CHAPTER TWO
When Destiny Chose Again
Eliora dreamed of a door.
It stood in the middle of a field of snow, tall and unfinished, breathing softly as though alive. No walls surrounded it—only silence and falling white. When she reached for the handle, warmth rushed through her palm, spreading up her arm and into her chest.
You are not alone, a voice echoed—deep, familiar, achingly gentle.
She woke with a gasp.
Her heart thundered as if she had been running toward something she was afraid to name. The dream clung to her skin long after her eyes opened, lingering like a promise whispered too close to forget.
And somehow… she knew.
She dressed slowly, the morning light brushing her room in pale gold. When she caught her reflection, her eyes looked different—brighter, as if they had seen something beyond sleep.
She shook it off.
Dreams were just dreams.
Still, the echo followed her.
Christmas hovered three days away, and the city shimmered with expectation. Lights stitched themselves across the streets like fallen constellations. Bells chimed. Music floated. Even the cold felt alive.
Eliora clutched her coat as she walked into the shopping district, heart steady with purpose. Every step was fueled by quiet love—love for a mother who carried sorrow with grace, for sisters who laughed despite what had been taken from them.
Her father's absence still echoed in their home.
Not just because he left—but because he left for another life.
One that had never truly let them go.
She entered the boutique between the bakery and the florist, the bell chiming softly behind her.
Warmth wrapped around her.
Vanilla. Cedarwood. Soft light.
For a strange moment, her chest tightened—as if she had crossed a threshold she had once seen in a dream.
Alexander stood near the mirrors, staring without seeing.
He had slept poorly. The night had brought him a dream too.
He was standing at the edge of a vast ocean, waves glowing silver beneath a moonless sky. Someone stood beside him—close, familiar, unseen. When he reached out, their fingers touched, and the sea stilled.
Find me, the voice said.
He woke with his hand clenched around nothing—and everything.
Now, in the boutique, he exhaled slowly.
He was here for his mother. For something soft enough to remind her she was loved even when her body betrayed her. Something that carried warmth into cold hospital nights.
Then "Excuse me."
The voice.
He turned.
And the world shifted.
Time didn't stop—it bowed.
Eliora stood there, eyes wide, breath caught, as though she too had walked out of a dream and into him.
The boutique fell away.
"You," he said, the word barely louder than a heartbeat.
Her laugh trembled. "I was about to say the same thing."
They stared at each other as if something ancient had resurfaced—something neither of them had words for.
"I didn't think I'd see you again," Alexander said.
"Neither did I," Eliora answered. "But… it feels like I was supposed to."
The sentence startled them both.
Yet neither disagreed.
They drifted through the boutique together, steps instinctively aligned. Conversation flowed effortlessly, but beneath it ran something deeper—an undercurrent of recognition.
She told him about her family. About strength learned early. About love stitched together through hardship.
He told her about his mother. About hospitals. About fear he never admitted aloud.
When he lifted a pale blue cashmere shawl, the light caught it like dawn over snow.
"She would love this," he said softly.
Eliora touched it—and a shiver ran through her.
For a brief, breathless second, the world dimmed.
She saw a vision—Alexander standing alone in a white room, clutching the shawl, grief bending his shoulders. And then—her hand in his, steadying him.
The vision vanished.
She swallowed. "It feels like safety," she whispered. "Like something meant to remind someone they're not facing the dark alone."
Alexander looked at her, heart tightening painfully.
"How did you know?" he asked.
She didn't answer.
She couldn't.
Snow began to fall as they stepped outside.
And that was when the darkness arrived.
Emilia.
She watched them from across the street, nails biting into her palm. The sight of Eliora beside him—that man—ignited something venomous in her chest.
She had grown up in the shadow of comparison.
Her father had left her mother's bed—but never her thoughts. He spoke of Eliora's mother with reverence. He praised Eliora's gentleness. Her grace.
Even when he left, they still owned him.
Emilia crossed the street with calculated grace, a paper cup trembling slightly in her hand.
She smiled.
And spilled the water.
Cold drenched Eliora.
"Oh my," Emilia purred. "I'm so clumsy."
Her gaze slid to Alexander—slow, deliberate, hungry.
But Alexander didn't see her.
Didn't feel her.
Didn't register her existence.
He was already removing his coat, wrapping it around Eliora's shoulders, his touch careful, protective.
"You're shaking," he said, concern sharp in his voice. "Come on."
He guided Eliora toward the restroom without a glance back.
Emilia stood frozen.
Invisible.
Humiliated.
If she disappears, Emilia thought darkly, he will see me.
And in that moment, something twisted inside her—something patient, cruel, and willing to wait.
She would take him.
Whatever it cost.
At the counter, the air felt heavy—charged with unspoken things.
The cashier rang up their items.
Alexander reached for his wallet.
So did Eliora.
Their fingers met.
This time, the contact burned.
Not painfully—but deeply.
The world tilted again.
For a heartbeat, Alexander saw a vision—Eliora standing beside him beneath falling snow years from now, her head resting against his shoulder.
Eliora felt it too—a pull low in her chest, like a thread tightening gently between them.
Neither pulled away.
"I don't understand this," Alexander murmured. "I've never—"
He stopped, choosing honesty over habit.
"I've never felt this kind of stillness with anyone."
Eliora met his gaze. "Maybe some souls recognize each other," she said quietly. "Before the mind catches up."
Something ancient stirred between them.
Outside, snow fell thicker.
"Would you like to have coffee?" Alexander asked, voice careful, reverent. "I want to know you… without noise. Without walls."
Eliora smiled, warmth blooming through her.
"I'd like that."
As they stepped into the glowing afternoon, neither noticed Emilia watching from the shadows—eyes burning, lips curved in a promise of ruin.
Love had begun.
And so had war.