work at the firm—safe, stable, grateful."
Julian's voice cut like ice. "You stalked her. You terrified her."
Clara flinched. "The park? That was supposed to scare her into listening. I never meant—"
Her gaze flicked to the shadows.
Liam stepped out, slow-clapping, phone recording.
"Perfect," he crooned. "Family drama sells. This video hits every art forum in Lumora by sunrise. Elise Harper: plagiarist, hysteric, and sister-betrayer."
Elise's rage ignited.
She lunged for the phone. Liam danced back, laughing.
Julian moved faster—tackled Liam into a sculpture pedestal. Marble cracked; the phone flew.
Maya dove, snatching it, thumbs flying. "Deleting… encrypting… done."
Clara stared at the chaos she'd unleashed, face crumpling. "Elise, I—"
Sirens wailed outside—two squad cars, lights strobing red-blue across the glass.
Vanessa Chen strode in behind the officers, tablet in hand.
"Ms. Harper—both of you," she said, voice calm steel. "We received an anonymous tip with IP logs, forged documents, and a full confession recorded live." She glanced at Maya, who winked. "The Loft is pressing charges for defamation and cyber-harassment."
Liam went pale. Clara's knees hit the marble.
Elise stood frozen, rain drumming the skylight like a heartbeat.
────────────────────────
12:14 a.m. – The Rooftop
Uniforms led Clara and Liam away in cuffs.
Vanessa handed Elise a new contract. "Your exhibit opens tomorrow—8 p.m. sharp. The walls are yours."
Elise clutched the paper, tears falling. "How can you trust me after—"
"Because the city just watched you choose truth over ruin," Vanessa said softly. "That's the bravest art I've seen all year."
The storm broke as they stepped onto the gallery roof. Clouds peeled back like theatre curtains, revealing a sky so clear the Milky Way spilled across it in silver rivers.
Julian pulled Elise to the edge, city lights glittering below, stars blazing above.
His notebook lay open on the ledge—every page now filled with sketches of her: laughing at the café, painting Cassiopeia, kissing him in the rain.
"Anna's last note," he said, voice rough with emotion. "I finally understand it."
He turned the page:
Find someone who sees the stars in you.
Then never let the storm steal her light.
—Anna, age 19
Elise's sob turned into laughter, raw and free.
Julian cupped her face, thumbs brushing away tears.
"I love you, Elise Harper. Every stubborn, brilliant, star-chasing inch of you."
She rose on tiptoes, kissing him slow and deep, tasting rain and coffee and hope.
"I love you too, Julian Kane. Gravity's got nothing on us."
They stood wrapped in each other, city humming below, galaxy burning above—two hearts finally orbiting the same sky.
Until Elise's phone lit up one last time.
Unknown number.
One line:
This isn't over.
Enjoy the stars while they last.
—L
Her blood froze.
Liam was in cuffs. Clara was broken.
So who still held the match?
Somewhere in Lumora, a shadow slipped between rooftops, silhouette framed by dying storm-light, telescope lens glinting like a predator's eye.
────────────────────────
Will the real puppet-master strike before Elise's opening night, or have the stars finally aligned for her happily-ever-after?