Chapter 308

Jace's POV

I rushed through the entrance of the exhibition hall, slightly out of breath as I navigated through the sea of perfectly dressed attendees. The show had already begun-soft, pulsing music filled the air as models gracefully glided down the illuminated runway. My eyes quickly scanned the room until I spotted Drew's familiar silhouette.

Slipping into the empty seat beside him, I tried to catch my breath.

"Why so late?" Drew asked, his hand steadying my elbow as I settled in. His eyes searched my face with concern.

"Flight delay. Traffic was a nightmare," I exhaled, straightening my jacket. The simple explanation masked the chaos of my day-a delayed flight from Manhattan, a driver who seemed determined to hit every red light, and the constant stream of messages from my production team.

Drew leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Perfect timing. Maeve is about to walk."

I nodded, my attention immediately drawn to the runway.

"So, Maeve mentioned you're filming her movie next month?" Drew's questioned.

"Yeah," I responded, keeping my voice low. "We start shooting next month. Probably a one to two-month schedule, mostly in Manhattan."

"That's good," Drew nodded approvingly.

I rarely attended these fashion shows despite my work in the film industry. But when Marlon Wright had extended the invitation after I'd shot a commercial for him that had exceeded his expectations, I couldn't refuse. It wasn't in my nature to decline such gestures, even when my schedule barely allowed for it.

Drew shifted in his seat, his eyes scanning the front row. "I ran into Serena earlier, backstage. She's sitting in the front row, watching the show."

My gaze immediately found her, her posture perfect as she sat attentively in the front row, her eyes fixed on the models. Even from this distance, I could see the intensity of her focus.

It struck me then that in the three years since Lucas's death, Serena and I had barely crossed paths. The realization left a hollow feeling in my chest. His absence still felt like an open wound. I had been abroad, recovering from my own health issues, when I received the news of his passing.

I had reached out to Serena once after coming back, but our conversation had been stilted, both of us carefully avoiding any mention of Lucas. The shared grief had created a strange distance between us, rather than bringing us closer.

"Serena was asking about Eleanor earlier," Drew said suddenly, pulling me from my memories.

My heart skipped. Eleanor Yates. A name I hadn't heard in conversation for so long.

"Has Eleanor contacted you?" Drew asked, his eyes studying my reaction.

"No," I said simply, hoping the single word would end the conversation.

Drew wasn't deterred. "And you haven't reached out to her either?"

I pressed my lips together, choosing my words carefully. "She must have her own life now."

Drew's face flushed with emotion. "Eleanor sacrificed everything for you back then-"

"Could you please keep it down?" someone behind us whispered sharply.

Drew swallowed whatever he had been about to say, his jaw tightening. I said nothing, grateful for the interruption. What could I say about Eleanor that wouldn't sound hollow or insufficient? That I still thought of her? That I wondered if she was happy? That I sometimes woke in the middle of the night, reaching for someone who wasn't there?

Serena's POV

The lights dimmed across the venue, leaving only the brilliant illumination of the runway. I shifted slightly in my front-row seat, smoothing the fabric of my dress as I prepared for the next collection. The murmur of conversations around me faded as music pulsed through the speakers.

Then he appeared.

A tall figure stepped onto the runway, moving with a confidence that instantly commanded the room. My breath caught in my throat. Something about the way he moved-the slight tilt of his head, the rhythm of his stride-sent a jolt of recognition through my body before my mind could process why.

"Oh my god, look at him," whispered the woman beside me, her voice tinged with admiration.

All around me, I could hear similar whispers of appreciation rippling through the audience. Women leaned forward in their seats, eyes fixed on the model as he made his way down the runway with practiced grace.

"Speaking from a man's perspective, I have to admit that guy's pretty damn good-looking." Atticus praised.

But I barely heard him. My eyes were locked on the model's profile, then his back as he turned. The broad shoulders. The way he held his head. The familiar stance that had haunted my dreams for years.

Lucas.

My hand began to tremble. I gripped the edge of my seat, my knuckles turning white as I fought the overwhelming urge to stand up, to shout his name across the crowded venue. My heart hammered against my ribcage so violently I was certain everyone could hear it.

"Serena?" Benjamin Kennedy gripped my arm, his voice low but firm. "It's not him."

I couldn't tear my eyes away. The model turned again, and for a moment-just a heartbeat-I could have sworn he looked directly at me. In that instant, I was transported back to that terrible day. The last time I'd seen Lucas. His figure disappearing with Rachel Thorne, their silhouettes growing smaller against the horizon until they vanished completely. The explosion that followed. The way my world had shattered into a million irreparable pieces.

My vision blurred with tears I refused to let fall.

"It can't be," I whispered, more to myself than to Kennedy.

How many nights had I lain awake, imagining scenarios where Lucas had survived? How many times had I convinced myself to accept reality, only to have hope flare up again at the slightest provocation?

And now this.

My entire body trembled. I couldn't breathe properly, couldn't focus on anything but the man who so eerily resembled the love I had lost.

"Serena." Kennedy's voice cut through my thoughts. "Calm down. I'll find out."

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. I knew how dangerous hope could be. How it could build you up only to destroy you more thoroughly than before. The higher the hope, the harder the fall. And I had fallen so far already.

But I couldn't stop the wild beating of my heart, couldn't quell the frantic thoughts racing through my mind.

Kennedy pulled out his phone, his voice dropping to a near-whisper. "Get me everything you can on the model who just walked. I want his complete file. And have someone watch him. Don't let him leave without us knowing."

He turned back to me. "We'll check first, then decide what to do."

I nodded again, trying to control my shaking hands. The rest of the show passed in a blur. I couldn't focus on the remaining models, couldn't appreciate the designs that normally would have captivated my attention.

Everything else-the music, the applause, the flashing cameras-faded into background noise.

Approximately half an hour later, Kennedy leaned over again. "The information's been sent to your phone. You should take a look."

My heart skipped a beat. The moment of truth had arrived, and suddenly I wasn't sure I was ready for it. My phone felt impossibly heavy in my hand, the notification blinking accusingly at me.

I swallowed hard, my finger hovering over the screen. With a deep breath, I finally tapped the notification. The file opened, revealing a photograph of the model alongside his information. Same strong jawline. Same penetrating eyes. Same perfect features that had once been as familiar to me as my own.

But the name beneath the photograph wasn't Lucas Harrington.

Mateo García.