Page 27 of Click of Fate

But as I say it, I can already feel how that might not matter. Not if she decides she wants to reopen it.

Stella is nothing like Claire. She’s unpredictable, grounded in chaos, and fiercely independent. She doesn’t ask for anything. Doesn’t even stay for coffee unless bribed. But she made me laugh. She surprised me. And today, seeing her again, watching her behind that lens…

It knocked me off-balance.

And now she’s here—in my gym.

My orbit.

And I can’t help but wonder what that means.

I change the subject, but the thick tension lingers between us like humidity that won’t break.

As the crowd starts to thin and the music dips low, I lean back on my stool, nursing the last of my drink. My thoughts drift to two women.

Twovery differentwomen.

One I built something real with—years, memories, plans. And in the end, it crumbled with a single conversation.

The other I barely know. She left after one night, but even so, she’s still in my head and under my skin.

And I’m starting to wonder which one of them has the potential to wreck me more.

Chapter 8

SMELL THE TRAP

STELLA

I’m barely functioning,hunched over my second cup of coffee like it’s the only thing keeping me tethered to this plane of existence.

Across the table, Lilly is bouncing in her seat, swinging her legs like she’s got drumsticks strapped to her feet. She’s eating cereal like it’s a prize she earned overnight and humming a tune that I’m convinced has no melody—just energy. She’s pure, six-year-old chaos.

Harper is already scrolling through her phone, her hair in a stylish bun and her eyes tracking a to-do list I haven’t seen but can somehow feel radiating off her like heat. There’s a calm to her chaos that I’ll never understand. She’s been up for who knows how long, probably already answered multiple emails, packed a lunch, and started planning whatever project she’s tackling at work today.

After several months of living with my sister and niece, you’d think I’d have adjusted to a proper sleep cycle. But no. I still get my second wind around ten p.m. and lose track of time editing until two in the morning. I’ve always been a night owl. Blame theyears chasing unpredictable light and impossible deadlines for photojournalism pieces that couldn’t wait.

Living with a six-year-old, however, means living with the loudest early bird known to man. I’ve been woken up by singing.My Little Ponyon full bast. A conversation with her stuffed animals. And once, an interpretive dance routine that she was practicing for “no reason.”

This morning? It’s cereal and uncontainable enthusiasm.

With a mouthful of Cheerios, Lilly says, “Aunt Stelly, guess what Mr. Luke taught us yesterday!”

Just like that, I’m awake. Not by caffeine, but by name drop.

I lift my mug and take a long, strategic sip. “Can’t imagine.”

Harper grins without looking up. “Oh, good. She’s awake enough to be annoyed.”

Yep. Fully awake now. Unfortunately. I glower at my sister for the snarky comment.

It’s been a week since I saw him. A week since that photo shoot where he somehow managed to be just as annoyingly charming as I remembered. And despite my best efforts, he keeps creeping into my thoughts—usually late at night, when I’m editing and my guard’s down.

I tell myself it’s just curiosity. That he surprised me. That it’s nothing.

But the truth? I hate that I’m not so sure. And of course, Lilly has to bring him up like he’s just some guy. Because to her, he probably is.

To me? Well... I’m still figuring that out.

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