Elizabeth’s POV

For a moment, I thought I imagined it.

Claire’s head snapped up suddenly, her eyes darting toward me. Her gaze locked on the spot where I stood, and for one awful second, it felt like she was really seeing me. My chest tightened. That’s impossible… she can’t. I’m not supposed to be visible.

But the way her brows drew together, the way her eyes lingered in the empty air, it unsettled me.

When she finally looked away, I exhaled and sank onto the sofa, wrapping my arms around my knees. My head rested there as I watched her from across the room. It had been only a few days, but watching Claire live her life felt strange, like seeing someone wear your skin but walk differently in it.

A few minutes passed before she suddenly stood up, grabbing her worn-out bag.

“Where are you going this late?” I murmured, following her.

She didn’t answer, of course. She just pulled her jacket tighter around her shoulders and slipped toward the door. I pushed myself up and trailed behind, slipping out before it shut.

The night air was cold. She walked fast, as if she knew exactly where she was headed. I hovered beside her, half-whispering, half-talking to myself. “Claire, it’s almost midnight. What could be so important?”

But she didn’t slow down.

She stopped at the roadside and waved at an oncoming cab. The car pulled up, splashing water from a nearby puddle.

“Wait, where are you going?” I muttered, sliding in beside her. “This feels shady already.”

When the cab finally stopped, I glanced through the window and my jaw nearly dropped.

I knew this place.

The flickering sign above the door read Wilson’s Brew.

Of course, it was him.

When she stepped inside, I followed. The bell chimed softly, and a voice I hadn’t heard in years said, “Welcome.”

That voice. I’d know it anywhere.

Rashford Wilson.

He stood behind the counter, wiping glasses with a towel, his sleeves rolled up. Same careless grin. Same irritating confidence. He hadn’t changed at all.

Claire murmured a quiet greeting and moved behind the counter. Her hands trembled as she tied her apron.

Before I could move closer, Rashford was already beside her, his hand on her arm. “You don’t look so good. Maybe you should rest.”

“I’m fine,” she insisted, though her voice came out weak.

“No, you’re not,” I hissed under my breath, following her like a shadow. “You skipped dinner, you look like you could faint any second, and you still think you can fool everyone with that brave little act? Pathetic.”

Then he did it. Rashford Wilson, arrogant, insufferable Rashford reached out and brushed a strand of her hair from her face. The same casual gesture he used on every girl he flirted with back in college.

My jaw clenched.

“Oh, don’t you dare,” I snapped, glaring at him even though he couldn’t see me. “You don’t get to touch her like that.”

Claire flinched, knocking his hand away before turning toward a table. She tried to pretend nothing happened, her smile brittle, her hands shaking as she balanced a tray.

The sight made my chest burn. I hated how fragile she looked.

I hated how easily he made her waver.

I sat at a corner table, chin resting on my arm. Rashford walked past, and for a second, it was like college all over again.

“Still the same jerk,” I muttered under my breath.

“Talking to yourself again?”

I didn’t even have to look. “Red,” I sighed.

He appeared beside me, floating lazily with that irritating smirk. “You really know how to pick your entertainment. Watching your rival and your reincarnation flirt? That’s some next-level self-punishment.”

“Don’t start.”

“Why not? It’s true. Look at them. You sure you’re not jealous?”

“Jealous? Of him?” I scoffed. “Please. I’d rather disappear for good.”

“Uh-huh,” he said, clearly unconvinced. “Because sitting here staring at him like that totally screams ‘I’ve moved on.’”

I glared at him. He grinned wider

Across the room, Rashford said something that made Claire laugh. That sound, light, unguarded felt like a stab straight to the chest.

“Don’t fall for it,” I muttered. “That smile’s fake. He used it on every girl back in college. Including the dean’s secretary.”

Claire’s laughter faded, and for a second, she looked around, eyes scanning the room. Her gaze flicked to the corner where I sat.

My pulse spiked.

Was she… looking at me?

Her brows furrowed, confusion flashing across her face. Then she shook her head, brushing it off, and went back to cleaning the table.

I stayed frozen for a long moment. No. That’s not possible. Maybe she just felt a chill. Or maybe she’s tired.

By the time the café closed, I was half-asleep at the table, watching her lock the door and tell Rashford goodnight. She looked so small standing under the streetlight, her shadow stretching across the pavement.

I don’t know when I drifted off, but when I opened my eyes, sunlight spilled through the window. My body felt heavy, like I’d been awake for years.

My phone buzzed beside me.

I groaned softly and reached for it. “What now…”

The screen lit up, and my heart skipped.

Congratulations, Miss Claire Hart.

You’ve been selected as the new personal assistant to Mr. Jason Collen.

The words blurred for a moment before they sank in.

Jason.