The Man Who Wouldn't Blink
Alden Whitmore was the kind of man who never had to raise his voice to be heard.
Wherever he walked, doors opened—some metaphorically, most literally. Dressed in a charcoal coat tailored within an inch of perfection, he didn't look like he belonged to this era. He looked like the ghost of royalty, haunting a world that no longer needed kings.
But Alden wasn't interested in reclaiming power.
He was searching for something far more elusive:
Wonder.
He found it that night, not at a gala, not in the arms of another empty heiress, but in the ruins of an old, forgotten theatre. The place was half-collapsed, reeking of mildew and old wood, barely held together by stubborn beams and whispers.
And yet—
There she was.
Livia.
Under a single, swaying lightbulb.
She didn't smile. She didn't need to.
Her presence was gravity, and Alden... had begun to fall.
No script. No announcements. Just her voice—low, hypnotic, folding itself directly into the minds of the crowd.
When it ended, the crowd clapped.
Alden did not.
He stood still, hands behind his back like he'd just stepped out of a funeral and seen a god instead of a grave.
Later that night, back in his estate, he stood by the fire, swirling a glass of wine he didn't bother drinking.
"She's dangerous," his steward muttered behind him.
Alden smiled faintly. "Exactly."
The old man looked uneasy. "You believe in fate again?"
"I believe," Alden said, his voice distant, "that something finally deserves to be pursued."
The Woman Who Shouldn't Exist
He did what he always did when something intrigued him.
He researched.
The theatre had been condemned since 1842. No restoration records. No ownership. No performances listed anywhere in the city's history since Queen Victoria's second decade.
And yet, somehow, people had come.
They weren't sure why. Or how. But they came.
Alden wasn't a man who believed in magic.
Until now.
He whispered her name for the first time in his private study, the syllables slipping past his lips like a forbidden incantation.
"Livia."
The moment he said it, something in the room shifted.
He felt it.
Not fear.
But... possession.
He bribed an old librarian to access city archives. The woman trembled the moment she saw the sketch of Livia he'd commissioned from memory.
"That face…" she whispered, eyes wide. "It's impossible. That girl was rumored to die decades ago. Or disappear. Or... something worse."
But the woman Alden saw?
She hadn't aged a day.
Obsession Wears Velvet
The dreams started soon after.
Mirrors filled with smoke. A fan snapping shut. Laughter in a voice that shouldn't exist.
At first, Alden thought he was being haunted.
Then he realized—
He didn't want it to stop.
Because for the first time in years, he wasn't chasing the next party, the next deal, the next hollow kiss.
He was chasing her.
Not to expose her.
To possess her.
Not as a woman.
But as a secret the world had no right to hide from him.
The Second Visit
He arrived before the doors opened.
This time, no second-row seats. No detached smiles.
He sat in the front.
Dead center.
The audience whispered around him, unsettled. Not excited. Not eager. Just... compelled.
No one remembered how they'd heard of the show.
They just knew they couldn't stay away.
And then—
The lights dimmed.
No music. No announcement.
Just silk brushing silk as she appeared.
Livia.
Her dress shimmered like blood in candlelight.
Her fan opened with a snap.
"Tonight," she said, voice smooth as wine and sharp as razors, "we will play a game of honesty."
A quiet ripple of discomfort moved through the room.
Except for Alden.
He leaned forward.
Then—she pointed.
At him.
"You," she said.
The room gasped.
Alden smiled.
He stood.
She beckoned.
The stage was warmer than he expected.
Smelled like old paper and incense.
She didn't touch him. She didn't have to.
"Tell me," she asked, circling him slowly, "what does a man who has everything... still hide?"
Alden didn't speak.
But something inside him cracked.
Not loud.
Just enough for a memory to bleed through.
A boy.
A locked room.
A scream muffled behind thick velvet drapes.
He hadn't remembered it in years.
Livia smiled.
"There it is."
Suddenly, laughter erupted—not hers.
From the walls. The dark. The corners of the room that didn't exist until that moment.
When he returned to his seat, his skin was pale. His fingers trembled.
And for the first time in years—
He was afraid.
But not of her.
Of what she'd seen.
Because now?
She knew him.
And when the show ended, Alden didn't move.
Not when the curtains fell.
Not when the room emptied.
Not even when the air turned cold around him.
And somewhere backstage...
Livia smiled.
Because she hadn't just touched his secrets.
She had claimed them.
And the next performance...
Would be for him alone.