Anita had learned long ago that beauty and talent could be both a blessing and a curse. Born in a sleepy coastal town, she had escaped a life of mediocrity by sheer will and ambition. The city had promised her freedom, excitement, and a chance to live life on her own terms.
But the city also had its shadows, and Anita wasn't a stranger to them.
Backstage after her performance, Anita leaned against the vanity mirror, her makeup slightly smudged and her lips still painted in that iconic scarlet. She stared at her reflection, her heart racing from the encounter with the stranger. Something about him unsettled her—not in a way that felt dangerous, but in a way that promised upheaval.
A soft knock on the door snapped her out of her thoughts.
"Come in," she called, her voice steady.
The door creaked open, and there he was.
"I hope I'm not intruding," he said, his voice low and velvety.
"Depends on who you are," Anita replied, a sly smile tugging at her lips.
"My name's Lucas," he said, stepping closer. "And I think we have something in common."
Anita raised an eyebrow. "Oh? And what's that?"
Lucas reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, worn photograph. Anita's heart stopped. It was an old picture of her—one she hadn't seen in years.