In the apartment next door, Luelle stood in the dark, her hand resting lightly against the wall. Still. Listening. Not with her ears— with instinct. On the other side of that wall was Ethan Frost.
She had acquired this apartment years ago. She used what the Dominion taught her but bent it to her own agenda. They wanted her invisible; she became a master of disguise. She built identities the Dominion never discovered—identities that gave her freedom to act without their control.
Gerard was one of them. A quiet man. Forgettable. Invisible. The kind of neighbour no one questioned and no one remembered. An identity crafted for one purpose: to live beside Ethan. A man who could pass any background check the Dominion ran when he made an offer on the apartment.
Her fingers pressed flat against the wall, tracing the exact point where structure ended and intention began. No one knew this space existed. She built it herself—piece by piece, layer by layer. It hadn't been easy; she worked only when Ethan was away, when construction noise wouldn't betray her. It took months, but now she had a hidden passage between the two apartments. A passage only she knew.
Her hand slid lower, finding the concealed seam. A shift of pressure. A quiet click. The wall opened, and darkness swallowed her. She stepped inside without hesitation. The passage was narrow—barely wide enough for a person. Concrete. Steel. Silence.
Every step she took was measured. Familiar. She knew this place better than she knew most people. Better than she knew herself. Her breath slowed as she moved forward—not because she needed to, but because she had trained herself to. Control was everything. Especially with him.
She reached the end of the passage and stopped. Her hand lifted. Hovered.
On the other side—
Him.
Not the man the world saw. Not the heir. Not the leader. The one beneath all of that. The one no one knew existed.
Her fingers curled slightly. "You shouldn't be here," she whispered to herself. But she was already pushing the panel open.
The room beyond was dim. Shadows stretched across the floor, city light bleeding through the glass. He was exactly where she expected him: slumped on the couch, a whiskey glass near his fingers, exhaustion etched across his face.
Luelle didn't move at first. She stayed in the threshold, watching him, making sure he was asleep. Her chest tightened; she drew a slow breath.
The signs of the approaching nightmare were already there—the furrowed brows, the downturn of his mouth, the twitch of his fingers. She had seen this many times. The nightmares were becoming more frequent.
She hesitated. He was becoming more aware of her too—the girl in his dreams. That was dangerous. Ethan was clever; if she appeared too often, he would notice. He would know something was wrong.
Still, she stepped forward. The light caught her just enough—
black clothing, covered features, a presence more felt than seen.
"Ghost Girl." The whisper from the couch froze her.
"Don't stop… come closer," he murmured.
She moved toward him. He watched her, reaching out. She paused just out of reach.
"You're injured." He glanced at the wound, dismissive.
"I've had worse." Of course he had.
"You must rest," she said quietly.
"I am sleeping. This is a dream." He smiled.
She stepped closer. His fingers brushed her.
"You feel so real."
Her breath caught for a moment.
"You come every time," he said.
She didn't answer.
"You disappear every morning."
Still nothing.
"Do you ever stay?"
"No." That was the line she never crossed. If she stayed, she wouldn't leave. And if she didn't leave—everything would break.
Something flickered in his eyes. Gone just as quickly.
"Shame." Silence settled again, heavy but not empty.
"You should rest," she repeated.
"You said that already." Another faint smile.
"And you're ignoring me."
"I want you to stay… come closer."
Her chest tightened. She turned. That was her signal—her boundary. The moment she always chose to leave, before it became too real.
He grabbed her arm and pulled her down onto his lap.
"This is a dream, right?" he whispered against her ear, his arm circling her waist. She struggled, then stilled, relaxing against him.
"This is a dream," she confirmed, feeling his breath at her neck. If she resisted now, he would know she was real.
"I can't remember the last time I dreamed like this." His hand slid upward. As she settled onto his lap, his fingers instinctively wrapped around her waist, holding her close. His eyes remained closed, lost in the sensations coursing through his body, as his lips parted slightly, inviting her in. The scent of her perfume, sweet and alluring, wafted up, further drawing him under her spell, his body responding with growing urgency.
Luelle drew a deep breath, trying to steady herself. She feels his body's reaction. For thirteen years she had watched him, dreamed of him, wanted him—and now he was touching her, reacting to her wanting her. She had to stop this…it is not real, not for him, but she can't not just yet.
His eyes remained closed, savoring the moment, as his fingers absently caressed the curve of her waist. The warmth of her body seeped into his, making him feel alive, connected to something deeper and more meaningful than mere dreams. His head tilted forward, his lips brushing against her hair, sending a shiver down his spine.
Ethan felt himself becoming lost in the sensation, the world around him fading into nothingness. Her touch sparked a flame within him, and he knew he didn't want it to end. The dream, whatever it was, felt more real than anything he'd experienced in a long time.
His arms wrapped tightly around her, pulling her closer as their lips danced together, the air thickening with desire. He felt himself becoming lost in the kiss, his senses muddled, his body responding to her touch with increasing fervor. And then, suddenly, her mouth whispered a soft apology against his, before her fingers found a precise spot on his neck, sending a wave of darkness crashing over him.