Tied by Fate Bound by Time

It was supposed to be a normal morning.

Luna Carter reminded herself of that while pulling on her boots, muttering it under her breath at the bus stop, and once more while riding the creaky elevator up to the twelfth floor of Willow Creek City Hall.

But normal didn't seem to stick to Luna.

Not anymore.

Not since she opened the red box.

Not since the name Seraphina started slipping into her dreams like a forgotten melody.

And especially not since she met him—Asher Grayson.

The walking thunderstorm in a tailored black suit.

Every time she saw him—even when he wasn't looking at her—something inside her cracked open. A little deeper. A little louder.

---

The hallway outside the Legal Department buzzed with its usual chaos. Interns darted around like frantic bees, printers screeched and jammed, and someone from Accounting was yelling about missing coffee filters. Again.

Luna drifted through it like she was underwater. Two case files clutched to her chest. Brain fog thick as cream. She dodged a rogue office chair, sidestepped a rolling cart stacked with binders, and reminded herself to breathe.

She needed coffee. Desperately.

Her head was still full of fire and fragments—last night's vision, Asher's haunted voice whispering:

> "We tried to love each other."

What did that mean?

Were they lovers? Enemies? Something in between?

And why did she keep seeing flames every time she blinked?

---

She was so deep in thought that she didn't hear the footsteps.

Didn't see the figure turning the corner.

Didn't realize that her full cup of piping hot coffee was about to collide with someone's very expensive shirt.

Until—

Crash.

Coffee exploded across a perfectly pressed black shirt.

Luna's mouth fell open.

"No, no, no, no—I am so sorry—"

She looked up.

Of course.

Of course it was him.

---

Asher Grayson stood motionless, coffee dripping from his shirt and sleeves. His dark dress shirt clung slightly to the muscles underneath. His jacket was ruined.

He didn't say a word.

The hallway froze. Phones stopped ringing. Conversation halted. Even the intern carrying the three-tiered binder tray paused mid-sprint.

Luna swallowed hard.

"I think I might actually throw myself down the stairwell," she whispered.

Asher blinked once. Slowly.

"I can fix this," she said too quickly. "I have tissues. Or, like, a time machine."

Still no reaction. His face unreadable—stone carved by caffeine disaster.

"I swear I wasn't aiming for you," she added. "You just… appeared. Like a terrifying wizard."

His brow twitched.

Progress.

---

She stepped forward before her brain caught up, dabbing at his shirt with the corner of her sleeve. "I'll pay for dry cleaning. Or buy you a new—"

Her fingers brushed his chest.

And everything stopped.

The hallway disappeared.

The noise vanished.

A strange heat surged up her arm—not from the coffee, but from something deeper. Something ancient. Electric.

She gasped.

So did he.

And for a single, staggering heartbeat, Luna saw something that didn't belong to now:

A room wreathed in flame.

A silver ring slipping from her fingers.

Asher reaching for her—

Calling out, not Luna—

> "Seraphina!"

And then it was gone.

---

She stumbled backward, breath shallow, hand trembling.

Asher stared at her like he'd been hit.

"You felt that," he said, voice raw.

She nodded, stunned. "What was that?"

He didn't answer. Just stared at her, eyes narrowed like she was a puzzle he'd forgotten how to solve.

Then, softly—more to himself than to her:

> "The magic remembers you."

---

Luna turned and bolted.

Not sprinting. Not dramatic.

But fast enough to nearly take out the HR bulletin board and clip a poor innocent ficus near the stairwell.

Her heart thundered in her ears.

She ducked into the tiny café nook on the eleventh floor, slid into a chair, and buried her face in her hands.

"What the hell was that?" she whispered. "Seriously, what was that?"

Her palm still buzzed from where she'd touched him.

And the strangest part?

It didn't feel like the first time.

---

Across the building, Asher stepped into his office, shrugging off his soaked coat.

He stood by the window, rain sliding down the glass like slow-moving tears.

His shirt clung to his skin. But it wasn't the coffee bothering him.

It was her.

That flash of memory—no, not memory. Something older. Deeper.

It hadn't just been images this time.

It was feeling.

Heat. Fear. Loss.

The curse was waking up again.

And Luna Carter was at the center of it.

---

Down in the lobby, the doors of City Hall swung open.

Sienna Vale walked in like she owned the ground beneath her heels.

Her white silk pantsuit shimmered faintly under the lights. Her lipstick was war-paint red. Her stare cut like glass.

She didn't wait to be greeted.

She was the greeting.

The receptionist straightened instantly. "Ms. Vale! We didn't know—"

"I know," Sienna said smoothly. "Tell Asher I'm here. And no"—her fingers tapped the counter—"he doesn't get to reschedule."

She wasn't looking for enemies.

She was looking for Luna Carter.

She just didn't know it yet.

---

Back in the café, Luna cradled a cup of decaf like it was a lifeline. She no longer trusted herself with real caffeine.

A familiar voice chirped beside her.

"Hey bestie. Who'd you assault with coffee this time?"

Luna groaned. "Don't make me say it."

Her friend's eyes went wide. "No."

"Yes."

"No."

"It was him."

"Asher Grayson?!" the girl practically shrieked. A lady at the pastry case dropped her croissant.

Luna dropped her head to the table. "Just end me."

"Oh no," her friend grinned. "I'm reviving you. I saw how he looked at you yesterday—like you were either his soulmate or his ruin. That man's walking brooding trauma."

"You're not helping."

"So… did the shirt cling perfectly?"

"I'm not answering that."

"That's a yes," she whispered. "So? What happened?"

Luna hesitated.

Then, quietly, honestly:

> "Something… magical."

---

Later that afternoon, Luna sat at her desk pretending to work.

Her screen glowed with a fake spreadsheet while she secretly googled things like "Seraphina fire ring reincarnation" and "ancient magical curses involving time."

Nothing solid.

Just folklore. Rumors.

But one theme repeated.

Fire.

Rings.

Time.

She stared at the screen, unsettled.

Then a shadow passed behind her chair.

She turned.

Asher.

He didn't say anything. Just handed her a file. Their fingers brushed again.

A spark. Small. Still there.

He looked at her—not cold.

Just quiet. Uncertain.

"Be careful," he murmured.

And walked away.

---

Upstairs, on the top floor, Sienna Vale stood at the window of Asher's old office, watching the rain blur the skyline.

The Grayson crest glinted from the bracelet on her wrist.

She had waited long enough.

"I warned you, Asher," she murmured. "Fate doesn't like to be rewritten."

On the desk behind her sat an open folder.

Inside, a photo of Luna.

Labeled in red:

"Possible Reincarnation Match: Seraphina."

Sienna closed it with a slow smile.

> "Let's see how long she survives this time."

---

End of Chapter