Chapter 135: Chapter Eighty Four

Arian

Two weeks later

It was Kary’s birthday that day, and I couldn’t have been happier to witness a lovely girl like her officially turn six. There was something magical about birthdays—especially hers—that tugged at my heart.

The house was abuzz with preparations, a chaotic yet joyful kind of energy that had been building since the beginning of the week. Balloons, ribbons, trays of snacks — everywhere I turned, there was something bright, colorful, and alive.

Her friends from the orphanage had been invited, along with her friends from school, and Kary herself was over the moon. She bounced around the house like a kid high on sugar, her laughter ringing through the halls and seeping into every corner of my heart.

I couldn’t help but feel the same way — her joy was infectious. Moments like this made all the chaos worth it, all the sleepless nights and doubts fade into the background. For her, I’d do it all again.

The only thing casting a small shadow over my mood was her father. For days, he had been absentminded, his thoughts clearly elsewhere. He was still the same wonderful lover—still attentive, still tender—but there had been a distant look in his eyes, as though he was holding onto something he couldn’t share. And maybe it was selfish of me, but I had hated that I wasn’t the person he could confide in.

He was quieter, thoughtful in a way that made me feel like I wasn’t part of whatever was consuming him. One would think that finally finding and arresting the culprit behind the shooting and the explosion at his factory would have brought him some relief, maybe even joy. But it hadn’t. If anything, he’d grown more distant.

I’d tried everything to get him to open up — coaxing, teasing, seduction — every possible tactic I could think of. But his lips had been sealed tighter than Fort Knox. That silence led me to suspect the worst: Had his parents said something about me again?

It wouldn’t be the first time. The thought alone gnawed at me, leaving me irritated despite my best efforts to stay calm. Why did it matter so much what they thought of me? Why did it still get under my skin?

Before I knew it, it was time for the party. I dressed Kary in her Elsa dress — a stunning piece designed especially for her by Gabriel’s adoptive aunt, Layla Vincente, owner of Impressions, the number one fashion company in the world.

I still couldn’t believe a six-year-old had such privilege, but Kary wore it with the kind of innocence that made it look like she’d been born for fairy tales. Watching Kary twirl in it, her excitement bubbling over, made my heart swell.

“How do I look?” she asked, spinning in circles.

“You look like a queen,” I told her, smiling as I picked up her tiara and placed it delicately on her head. “Your majesty.” I curtsied dramatically.

Kary giggled and shook her head. “Stop.”

The door to her bedroom opened just then, and her grandmothers walked in, cooing over her. I took that as my cue to leave, but before I could slip out, Mrs. Cruz’s voice stopped me.

“You’re doing a good job, Arian.”

I froze, eyes widening. I’d expected criticism, a thinly veiled barb — anything but that. Gratitude was the last thing I’d imagined coming from her lips.

“Thank you,” she added softly.

“Um… of course.” I nodded, awkward and unsure how to react. Did she mean it? Or was it just politeness in front of the others? The thought lingered uncomfortably, but I didn’t press it. She turned back to fuss over her granddaughter, and I gratefully slipped out.

Downstairs in my room, I stood in front of my closet, paralyzed. I hadn’t gone shopping since coming back to Nigeria, so I was stuck staring at the same old dresses and jeans, two coats, and a couple of hoodies I’d packed hastily.

Why didn’t I try harder? Why didn’t I think I’d need more than this? It was silly — it was just a party — but something about the occasion made me want to look… special. Worthy, even.

With a sigh, I pulled out a white and pink polka dot dress, held it up to myself in the mirror, and decided it would do. I grabbed a pair of white flats, hurried into the bathroom to shower, and ten minutes later emerged fresh and lotioned, ready to throw myself together as quickly as possible.

I brushed and styled my hair, added a slick of lip gloss, and slipped into the dress and flats. Kary will be looking for me soon, I thought, rushing out of the room.

Halfway across the hall, I skidded to a halt. Footsteps echoed down the stairs, and my breath caught in my throat. Gabriel appeared, dressed in a dark blue denim shirt and white jeans paired with black boots.

His hair looked deliberately tousled, like he’d run his hands through it, and the sight of him hit me harder than I wanted to admit.

God, why does he always have to look like that when I least expect it?

He was on the phone, but as if he sensed me, he lifted his head. Our eyes locked, and his jaw dropped slightly, mirroring my own reaction. Something electric passed between us in that moment — unspoken, undeniable.

He ended the call, descended the last few steps in two long strides, and before I could even think, he snaked an arm around my waist, pulling me close. His lips crashed onto mine in a kiss so fierce it stole my breath.

“There are people present,” I murmured against his mouth, pulling back reluctantly. A soft chuckle escaped me when I saw how shiny his lips were, and I reached up to wipe the gloss away. “You’ve ruined my lip gloss.”

“I couldn’t help myself,” he grinned, unashamed. “You are absolutely gorgeous.”

I scoffed lightly, though warmth bloomed in my chest. “I think you’re blind… but thank you for the compliment.” I smiled despite myself. “You look dashing,” I added, unable to deny how effortlessly magnetic he was.

His gaze dropped to my dress, brows furrowing slightly. He turned me around slowly, inspecting every inch as if he were searching for something, and when I faced him again, his expression had shifted to something I couldn’t quite place—confusion, maybe?

“What is it?” I asked, concern creeping into my voice. “Is there something wrong with my dress?”

“No, I…” He shook his head. “It’s gorgeous.”

“Then why do you look like you just saw it on a ghost?” I frowned.

“I just had a feeling of déjà vu,” he muttered. “It’s nothing.”

“Are you sure?” I pressed. “I can go and change.”

“No, it’s fine,” he said firmly, his lips quirking into a faint smile. “After Kary, you’re a close second.”

“You’re such a charmer.” I swatted his shoulder playfully, trying to ignore the lingering unease in his eyes.

And even as I smiled, a thought lingered in my mind—why had his reaction to my dress felt so… heavy?

“I’d only ever tried it on you,” he said, winking at me.

I blinked, startled. There was something about his tone—those exact words—that tugged at the edge of my memory. Familiar, but faint. Like the shadow of a dream I’d woken from too quickly.

I tilted my head, trying to place it, but it slipped away just as quickly as it had come. Two decades ago... It had to have been that long, maybe more. But who said it? Where was I? Nothing concrete came.

We made our way back to the party, and I instinctively kept Kary within view. The lights, the laughter, the music—all of it blurred into background noise.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice soft but concerned. He must’ve noticed how quiet I’d become.

I hesitated, unsure how to phrase what I was feeling. “Have you ever had a feeling that something’s happened to you before, but you know it actually hasn’t?” I asked. “I don’t know if I’m making any sense.”

“It happened just now,” he said, his eyes flicking briefly to my dress. “With your dress.”

I turned to him, curious now. “What do you mean?”

“Someone I used to know wore this exact dress. Years ago. At my birthday party. I was eight.”

I raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Really? Tell me more.”

He didn’t answer right away. For a moment, I thought he wouldn’t at all. I was about to drop it when he let out a slow sigh and leaned against the railing, turning slightly so he was facing me.

Then, gently—almost absentmindedly—he reached out and tucked a strand of my hair behind my ear.

The gesture sent a sudden shiver through me. It was too familiar. Intimate. I glanced around quickly to see if anyone had noticed, but thankfully, no one was watching.

“I was talking to my friends,” he began quietly, his gaze distant now, as though he were seeing the past instead of me. “Then I noticed her. She was wearing the same dress you are. Same shoes too."

"She had an ice-cream cone in her hand—chocolate, I think—and it was melting all over her fingers. She didn’t seem to care. Just stood there, off to the side, watching everything like she didn’t belong.”

I felt a lump forming in my throat. A strange ache stirred in my chest. I didn’t know why, but his words sank into me like they were meant to.

“She was one of the kids from the orphanage,” he continued with a quiet chuckle. “They were invited to celebrate with us, but she didn’t really fit in. She looked... alone. So, I decided to be her friend.”

And just like that, something deep inside me twisted.

That girl. That day.

Why did it feel like he was talking about me?

Was it possible? Could I have been that girl?

Or was my mind simply piecing together illusions from longing and coincidence?

I looked at him—really looked—and for a brief, fragile second, I wondered if this moment was less about remembering the past and more about finding it again.