Emma's Pov
A Thread Between Two Worlds
Everywhere I went, his face seemed to follow me. Towering above the city, framed in gold light and glass, Aubrey Ardel's billboards watched from every corner—each one whispering his name like a hymn New York couldn't stop singing. The youngest and most celebrated violinist of the decade, the headlines read, glowing against the skyline like constellations carved just for him.
In the poster, he wore a black suit that looked sculpted from night itself—sharp, elegant, magnetic. His hair, slightly dishevelled, gave him that effortless brilliance that couldn't be rehearsed. And his smile—faint, almost reluctant—was the kind that made people fall without realizing they were falling. But it was his eyes that caught me. Those deep emeralds shimmered with quiet arrogance and melancholy, as if they knew the world was his stage. I couldn't look away; it felt like he was watching me, too.
I stood there, among the crowd of girls squealing and taking pictures, wondering where I fit into that scene—if I fit at all. They adored him, worshipped him even. To them, he was untouchable, divine. And to me? He was a question I couldn't stop asking.
Would Aubrey have ever noticed me if fate hadn't placed us outside that café, if he hadn't stopped under the excuse of painting? Would his gaze have lingered, even for a heartbeat, on someone like me? Watching those girls swarm beneath his billboard, I realized the truth that ached quietly in my chest: Aubrey Ardel had a whole world to love him—so why would he ever choose me?
Even if he had the entire world to love him, if he offered me only a sliver of it, I'd fill it with a love greater than the world itself.
I have fallen for him.
He is in my prayers now.
I love him.
I love Aubrey Ardel.
It doesn't matter if he ever chooses me; the mere act of loving him feels like enough—a universe I get to hold, even if it isn't mine.
I walked side by side with Emmett toward our target location, our footsteps echoing against the concrete rhythm of the city.
"Must be damn nice to be handsome and famous," he muttered, eyes flicking up to the same billboard I'd been staring at moments ago. "Not to mention a fucking millionaire's son."
"Since when did you ever run out of money, Emmett?" I teased lightly.
He gave a crooked grin. "I didn't. But the Ardels— they breathe in a higher tax bracket."
I nodded.
"The Ardels," Emmett said, shaking his head, "they don't just play the game—they own the board. Ministers, prosecutors, police chiefs—you name it. They all owe them something. If it weren't for Aubrey keeping the spotlight on it, Alex Ardel's case would've been buried and forgotten years ago. But the Ardels have a way of bending the system. Even justice hesitates before touching their name."
"Emmett, focus," I interrupted, a little sharper than I meant to. "Aubrey and his father can wait—we have work to do."
"There," Emmett murmured, nodding toward the corner.
I followed his gaze and spotted Jamie Anderson. He was a thin, middle-aged man whose frame looked as if it could snap under a strong wind—bones jutting out beneath pale skin. His circle frames rested on his long, crooked nose. His beige coat hung loosely on him, the kind of old-fashioned thing that had seen too many winters. A matching newsboy hat sat crooked on his head, shadowing a pair of sharp, restless eyes that scanned the street like he was expecting trouble.
In one hand, he carried a scuffed leather briefcase; the other was buried deep in his coat pocket, fingers twitching beneath the fabric. His boots—large and worn—pressed into the snow with deliberate weight, leaving behind deep, solitary footprints that trailed like secrets across the white.
The building stood at the corner of the street, old and dignified, its brick walls stained by decades of rain and exhaust. A pair of bodyguards flanked the heavy wooden entrance—broad, silent men in dark coats, their breath rising in faint clouds against the cold. The door itself looked ancient, carved with faded patterns and polished to a dull gleam, like it had witnessed too many secrets pass through.
Jamie Anderson was heading straight for it—just like he did every morning. He never missed a day, not even when a fever had nearly put him in the hospital. It was as if something far more dangerous than illness waited for him if he didn't show up. Either that, or ambition had long replaced his fear of death.
"We need to go inside," I said, watching him disappear behind the wooden doors.
Emmett frowned. "How? We can't just show up without an appointment, I presume."
I glanced back at him, a grin tugging at my lips. "Who said we're not following the rules?"
Once our target was safely inside, I stepped toward the building, my boots crunching softly against the snow. Emmett sighed and followed, quickening his pace to catch up.
"We're going to follow all the procedures, Emmett," I said over my shoulder, the grin widening. "Just… not the ones they expect."
Or maybe not the one Emmett expected. His expression darkened the moment I hit submit on the online form, officially signing him up for a job interview at that company.
"What the hell was that, Emma?" he snapped, his voice rising above the low hum of traffic. His usual calm was gone, replaced by disbelief and frustration.
I lifted my hands slightly, trying to sound reasonable. "I'm sorry, Emmett—but that's the only way in. Someone has to follow him inside while I track him from the outside. It's clean, it's simple, and it's not like you haven't faked worse before."
He pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a heavy sigh, the kind that carried more exasperation than anger. For a moment, his gaze softened—like he was reminding himself that I wasn't just his superior, but his best friend's sister. The line he couldn't quite cross.
And I hated that. I didn't want him to treat me like his best friend's sister—as someone to be protected—but as an equal, someone defined by her own capability and determination. I had worked too hard to stand in someone else's shadow.
I was just about to smooth things over with Emmett when I collided with someone. The jolt made me stumble back.
"Oh— I'm so sorry," I said quickly, my voice soft but steady.
The man turned toward me, his brows furrowing slightly. For a heartbeat, his blue eyes locked with mine—cold, cutting, and impossibly clear, like shards of winter glass. His skin was pale, almost luminous beneath the cloudy sky, and his hair—white as the snow around us—seemed to shimmer faintly in the light. He wore a tailored coat, expensive and precise, the kind that spoke of wealth and power without needing to boast. Everything about him felt deliberate, distant, and quietly commanding.
He gave a short nod, accepting my apology, yet didn't offer one in return. Without another glance, he stepped past me, his stride smooth and assured, leaving behind a faint trail of frost in his wake—or maybe that was just the chill he carried with him.
This man was daylight—crisp, cold, and merciless in its clarity. Aubrey, in contrast, was midnight—soft, magnetic, and dangerous in the dark.
Emmett just stood there—frozen, his eyes wide, his expression caught somewhere between disbelief and alarm.
I frowned, nudging him lightly. "What's wrong?"
He didn't answer right away. His gaze was still fixed on the direction the man had gone. "You don't know who that was?"
I blinked. "Should I?"
Emmett turned to me slowly, incredulous. "That was Michael Morias—the heir to the second-richest family in New York."
I tilted my head, unimpressed. "And?"
He let out a dry laugh, half exasperated, half nervous. "Oh, Emma… please tell me you've at least read the files I put together about Aubrey."
"I did," I said quickly, my tone clipped. "Not all of them—but most. Why? What does he have to do with Aubrey?" I felt the impatience rise in my chest. Anything connected to him demanded my full attention.
Emmett hesitated, studying me. "He's not just anyone," he said finally, his voice low. "Michael Morias is Aubrey's manager—and his best friend."
My heart stilled, a sharp chill threading through my chest. The world around me seemed to fade into quiet white, and for a fleeting moment, even the snow stopped falling.