The first thing Adrian Voss noticed was the silence.

Not the ordinary silence of wealth and privilege.

Not the quiet hum of a room full of powerful people pretending not to watch one another. Not the carefully controlled stillness that settled over elite gatherings before an important announcement.

This silence felt wrong.

The moment Adrian stepped through the doors of the grand ballroom, he felt it.

The room was filled with people—more than three hundred guests gathered beneath crystal chandeliers that glittered like captured stars. Politicians stood beside celebrities. Billionaires exchanged glances with royalty. Industry leaders and media moguls occupied every corner of the enormous hall.

Yet not a single voice could be heard.

No conversations.

No laughter.

Nothing.

Everyone was staring.

Adrian slowed his pace.

The polished marble floor reflected the light above him as he moved forward, his footsteps echoing faintly through the silence.

For a brief moment, he wondered whether some speech had already begun.

Then he noticed where everyone was looking.

Toward the center of the room.

Toward a single spotlight.

Toward a coffin.

Adrian stopped walking.

His expression remained calm, but something cold settled in his chest.

A black marble coffin stood alone beneath the light.

White lilies surrounded it.

The flowers looked strangely beautiful against the dark stone.

For several seconds, Adrian simply stared.

Then his eyes lifted to the massive painting positioned behind it.

And everything inside him went still.

The painting depicted a funeral.

His funeral.

Someone nearby let out a nervous laugh.

"That's a little too dramatic."

Another guest whispered quietly enough that they probably thought he wouldn't hear.

"Imagine being him."

Adrian ignored both comments.

His gaze remained fixed on the artwork.

The Exhibition of Futures.

The invitation-only event was one of the strangest traditions among the world's elite.

Every year, Blackwood Estate hosted a gathering unlike any other. Artists, psychologists, futurists, analysts, and visionaries were invited to create a single work based on one challenge:

Paint the future.

Most years produced entertaining nonsense.

Predictions of economic collapses.

Technological revolutions.

Political upheavals.

Some paintings imagined wars. Others imagined miracles.

They sparked conversation for a few weeks before being forgotten.

No one took them seriously.

No one was supposed to.

This year was supposed to be no different.

Yet there it was.

A life-sized painting displayed beneath a spotlight for everyone to see.

A black marble coffin.

White lilies.

Rain pouring from a storm-dark sky.

A crowd gathered around a grave.

And engraved into the headstone behind it:

ADRIAN VOSS

1992 – 2027

A chill crawled slowly down his spine.

He read the inscription again.

Then a third time.

The date did not change.

The room felt colder.

The air suddenly seemed heavier.

For the first time in years, Adrian found himself at a loss for words.

He wasn't a man who frightened easily.

Fear belonged to people with something to lose.

Adrian had spent his life learning how to survive.

He had built one of the largest technology empires in the world from nothing more than ambition and relentless determination.

Competitors feared him.

Governments negotiated with him.

Investors followed him.

He had faced threats before.

But standing in front of his own funeral was different.

His eyes narrowed.

Every detail was perfect.

Too perfect.

The expensive watch resting on the corpse's wrist.

The faint scar near the jawline.

The ring he never removed.

His fingers instinctively touched that ring now.

Cold metal met warm skin.

Impossible.

Nobody should know those details.

Not the watch.

Not the scar.

Not the ring.

The artist would have needed access to information almost no one possessed.

A murmur finally began moving through the crowd.

People exchanged uneasy glances.

Others studied Adrian as though comparing him to the painting.

As though checking whether the corpse truly resembled the man standing before them.

It did.

Perfectly.

The resemblance was unsettling.

Adrian forced himself to look away.

That was when he noticed her.

A young woman stood directly in front of the painting.

At first, she seemed unremarkable compared to the spectacle surrounding her.

Yet something about her immediately captured his attention.

Perhaps it was the fact that she wasn't looking at the artwork.

She was looking at him.

Dark hair framed her face.

Pale blue eyes held his gaze without hesitation.

Her black dress seemed oddly simple compared to the expensive gowns worn by the women around her.

Yet she somehow stood out more than any of them.

Beautiful.

Undeniably beautiful.

But that wasn't what stole Adrian's attention.

It was the expression on her face.

Shock.

Pure shock.

As though she had seen something she never expected to see.

Or someone.

Him.

The woman took a step backward.

Then another.

Her eyes never left his.

Adrian frowned slightly.

Why was she looking at him like that?

More importantly—

Why did it feel as though he knew her?

The thought made no sense.

He had never seen her before.

He was certain of it.

Adrian rarely forgot a face.

Especially one like hers.

And yet something about her seemed familiar.

Not familiar in the ordinary sense.

Deeper than that.

Like a memory he couldn't quite reach.

A dream half forgotten after waking.

The sensation sent an unexpected shiver through him.

The woman stopped moving.

For several seconds they simply stared at one another across the crowded ballroom.

Then something strange happened.

Adrian felt an unfamiliar tightening inside his chest.

A pull.

An instinct.

A need to reach her.

The feeling was absurd.

He didn't believe in fate.

He certainly didn't believe in love at first sight.

Yet standing there, looking into those pale blue eyes, he found himself unable to look away.

Every instinct told him to leave.

To find the artist responsible.

To demand answers.

Instead, he began walking toward her.

The crowd parted automatically.

People always moved when Adrian Voss walked.

Power had a way of creating space.

Conversations died.

Guests stepped aside.

A clear path opened between them.

Still, the woman didn't move.

She remained exactly where she stood.

Waiting.

Watching.

As though she had known this moment would happen.

The closer Adrian came, the stronger that strange feeling became.

His heartbeat slowed rather than quickened.

A calm certainty settled over him.

It made no sense.

Nothing about this night made sense.

When he finally stopped, only a few feet separated them.

Up close, her eyes were even more unsettling.

Not because they were beautiful.

Because they were familiar.

The realization struck him again.

Stronger this time.

And just as impossible.

For several long seconds neither of them spoke.

The noise of the ballroom faded into the background.

The painting.

The coffin.

The crowd.

Everything seemed distant.

Only the woman remained clear.

Then she whispered,

"You weren't supposed to be here."

Adrian blinked.

Of all the things he expected her to say, that wasn't one of them.

One eyebrow rose slightly.

"I own the building."

For a fraction of a second, he almost expected her to smile.

She didn't.

Instead, her face turned pale.

"No," she said quietly.

The confidence in Adrian's expression faded.

Something in her voice unsettled him.

"Not here."

A strange shiver passed through him.

He studied her carefully.

She wasn't joking.

She wasn't confused.

If anything, she looked frightened.

"What does that mean?" he asked.

The woman glanced toward the painting.

Toward the date engraved beneath his name.

2027.

Then she looked back at him.

For the first time, Adrian noticed fear in her eyes.

Not fear of him.

Fear for him.

The realization caught him off guard.

Why would a stranger be afraid for him?

Who was she?

And how did she seem to know something he didn't?

The woman swallowed.

Her gaze lingered on his face.

As though she were searching for something.

Or trying to decide whether to tell him the truth.

The silence stretched between them.

Around them, the crowd watched openly now.

Nobody pretended otherwise.

Everyone wanted to hear what she would say.

Adrian wanted to hear it too.

More than he cared to admit.

Finally, she spoke.

Her voice was barely audible.

Almost lost beneath the silence of the ballroom.

"You're not supposed to meet me until the day you die."

For one endless second, Adrian simply stared at her.

The words echoed through his mind.

Impossible.

Absurd.

And yet the fear in her eyes made it impossible to dismiss them completely.

Before he could answer—

The lights went out.

The ballroom vanished.

One moment, crystal chandeliers blazed overhead.

The next, darkness swallowed everything.

Gasps erupted throughout the room.

Someone screamed.

A glass shattered somewhere in the distance.

For a brief second, nobody moved.

The sudden darkness had frozen everyone in place.

Including Adrian.

His eyes searched the blackness instinctively, but it was useless.

There was nothing to see.

Only darkness.

And the memory of pale blue eyes staring directly into his.

"You're not supposed to meet me until the day you die."

The words echoed inside his head.

What kind of thing was that to say?

Who was she?

And why had she looked so terrified when she said it?

Around him, the crowd finally began to react.

Voices rose from every direction.

"What's happening?"

"Did the power fail?"

"Someone call security!"

The once-perfect silence shattered into chaos.

Yet Adrian barely heard any of it.

His attention remained fixed on the spot where the woman had been standing.

Just a few feet away.

Close enough to touch.

Close enough to ask questions.

Questions he desperately needed answered.

The emergency lights flickered.

A faint red glow appeared along the walls.

Not enough to illuminate the ballroom completely.

But enough to reveal shapes and movement.

Adrian immediately looked toward the woman.

His stomach dropped.

She was gone.

The space where she had been standing was empty.

People pushed past one another in confusion, but there was no sign of her.

No black dress.

No dark hair.

Nothing.

It was as if she had vanished.

A sharp feeling of disappointment struck him unexpectedly.

It annoyed him.

He wasn't supposed to care.

He didn't know her.

Yet every instinct screamed that letting her disappear was a mistake.

The lights flickered again.

This time the red glow strengthened slightly.

Guests began pulling out their phones.

Tiny screens illuminated anxious faces.

Security personnel moved quickly through the crowd.

Adrian ignored all of them.

His gaze swept across the ballroom.

Searching.

Looking for any sign of her.

Nothing.

She had disappeared completely.

"Mr. Voss."

A voice interrupted his thoughts.

He turned.

Marcus Hale, his head of security, was already pushing through the crowd toward him.

Tall and broad-shouldered, Marcus looked irritated more than concerned.

Which was unusual.

Marcus rarely allowed emotions to show.

"Are you alright?"

Adrian nodded.

"What happened?"

"We're checking."

Marcus glanced toward the ceiling.

"Looks like a power outage."

"No."

Marcus frowned.

Adrian turned toward the painting.

The massive artwork still stood beneath the spotlight platform.

Or rather, where the spotlight had been.

Even in the dim emergency lighting, the image remained visible.

The coffin.

The lilies.

The rain.

His name.

Something about it made his skin crawl.

"This wasn't an accident."

Marcus followed his gaze.

"You think it's related?"

Adrian didn't answer immediately.

His eyes moved across the crowd again.

Still searching.

Still hoping to catch sight of pale blue eyes.

Nothing.

Finally, he spoke.

"Find the artist."

Marcus blinked.

"The artist?"

"The person who painted that."

Marcus looked toward the artwork.

Then back at Adrian.

"Understood."

Without another word, he disappeared into the crowd.

Adrian remained where he was.

The ballroom was slowly returning to life.

Guests were already talking again.

Some appeared frightened.

Others seemed excited.

A scandal was unfolding.

And wealthy people loved scandals.

Several people glanced toward Adrian before quickly looking away.

As though they weren't sure whether it was appropriate to stare at a man attending his own funeral.

The thought almost made him laugh.

Almost.

Instead, his gaze drifted once more toward the painting.

The date stared back at him.

Only a year away.

Ridiculous.

He didn't believe in prophecies.

Didn't believe in destiny.

The future wasn't something that happened to people.

It was something people created.

That philosophy had built his entire life.

Yet tonight had shaken something inside him.

Not because of the painting.

Because of her.

The woman had reacted before seeing him.

As if his presence alone had changed something.

As if he wasn't supposed to be there.

The memory refused to leave him.

Adrian exhaled slowly.

For the first time in years, he felt uncertain.

And he hated it.

A movement near the far end of the ballroom caught his attention.

Dark hair.

A black dress.

His heartbeat immediately quickened.

Without thinking, he started walking.

The crowd parted automatically.

He moved faster this time.

Ignoring curious looks.

Ignoring whispered conversations.

Ignoring everything except the figure disappearing through an open doorway.

By the time he reached it, the woman was gone.

The corridor beyond was empty.

Silent.

A long stretch of polished marble illuminated by emergency lighting.

No footsteps.

No voices.

No sign that anyone had been there at all.

Adrian stopped.

His jaw tightened.

He was being ridiculous.

Chasing a stranger through hallways because of a few cryptic sentences.

Yet something deep inside him refused to let the matter go.

The woman knew something.

He was certain of it.

And for reasons he couldn't explain, he felt that finding her had suddenly become more important than understanding the painting itself.

A soft sound interrupted his thoughts.

He froze.

Someone was standing at the far end of the corridor.

A silhouette.

Motionless.

Watching him.

The emergency lights were too dim to reveal a face.

Only a figure.

For several seconds neither moved.

Then the figure turned.

And walked around the corner.

Adrian immediately followed.

His footsteps echoed through the corridor.

Fast.

Controlled.

Determined.

He reached the corner seconds later.

And stopped.

The hallway beyond was empty.

Completely empty.

No doors opening.

No footsteps fading into the distance.

Nothing.

The figure had vanished.

A strange chill passed through him.

For the first time that evening, Adrian felt genuinely unsettled.

Not frightened.

Just aware that something wasn't right.

Something he couldn't yet understand.

His phone vibrated suddenly inside his pocket.

The sound felt unusually loud in the silence.

Adrian pulled it out.

A message.

Unknown number.

Only four words.

His heartbeat slowed.

Then stopped.

Because he recognized them immediately.

The message read:

You came too early.

Adrian stared at the screen.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

The words didn't change.

Slowly, he looked up.

The corridor remained empty.

Silent.

Waiting.

And somewhere in Blackwood Estate, a woman with pale blue eyes knew exactly what those words meant.

The question was—

Why did it feel like she wasn't the one who sent them?

Adrian stared at the screen.

You came too early.

Four simple words.

Yet they carried a weight he couldn't explain.

The message had arrived from an unknown number. No name. No information. No clue as to who had sent it.

Only those four words.

Slowly, he read them again.

Then again.

A year ago, he would have dismissed it as a prank.

A month ago, he would have handed it to security and forgotten about it.

But tonight was different.

Tonight, someone had painted his death.

A stranger had looked at him as though she'd seen a ghost.

And then she'd told him something impossible.

"You're not supposed to meet me until the day you die."

Now this.

"You came too early."

The two statements felt connected.

As though they were pieces of the same puzzle.

The problem was that Adrian couldn't see the picture they formed.

His thumb hovered over the screen.

For a moment, he considered replying.

Instead, he slipped the phone back into his pocket.

Whoever had sent the message clearly knew something.

Replying would only tell them they had his attention.

And right now, Adrian wanted answers more than he wanted to give away information.

A voice echoed through the corridor behind him.

"Mr. Voss."

Marcus.

Adrian turned.

His head of security was approaching quickly.

The man's expression wasn't difficult to read.

Something had happened.

"What is it?" Adrian asked.

Marcus stopped a few feet away.

"We found the artist."

Adrian's pulse quickened.

"And?"

Marcus hesitated.

That alone was enough to make Adrian uneasy.

Marcus never hesitated.

"The artist isn't here."

"What do you mean?"

"The guest list confirms she attended."

A pause.

"But security footage shows her leaving the estate forty-two minutes before the exhibition started."

Adrian frowned.

"That's impossible."

Marcus nodded.

"That's exactly what I thought."

The exhibition's main attraction had been unveiled less than twenty minutes ago.

Which meant the artist had supposedly left before anyone had even seen the painting.

Before the room had fallen silent.

Before the crowd had gathered around it.

Before Adrian himself had arrived.

The timeline made no sense.

"Where is she now?" Adrian asked.

"We don't know."

Marcus handed him a tablet.

A photograph filled the screen.

A woman stood beside a large canvas.

Dark blonde hair.

Green eyes.

Mid-thirties.

Definitely not the woman from the ballroom.

Adrian looked up.

"This isn't her."

Marcus frowned.

"The artist?"

"The woman."

Marcus studied him carefully.

For the first time, Adrian realized he hadn't mentioned her.

Not to Marcus.

Not to anyone.

"There's another woman involved?" Marcus asked.

Adrian hesitated.

He wasn't sure why.

Perhaps because the entire thing sounded ridiculous when spoken aloud.

A mysterious woman.

A prophecy of death.

A blackout.

An anonymous message.

It sounded like the plot of a bad novel.

Yet every part of it had happened.

"There was someone standing in front of the painting."

Marcus waited.

"And?"

"She said something strange."

"What kind of strange?"

Adrian considered repeating her exact words.

Instead, he shook his head.

"It doesn't matter."

Marcus's expression suggested he disagreed.

Fortunately, he chose not to argue.

"Should I have security locate her?"

"Yes."

"Description?"

Adrian immediately pictured her face.

The pale blue eyes.

The dark hair.

The fear hidden beneath her calm expression.

A strange sensation twisted inside his chest.

As if merely remembering her was enough to unsettle him.

He pushed the feeling aside.

"Dark hair. Blue eyes. Black dress."

Marcus stared at him.

"That's half the women in this building."

Adrian almost smiled.

"Then start with the ones who looked terrified when they saw me."

Marcus sighed.

"That narrows it down considerably."

Without another word, he turned and disappeared back toward the ballroom.

Adrian remained alone in the corridor.

His gaze drifted toward a nearby window.

Rain had begun falling outside.

Tiny droplets tapped softly against the glass.

The sound reminded him of the painting.

Rain.

Lilies.

A coffin.

His coffin.

The image refused to leave his mind.

A sudden memory surfaced.

Something he had noticed earlier.

Something he'd overlooked.

The headstone.

Not just the date.

There had been something else.

A symbol.

Small.

Barely visible near the bottom of the stone.

Adrian straightened.

The woman had worn a silver pendant.

And on that pendant—

The same symbol.

His heartbeat quickened.

He knew he wasn't imagining it.

The image flashed clearly through his memory.

A circle intersected by three thin lines.

Simple.

Elegant.

Unfamiliar.

Yet somehow significant.

Why would the same symbol appear both on the headstone and around the woman's neck?

The coincidence felt too deliberate.

Too precise.

A notification sound interrupted his thoughts.

His phone vibrated again.

Adrian immediately reached for it.

Another message.

Unknown number.

This time there were only three words.

Leave the estate.

His expression darkened.

A second message appeared before he could react.

Now.

Adrian stared at the screen.

For several seconds, he did nothing.

Then—

His phone rang.

The sudden sound echoed through the corridor.

Unknown caller.

The same number.

For the first time all evening, Adrian felt genuine hesitation.

Every instinct told him not to answer.

He accepted the call anyway.

Silence.

No voice.

No breathing.

Nothing.

Then a woman spoke.

Not the woman from the ballroom.

An older voice.

Calm.

Urgent.

Afraid.

"Mr. Voss?"

Adrian's grip tightened around the phone.

"Who is this?"

"You have to leave."

The line crackled.

Static hissed through the speaker.

Adrian's patience disappeared.

"Who are you?"

The woman ignored the question.

"Listen carefully."

The fear in her voice made his stomach tighten.

"You're in danger."

Adrian laughed softly.

"Danger is a daily occurrence for me."

"This isn't."

The certainty in her tone erased his amusement immediately.

A long silence followed.

Then she spoke again.

Very quietly.

"As long as you're there, they'll find you."

Adrian's eyes narrowed.

"They?"

The woman didn't answer.

Instead, he heard something unexpected.

Footsteps.

Running.

As though she was moving.

Or hiding.

Then her breathing became uneven.

Panicked.

Terrified.

The sound sent a cold chill through him.

"What's happening?" he demanded.

For a moment, all he heard was static.

Then the woman whispered something.

So quietly he almost missed it.

"They know you met her."

Adrian froze.

His heartbeat thundered in his ears.

The woman.

The mysterious stranger.

The one with pale blue eyes.

Before he could ask another question—

A loud crash echoed through the phone.

The woman screamed.

The call ended.

Silence.

Adrian lowered the phone slowly.

The corridor suddenly felt colder than before.

Far colder.

For several seconds, he simply stood there.

Listening.

Thinking.

Trying to make sense of everything.

Then he noticed something.

A reflection.

In the dark glass of the nearby window.

Someone was standing behind him.

Watching.

Adrian spun around instantly.

The corridor was empty.

No footsteps.

No movement.

No one there.

Yet when he looked back at the glass—

The reflection was gone.

And written across the fogged surface of the window were three words.

Words that hadn't been there moments earlier.

Find her first.