Chapter 1046
That stiff, unnatural micro-expression was the first crack in the glass.
The dream had a flaw.
The afternoon sun baked the Sterling Manor gardens, casting long, lazy shadows across the manicured lawns.
Skye sat on the white wooden swing beneath the old oak tree, pushing her foot gently against the grass. Her fingers absentmindedly traced the cold facets of the ruby necklace resting against her collarbone.
Everything had gone perfectly since breakfast. The staff adored her. Her father had called twice just to check on her. There were no debts, no Seraphina plotting in the shadows, no Bastian Kensington trying to carve her open.
It was a paradise.
But the unease in her gut was growing into a gnawing ache.
She closed her eyes and tried to remember the code to the Vance underground vault. The real one. The one Julian had made her memorize before the raid.
Nothing.
Her mind hit a blank, white wall. She tried to remember the layout of Alistair’s penthouse. Blank. She tried to recall the exact shade of blue in Liam’s eyes when he was angry. Blank.
The dream was actively censoring her memories, wrapping her brain in thick, comfortable cotton to keep her docile.
Footsteps crunched on the gravel path.
Julian walked up to the swing, holding two tall glasses of iced lemonade, condensation dripping down the sides and catching the sunlight.
“What are you thinking about so hard?” Julian asked, handing her a glass and sitting on the wooden bench beside the swing.
Skye took a sip. It was perfectly sweet, perfectly tart.
She looked at him. He was gazing at the garden, relaxed and content.
“Julian,” Skye said slowly, setting the glass on her lap. “I want a special birthday present.”
Julian turned to her, his perfect, warm smile firmly in place. “Anything you want. You know that.”
“Tell me the story of how we met,” Skye said, her eyes locking onto his. She watched his face for any sign of a glitch.
Julian’s smile faltered for a millisecond. His eyes took on that same blank, empty quality she had noticed that morning.
“We’ve known each other since we were children, Skye,” Julian said smoothly, his voice carrying a faintly rehearsed cadence. “Our families are close. We grew up running around these very gardens.”
It was a lie.
In reality, they hadn’t truly spoken until she was a broken, bankrupt outcast and he was a cynical mastermind pulling strings from a wheelchair.
Skye didn’t call him out. She offered a small, empty smile. “Right. I remember.”
She needed to test the boundaries of this simulation.
“Show me a magic trick,” Skye said playfully. “You used to be so good at them.”
In reality, Julian had a habit of rolling a silver coin across his knuckles when he was thinking—a small, nervous tic. She wondered if the dream knew that.
Julian chuckled. “A magic trick? Alright.”