Zara Martin clutched her duffel bag tightly as the city lights blurred past the taxi window. Her chest rose and fell in sharp breaths, her eyes rimmed with the sting of betrayal. Just hours ago, she'd walked in on her long-time boyfriend entangled with her best friend—laughing, unbothered, as if her love meant nothing.
Her family hadn't answered her calls. Again. They never did when she truly needed them. All she had now were broken pieces, shattered pride, and a vague desire to start over.
The cab driver glanced at her through the rearview mirror. "You okay, miss?"
Zara swallowed hard. "I will be."
The driver nodded silently and turned up the radio. The melody of a love song filled the silence, thick with irony.
As the car pulled to a stop at a quiet corner near downtown, Zara paid and stepped out. She had no plan, no place to go. Just her determination not to return.
The street was dimly lit. She turned to walk when headlights flared behind her. A sleek black van rolled to a stop, the tinted windows adding an eerie edge. Before she could react, the door slid open.
An older woman in her sixties stepped out. Elegant. Composed. Sharp eyes and silver hair pulled neatly into a bun.
"You're Zara Martin?" the woman asked with uncanny certainty.
Zara froze. "Who's asking?"
"My name is Eleanor Blackwood. I believe we're fated to meet."
Zara blinked. "Do I know you?"
"No. But you will. And you'll come with me. Because you have no one else to turn to, and something tells me you're not afraid of the unknown."
Zara took a cautious step back. "You're a stranger."
"And yet," Eleanor said calmly, "I know your heart is broken. Your family has failed you. And the man you gave your love to? Unworthy."
Zara stared, stunned.
"I offer you a choice," Eleanor continued. "Come with me, and your life will change. There is a man—my grandson—whose life may depend on yours. Or… walk away, and go back to being invisible."
Zara looked at the van, then at the lonely street behind her.
"I don't do cults," she said flatly.
Eleanor chuckled. "Neither do I. I deal in destiny."
It sounded insane. But Zara's instincts didn't scream danger. Just… mystery.
And perhaps, hope.
She climbed into the van.
Eleanor gave a satisfied nod as the door closed. "Wise choice."
***
The drive was silent for a while. Eleanor studied Zara with curiosity.
"You're stronger than you know," she said.
"I'm tired of being strong," Zara murmured. "It's exhausting."
Eleanor's expression softened slightly. "You won't have to be alone anymore."
After nearly an hour, they arrived at a grand estate tucked away from the bustle of the city. The gates opened as if by magic, revealing manicured gardens and a towering mansion.
"This is where Damien lives," Eleanor said. "He's… unwell. Terminally ill, though the media doesn't know."
Zara frowned. "I'm sorry. But why me?"
"Because an oracle said his fate is tied to a woman who bears the scars of betrayal. A woman with a will strong enough to stand beside him. You fit the vision."
"That sounds like nonsense."
Eleanor gave a sad smile. "And yet here you are, defying logic."
They entered the house. A butler greeted them. The air inside was warm, rich with old money and quiet tragedy.
"He doesn't know about you yet," Eleanor said. "You'll meet him tomorrow. Tonight, rest."
Zara was led to a guest room with silk sheets and a chandelier above the bed. It felt like a dream—or a trap.
She didn't sleep much that night.
But deep down, something whispered that this decision—this strange turn of fate—was only the beginning.
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