Chapter 3: Tangled Realities

That spot on Marcus’s lip—how could it be in exactly the same place I’d bitten in my dream?

It was a detail too perfect to be coincidence. My mouth went dry. The world spun just a little. Was I losing it, or was something real happening—something nobody at this table could explain?

Could he be the man from my dreams?

My heart hammered against my ribs, wild with disbelief. This was crazy—utterly impossible. Was I losing my mind?

Impossible.

I repeated the word in my head, a desperate mantra. The universe doesn’t work like that. Right?

My mom turned to me. "Why is your face so red? Do you have a fever?"

Her hand shot out to my forehead. I flinched away, cheeks flaming hotter.

I covered my burning cheeks, not daring to say a word.

The skin beneath my palms felt scalding. I tried to bury the thought, to pretend everything was perfectly normal.

"It’s too hot. I’ll go get some air."

I stood, my chair scraping the floor with a squeal. A few heads turned. My mom frowned, but I ducked away before she could ask more questions.

As I got up, I couldn’t help glancing at Marcus—

I caught his eye—icy blue, laser-sharp, boring straight through me. For a second, the whole world dropped away, leaving only the two of us.

And met his gaze.

My breath caught. His eyes held a flash of something I couldn’t name—surprise, maybe, but something softer beneath.

In those cold eyes, besides surprise, there seemed to be a trace of lingering emotion that hadn’t faded.

Was it recognition? Was it longing? My knees wobbled. I blinked hard, convinced I was imagining things.

I thought I must be seeing things.

I shook my head, as if I could rattle the vision loose. I’d clearly spent too much time lost in my own head.

I wandered absentmindedly to the lakeside, my mind filled with that blurry face from my dreams.

The sticky night air hummed with cicadas. The moon painted a silver path across the water. Somewhere down the hill, someone’s radio played old country tunes, the notes drifting on the humid breeze. I let the darkness swallow me, hoping it would clear my thoughts.

Before long, it transformed into Marcus’s face.

I tried to force the image away, but it only grew sharper—the angle of his jaw, the shadow of a dimple. It was him. Or was it?

Again and again, the two faces overlapped.

Every time I blinked, they merged and separated, like images on an old projector reel. I pressed my palm to my chest, willing my heartbeat to slow.

Impossible.

I dug my nails into my wrist, desperate to anchor myself in reality. This wasn’t some kind of fairy tale.

That man couldn’t possibly be Marcus Sterling.

He was too distant, too important—untouchable. My fantasies belonged in sleep, not in Savannah’s high society.

I pressed a hand to my chest and leaned against a maple tree, trying to shake off that wild thought.

The rough bark dug into my palm. I sucked in a shaky breath, searching for calm. The cool breeze did nothing to steady me.

I had no idea someone had been behind me the whole time.

A twig snapped. Goosebumps prickled along my arms. I spun, heart in my throat.

"Annie."

His voice—deep, unmistakable—rolled over me like thunder on a summer night.

That familiar voice from my dreams rang out, clear as day.

There was no mistaking it. I froze, every nerve ending on high alert.

I turned, breath catching in my throat.

There he stood, framed in moonlight, eyes fixed on me with a strange intensity. Marcus. Here, now, real.

Marcus stood not far away, his sharp gaze fixed on me.

He moved like he owned the ground beneath his feet, hands in his pockets, shoulders relaxed but alert. My pulse stuttered, my thoughts scattering.