Chapter 8 The Ghostwriter's Heart

> "I was supposed to write his story. I didn't mean to write myself into it."

Alora finally confesses what this job-and this man-have done to her heart.

⭐⭐⭐⭐

Alora didn't leave the estate.

But she stopped showing up in the library.

Stopped answering his texts.

Stopped writing.

Julian didn't chase her.

Not because he didn't want to-but because he didn't know how to.

She had always walked into his life like music-uninvited but unforgettable. And now, with her gone, everything felt too quiet. Too heavy. Too real.

He tried to focus on meetings. Deadlines. Projections.

But all he could think about was the way she'd looked at him when Elena's recording played. Hurt. Betrayed. Alone.

Meanwhile, Alora sat by the window in the guesthouse, staring out at the gardens she used to find comfort in. Her laptop sat unopened beside her. A blank Word document blinked in silent judgment.

She had everything she needed to finish the memoir.

The secrets. The timeline. The pain.

But her fingers wouldn't move.

Because now... every word felt personal.

It wasn't just his story anymore.

It had tangled into hers.

She remembered the first time she saw him laugh-not just a polite smile, but that rare, unguarded laugh he never gave to anyone else.

She remembered the nights they sat in silence, comfortable and close.

And she remembered that almost kiss that still lived rent-free in her pulse.

What am I doing? she whispered to herself.

When did he stop being just a subject?

She walked to the bookshelf in the corner and pulled out her private journal-the one no one ever saw. Inside were scattered thoughts, late-night rambles, feelings she'd refused to name.

And in the center, a page titled:

"The Ghostwriter's Heart."

She started to write.

> I didn't mean to fall in love with you.

It happened in stolen moments and unfinished sentences. In the way your eyes softened when no one was watching. In the silences that felt safer than any conversation.

I came here to write your story. But somewhere along the way, I began writing ours.

A tear slipped down her cheek before she even noticed.

She closed the journal and stared at the glowing laptop.

Then, for the first time in a week, she opened the file labeled:

Julian Vale: Draft One.

And she began again. This time, not with facts... but with feelings.

With truth.

With love.

---

🌙 Later that night...

Julian found the file in his inbox.

He didn't open it right away.

Instead, he scrolled to the message she left beneath it:

> "If I finish this story, it won't be because of the contract. It'll be because I believe in you. But I need to know, Julian... are you willing to be seen, really seen-even by someone who could break you?"

He stared at the message for a long, long time.

And then he picked up his keys.

Because some hearts...

you don't let walk away.