Chapter 8: A Storm of Truths
Two weeks later, the rain came like judgment—thunder cracking through the valley, wind slapping against the windows.
Elle woke in the middle of the night, drenched in sweat. Her hands trembled. She had seen a ballroom. Crystals. Laughter. A man in a tuxedo saying, "Your father expects you at the gala, Lina."
She gasped for air.
Jace rushed in. "Elle!"
"I saw something," she whispered. "I think my name is Lina."
Jace sat beside her, quiet.
"I didn't want to lose this—us," she said. "But what if I have a life waiting for me?"
Jace's eyes were clouded. "Then we find out together."
Later that day, they walked into the village to find an old librarian who might help identify Elle's past. The woman looked at Elle's face, blinked, then said, "You look like someone I saw in Le Monde once. A socialite. From Paris."
The room went cold.
As they left, Camille blocked their path.
"So, you really are someone," she said. "He deserves someone real. Not a fantasy."
Jace stepped forward, voice firm. "She is real."
But that night, in the darkness, both Jace and Elle lay awake. Two hearts. One truth. And a storm brewing outside, matching the one inside them.