The next morning after the dinner at the Gabriel mansion felt heavier than most.
The sky hung low with pale clouds, sunlight filtering weakly through the curtains of the Flores home. Janine woke up before her alarm, staring blankly at the ceiling, her mind circling the same thought over and over again.
I found her.
Lucas's voice from last night echoed softly in her head, as though the words had been carved somewhere deep inside her. She hadn't slept much. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw him standing in that dim hallway, his gaze calm but unreadable. The way he'd looked at her — not like Alex's father, but like someone who knew her.
Downstairs, the smell of coffee and toasted bread drifted through the air. Her mother's voice hummed faintly , followed by her little sister Eva's laughter. The familiar sounds should've grounded her, but they only made the strange pull in her chest feel sharper.
"Janine, breakfast!" her mother called.
She rolled out of bed, pulling her hair into a messy ponytail and headed to the bathroom to take her bath. After she freshened up, she slipped into a pair of jeans and a loose top. Today was Monday. At her school they only wear their uniform on Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday. She stood in front of the dresser, her fingers brushed against her mother's old necklace. She hesitated before putting it on. It always made her feel braver, somehow.
Downstairs, her brother Mateo was already halfway through his cereal, earbuds in, tapping his foot to a rhythm only he could hear. Eva sat beside him, legs swinging, a doll propped on her lap.
"Morning, sleepyhead," her mother said, sliding a plate toward her.
Janine smiled faintly and sat down. "Morning."
Her mom studied her face, brow creasing slightly. "You look tired. Were you up drawing again?"
"Something like that," Janine said, forcing a small laugh.
Her mother gave her that familiar knowing look — part curiosity, part quiet concern — but didn't push. Instead, she reached for her mug. "Don't forget, I need your help at the gallery this afternoon. We're getting ready for the city showcase tomorrow."
Janine nodded. "Of course."
"Good," her mom said, standing to clear the dishes. "And maybe afterward we'll stop by that new bakery Eva's been begging to try."
Eva perked up instantly. "Can we, Mom? Please?"
Her mom smiled. "We'll see how tired I am after today."
It should've been a normal day — the kind Janine had lived a hundred times before. But something about the air felt different. Heavier. Like the world was waiting for something.
---
By noon, the Flores Fine Arts Gallery was buzzing quietly with activity.
Soft music played from the overhead speakers, mingling with the faint scent of turpentine and lilies. Sunlight filtered through the tall glass windows, catching on the framed paintings that lined the walls — landscapes, portraits, and pieces that spoke of longing and silence.
Janine stood at the center table, arranging brochures, when her mother called from across the room.
"Could you check the inventory sheets, sweetheart?"
"On it," Janine replied, flipping through the folders. Her mind drifted as she worked, the rhythmic sound of her mother's heels clicking softly against the marble floor.
Then the front door opened — the small bell chiming once.
Janine turned automatically, ready to greet whoever came in, but the words caught in her throat.
Lucas Gabriel stood by the entrance.
He was dressed simply — black shirt, dark trousers — but there was something effortlessly commanding about him. The afternoon light poured in behind him, tracing the edges of his tall frame. His hair looked darker indoors, except for the single strand that fell over his forehead, softening him. But it was his eyes that caught her — deep emerald green, steady and impossibly alive.
"Mr. Gabriel?" she said, startled.
He smiled faintly. "Janine."
Her pulse stuttered. "I—um, I didn't expect to see you here."
"I was nearby," he said, walking slowly toward her, his tone casual but weighted. "I remembered you mentioned your mother owned a gallery. Thought I'd see it for myself."
"Oh—uh, yes, she does. She's right over there."
Her mother, who had been speaking to one of the assistants, turned at the sound of Janine's voice. The moment her eyes fell on Lucas, she froze.
It was brief — a flicker of something that crossed her face, gone before anyone else could notice. Her hand, resting on the counter, went still.
"Mom," Janine said cheerfully, unaware. "This is Mr. Gabriel. Alex's father."
The name seemed to knock the air out of the room.
Her mother blinked, the color draining slightly from her cheeks. "Gabriel?" she repeated quietly. Then she forced a polite smile. "It's… a pleasure to meet you."
"The pleasure's mine," Lucas said, his voice low, respectful. But his gaze lingered on her — too long, too knowing.
Mrs. Flores's hand tightened around her glass. "Excuse me a moment," she murmured, before slipping into the back room.
Janine frowned. "She's been a little stressed lately," she said softly, feeling awkward.
Lucas's expression didn't change. "Understandable. Running something this beautiful must take its toll."
He walked along the walls, hands in his pockets, stopping occasionally to admire a painting. "These are hers?"
"Some," Janine said, following him. "Most are from local artists. But the portraits by the staircase — those are hers."
He studied one closely — a woman painted in muted tones, her face half-turned away. "There's grief in her brushwork," he murmured. "And love. That's a rare combination."
Janine blinked. "You… can see that?"
He turned toward her, and for a moment, the air between them felt too still. "I see more than I should sometimes."
Her breath caught.
Before she could respond, her mother returned, composed once more, a polite smile fixed on her face. "I apologize," she said. "There was a call I needed to take."
"No need," Lucas said, returning her smile. "Your gallery is extraordinary. I can see where Janine gets her talent."
Janine's mother's eyes flickered briefly toward her daughter, then back to him. "That's kind of you to say."
After a few more polite exchanges, Lucas glanced at his watch. "I should get going. Tell Alex I'll be home early."
"I will," Janine said softly.
He turned to her mother. "Thank you for the tour, Mrs. Flores. It was… enlightening."
Something passed between them then — something quiet but charged. Her mother nodded faintly, and he left, the bell above the door chiming once as he disappeared into the afternoon light.
For a long moment, no one moved.
Then Mrs. Flores exhaled slowly, her hand resting against the table as though to steady herself.
"Mom?" Janine asked carefully. "Are you okay?"
Her mother smiled — too quickly. "Of course, darling. Just tired. I want to head home now, lock up soon."
Janine hesitated, sensing something beneath her mother's calm tone, but nodded anyway. "Okay. See you then."
She left the room quietly, unaware of the look her mother cast toward the door — a look that was equal parts fear and recognition.
---
That night, the gallery was closed.
The world outside was still, the city lights muted under a heavy moon.
Janine came downstairs to retrieve her sketchbook, the air cool against her bare arms. The gallery looked different at night — quieter, almost sacred. The moonlight spilled through the windows, painting silver across the marble floor.
She sat by the front desk, flipped open her sketchbook, and let her pencil move. She didn't think. Didn't plan. Just drew.
By the time she looked down at the page, her breath caught.
It was him.
His jawline, his eyes — those sharp, green eyes that seemed to hold entire worlds. Even the careless strand of hair falling across his forehead.
Her chest tightened.
She slammed the sketchbook shut, pressing her trembling hands against it.
She didn't understand why his presence lingered like a ghost in her mind — why his voice echoed softly, over and over again.
"Maybe she's right."
The words he'd said earlier, when her mother had walked away.
And though she didn't understand what he meant, something inside her whispered that this was only the beginning — and that whatever tied her family to his had been waiting, quietly, for her to uncover it.
---