"Every action of our lives touches on some chord that will vibrate in eternity."
You've heard the saying, right? What doesn't kill you makes you stronger?
Well, that's Chloe, now nineteen and far from the innocence she once held.
It had been three months since they closed the case on her grandfather's murder, labeling it as a robbery gone wrong. The police nabbed the culprits, and the judge handed them life sentences.
But truth be told, no one bothered to dig deeper.
It wasn't a simple botched robbery; it was a cold-blooded murder. Chloe tried to make them see, but her words fell on deaf ears.
There were moments when she felt like she was overstaying her welcome at Michaela's place. Eventually, she decided to leave it all behind and headed for Crestview, Florida
Even though Ace never reached out again, his proposal remained the only thing that made sense to her in this isolated world.
As she gazed at the papers spread across the pristine white desk, they practically screamed the shocking news:
"James Sinclair, the researcher at London University, was found dead by his granddaughter!"
Another headline questioned, "What could be the reasons behind James Sinclair's death?"
Reading it once more, irritation etched across her face. Annoyed, she pushed aside old newspaper cuttings that obstructed her view.
A few tears welled up in her eyes as she gazed out of the room through the window, watching the world bloom with spring.
Suddenly, a throat cleared, breaking her reverie. "Miss Sinclair?" called a voice.
Startled, she turned away from the window to find Dr. Cillian Jones, her psychologist, sitting there with his brown eyes meeting hers.
It was the usual routine, another day of her mandatory visits as part of authorities making sure she was okay.
"Yes, Dr. Jones," she replied, her voice tinged with a hint of sadness.
Dr. Cillian sighed and leaned forward; fingers interlaced. "How are you feeling?" he asked.
She forced a smile and straightened her back. "I'm good, never been better."
Dr. Cillian squinted slightly and inquired, "And what's your take on the three-month mark since your grandfather passed away?"
She cringed inside at the directness of Dr. Jones's question but kept up her facade. "I'm okay, you know. It's been a rough period, but Grandpa would want me to move on," she said, accompanying her words with a smile.
It was true.
Following Ace's advice, she left London and returned to her hometown. She landed a decent-paying part-time job at 'Jo & Jon's Victorian Brew Haven,' but now what?
Dr. Jones studied her face, leaning back in his chair. "Any nightmares?"
If only she had time to sleep.
She immediately shook her head. "No, I've been sleeping well lately."
Dr. Jones sighed. "Chloe, I get it. It's tough to deal with those intense feelings. I just want you to leave the past behind and move forward in life." He leaned forward, emphasizing his point.
And that's exactly what she intended to do!
Chloe flashed a smile at him, saying, "I know."
"If you ever need someone to talk to, just come and find me, okay?" he urged.
Nodding in agreement, she replied, "Got it. Should I head out now? I've got a shift to catch."
He studied her face, a moment of concern crossing his features before he asked, "Should I be worried?"
Getting up from her chair, she reassured him with a smile, "No, not at all. Take care, Dr. Jones."
"You too, Miss Sinclair."
With that, she left his office, strolling out of the hospital.
Tugging at the sleeves of her plaid overshirt, she strolled down the lane. The clock had ticked past six forty-five, and she needed to make it to her night shift.
Zipping up her jacket, pulling the hood snugly over her head to shield herself from the unusual chilly March evening in Crestview City, she yearned to step inside the warmth of the brew haven.
Nostalgia washed over her, reminiscent of that one night when she walked home from the bar. Recounting the tale to investigators, claiming a creature had saved her, had only earned skepticism.
They dismissed it as a mere wolf or a figment of her post-concussion or PTSD-ridden imagination.
Yet, in her heart, she knew the truth.
The men who had mercilessly taken her grandpa from her were the true beasts. And that mysterious savior, the one who had intervened that fateful night, was her guardian.
She never expected to see him again, but fate had other plans.
It happened on New Year's Eve. Gina Jonathan, who happened to be Chloe's employer and a family friend of her mother, kindly extended an invitation for an evening brunch.
The night was pitch black above, but alight with the crackling warmth of the bonfire's flames casting dancing shadows that painted the surroundings in hues of orange and gold.
Chloe, wrapped in the enchantment of New Year's Eve, found herself drawn to the flickering flames, her face burned with warmth and chilled her back with a biting cold. The air was filled with a festive buzz, laughter, and the distant hum of celebration.
Clad in gloves, she tried to keep her fingers warm, but they still felt stiff. As she stood there, mesmerized by the crackling and soaring golden flames of the colossal pyre, memories of the night when he dropped by flooded back.
Ever since that night, things had been pretty quiet, and she couldn't help but wonder if it meant nothing to him. She figured he was just there to hand over her mother's journal, which she never read, she couldn't.
It was hard enough for her after losing Grandpa James, she didn't want to add to her misery.
Gina's daughters, Cara and Lydia, had headed out on a mission to fetch more food and drinks, leaving Chloe momentarily by herself.
She held a sparkler in her hand, embracing the tradition of Bonfire Night. With the night sky lit up by fireworks, she decided to make the most of it, creating glittery circles and all.
One problem, she didn't have a lighter.
Contemplating her options, she wondered if it would be safe to plunge the sparkler into the embers of the fire.
As she took a cautious step forward, the heat hit her, and she realized her face might actually melt if she got any closer. Hesitant, she took a step back.
Just then, in a moment of unfortunate balance loss, she teetered dangerously close to the flames.
Panic set in as the possibility of becoming a human marshmallow loomed.
But before she could fully comprehend the situation, in the nick of time, a strong grip latched onto her forearm and swiftly pulled her away from the impending heat. She found herself whirling around, her face flush against a solid chest.
"Easy there," a voice echoed, making her shiver.