Chapter 2: Ghosts in the Ballroom

I closed my eyes, then opened them.

The ceiling above me was dripping with crystal and gold, the kind of Southern luxury that made you feel like you’d stepped into a magazine spread. I blinked, hoping maybe it was a fever dream, but the same golden lights and faint hum of air conditioning greeted me every time.

Closed them again. Opened them again.

Still Savannah. The air outside was thick with honeysuckle and fried shrimp from the food trucks parked down the block. Even inside, you could almost taste the humidity. My head spun.

After checking several times, I realized I was still in the familiar city of Savannah.

Luxury cars and beautiful people buzzed around the five-star hotel. Camera flashes popped as everyone prepped for the Stanton Group’s annual gala.

It was the sort of night where the place shimmered—black Escalades and limos lined up at the curb, TV crews fighting for the best shot, and that persistent scent of money and old Southern families. People moved like they had somewhere better to be, but nowhere more important.

Me: "...I really did come back."

I pressed my palm to my forehead, half-hoping I’d wake up in my own bed back in another world. No dice. The crowd, the hotel, the Southern drawls—this was real.

Damn it.

I crouched in a corner, motionless.

Pressed myself between a giant fake ficus and a marble pillar, praying nobody noticed the out-of-place woman in flats and a wrinkled dress. Maybe if I held still enough, I’d blend in. Like a weird, nervous garden gnome.

Then, the system’s voice nagged in my head, sharp as ever:

"What are you doing, squatting like you’re about to lay an egg in the middle of the Ritz? Go find the male lead, Host!"

I snapped back, irritation flaring: "Lay an egg? I’ll lay you! Didn’t we agree that once the mission was done, I’d be free? Why am I back again? Three years ago, I nearly got myself killed breaking up with Derek in public, and now you want me to just waltz back in? Why not just let me disappear?"

Typical. Last time I stuck my neck out for Derek, I nearly lost it. Now I’m supposed to play nice again?

"Who else can you blame? You didn’t finish the job right! You left for three years and Derek lost his mind—who else are they gonna call? If you don’t get moving, forget the heroine—the whole world’s gonna fall apart because of him."

My jaw clenched, chest tight. The system always had some technicality to throw at me.

"..."

Speechless, I choked up.

My throat felt raw. Of all the worlds I’d patched up, this was the one that wouldn’t let me go.

A few years back, I took a commission to enter a redemption novel and heal its deranged male lead.

The plan: fix him, hand him off to the heroine, and then I could leave.

But I didn’t expect that after only three years away, he’d spiral again.

And this time, he was the kind of man who could burn the world down if he wanted.

So, I was summoned back.

I squatted there in a daze. The system shrieked:

"Host, look—target character approaching!"

I looked up. Under the dazzling city lights, spotlights flowed like water, illuminating the entrance.

The doors parted for a line of blacked-out cars. A driver in white gloves opened the car door. The man who stepped out was tall, expressionless, his charcoal suit razor-sharp.

He strode toward the venue, assistant trailing nervously behind.

I held my breath.

—Derek Stanton.

Three years apart, he looked more mature, but his aura was colder than ever.

People whispered nearby:

"Is that the new president of Stanton Group? With a face like that, why isn’t he a model?"

"Don’t joke. He’s an illegitimate kid, you know. I heard he used ruthless, underhanded means—got rid of a bunch of execs—to get where he is. Model? Please."

Their voices mixed with the music, gossip buzzing through the air like a summer swarm.

...

I shrank further into the shadows, willing myself to disappear into the fake greenery. The tension in my chest turned to ice.

The next second, a scorching gaze cut through the crowd and landed right on me.

Derek turned, staring at me sharply.

His assistant asked, "What’s wrong, Mr. Stanton?"

I swallowed nervously, dropping my gaze to my shoes—suddenly the most interesting thing in the room.

Derek paused for a few seconds, pressed his lips together, and said, "Nothing."

Then he strode into the ballroom without looking back.

The system cursed:

"Coward! If you don’t go up and talk to him now, when will you?"

I rubbed my nose, muttering:

"Let’s wait a bit longer. He looks so intense now... I feel like he’ll slap me."

Even fiercer than three years ago, when I left this world...

Back then, the heroine was about to make her entrance. My mission was complete. I could leave.

The system made up a fake identity and a fake excuse to help me get away: said my parents went bankrupt and I had to go abroad to avoid trouble.

At the airport, Derek wouldn’t let me go. He just held my hand, eyes raw and desperate, asking again and again:

"How much money? How much do your parents owe?"

I couldn’t break free, so I hugged him and lied: "Just think of me as going far away to buy you strawberries, okay?"

His grip only got tighter, but I kept up the smile, blinking back tears I wouldn’t let him see.

At that time, he hadn’t lost his mind.

Why is he so dangerous now?

I shivered, remembering the way he’d looked at me—desperate, afraid—and wondered what had twisted inside him since.