Lina stood slightly behind April Lyon, her posture straight, her smile practiced. It was the kind of smile that came from repetition rather than joy, the kind learned over years of attending events where her presence mattered only as an accessory. Tonight was no different. The ballroom was filled with light, laughter, and wealth that hummed softly beneath chandeliers. April's birthday celebration was flawless, curated down to the smallest detail, and Lina was expected to blend into that perfection without disturbing it.
April moved from guest to guest with effortless charm, her laughter ringing just loud enough to feel real. Lina watched closely, as she always did, adjusting her steps to match April's pace, handing her a glass before she asked, leaning in to whisper reminders. To the outside world, Lina was efficient, loyal, invisible.
Inside, she felt like property.
The thought came uninvited, settling heavily in her chest. She pushed it away, refocusing on the room. That was when she felt it. The sensation of being watched, sharp and deliberate, slicing through the noise of the celebration.
Her gaze lifted.
Across the room, near the edge where the shadows softened the glow of the lights, stood a woman dressed in black. She was not speaking. Not smiling. Just watching. Her attention was fixed not on Lina, not on the guests, but on April.
The woman's lips curved slightly, a knowing smirk that sent a ripple of unease through Lina's body. It was not predatory in the obvious way. It was calm. Certain. As if she had already decided something and was merely observing how events unfolded.
Nicole turned her gaze toward Lina and Lina's breath caught.
She looked away instinctively, her heart beating faster than it should. When she dared to glance back, the woman was still there, still watching, unbothered by Lina's discomfort.
Lina turned and excused herself quietly, murmuring something about the restroom. April nodded absently, already distracted by another guest.
Inside the restroom, the noise faded. Lina gripped the edge of the sink and stared at her reflection. The dress clung to her more tightly than she liked, restrictive, unforgiving. She tugged at the fabric in frustration, feeling suddenly trapped inside it, inside herself.
She did not hear the door open.
"You look uncomfortable."
The voice was low, smooth, unfamiliar and yet unsettlingly familiar. Lina turned sharply. The woman from the ballroom stood a few steps behind her, her presence filling the space without effort.
"I am fine," Lina said quickly, though the lie felt thin.
The woman's eyes swept over her, unhurried. Assessing. Lina felt stripped without being touched.
"That dress does not suit you," the woman said. "It hides more than it should."
Before Lina could respond, the woman stepped closer. There was a soft sound, a whisper of fabric giving way. Lina gasped as she felt the tension release along both sides of the dress, the material falling looser against her body.
"There," the woman said calmly. "Is that better?"
Lina looked down, startled, then back up. Relief flooded her, mingled with excitement she did not understand. Without thinking, she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around the woman.
"Thank you," she breathed.
The woman laughed softly, genuinely surprised. She rested her hands lightly at Lina's sides but did not pull her closer.
"Are we friends now?" she asked, amusement lacing her voice.
Lina pulled back instantly, heat rushing to her face. "I am so sorry. I did not mean to… I just…"
She stepped away, flustered, suddenly aware of how close they had been. Her eyes searched the woman's face, confusion blooming. She was certain she had never seen her before. And yet those eyes felt familiar. Too familiar. Like something from a dream. A dream she had been having too often lately.
"I should go," Lina said quickly. "Thank you again."
She hurried past her, leaving the restroom with her pulse racing.
The woman remained where she was, watching the door long after Lina had gone. The amusement faded from her expression, replaced by something more complex. Something cautious.
"But she is human," Nicole murmured to herself.
And for the first time that night, she was no longer certain of anything at all.