Caroline didn't expect to wake up crying.
Not the choking, wailing kind. Just tears. Slow, silent. The kind that slipped past her defenses and slid across the pillow like they'd been waiting all night to fall.
Fifty-two today.
A nice round number. Professional milestone. Age of power. that's what the magazines called it, the ones aimed at women with steel in their spines and silk on their backs. You're in your prime, they said. Own it. Run the boardroom. Be unapologetically you.
She reached for her phone, thumbed through the usual barrage- emails, headlines, a calendar packed so tight it made her chest ache. Not a single message from someone who actually knew her. Not really.
The espresso machine made its brittle, mechanical sigh as she padded barefoot across the sleek floor of high-rise apartment. She took her first sip standing at the window, staring out at the New York skyline that had long ago stopped impressing her.
She had clawed her way to the top in a world where charm was currency and softness was a liability. She had played their game. Beat them at it, even. And somehow, in all that winning, shed lost something she hadn't noticed was gone until it was too late to find her way back.
Music. Klaus.
She hadn't thought about him in months. Maybe years. And yet this morning, he was the only thing she could think about. His laugh. His damn cowboys boots. The way he used to hold her face like it was something precious and say she made him want to write songs in colors.
He'd been dead thirty years. A drunk driver on a wet night. She didn't go to the funeral. She couldn't.
Her reflection caught in the window glass- expensive pajamas, flawless skin routine, eyes that belonged to a stranger. She set the mug down, fingers trembling. Maybe it was the birthday. Or the dream she couldn't remember. Or the fact that she'd been pushing so hard for so long that the wheels had finally come off inside her and she just didn't realize it yet.
..
It was 6.15 a.m. her third espresso had gone cold, but she kept sipping anyway. Across her screen, currency pairs flickered and shifted. Oil was down again. Treasures were holding. Tokyo had tanked overnight. She adjusted her positions, hedged a risk, flagged a warning to compliance.
Same as yesterday. Same as every day before.
The office was high up- a sixty second floor, steel and glass, and cold as a knife. She liked it that way. Cleans lines, minimal clutter.
"Morning boss,"
She didn't look up, "You're late."
The kid flushed, muttered something about reports, and ducked into his cubicle. She exhaled and refocused. Timing was everything. The market didn't care about your feelings, your fatigue, your regrets.
By noon shed booked a modest win ion a short position and dressed down a VP who'd botched a pitch. Lunch was a kale protein shake and half a Clif bar at her desk. She didn't break for yoga. She didn't do rooftop drinks. She had no time for the curated performance of corporate wellness.
She left the office after ten, her heels echoing through the marble lobby.
The doorman at her building offered her a faint smile. "Late one again, Ms. Forbes?"
Caroline nodded, distracted. "aren't they all?"
Her condo was tastefully sterile- white walls, clean wood and a few bold pieces of modern art she'd picked for their names, not their feeling. She kicked off her shoes, hung up her jacket, and stood in the kitchen for a long moment before opening a bottle of wine.
Half a glass. No dinner.
She changed into silk pajamas and padded into the bathroom, washing off the day. When she stared into the mirror, the woman looking back at her was sharp featured, expensively maintained. You'd never guess how tired she was. Or how lonely.
Her phone buzzed. A text from her mother: Happy birthday. Hope you're not working too hard.
She didn't answer. Just slid into bed, the mattress firm, the sheets cool.
But sleep didn't come.
Her thoughts were quicksand- should she have moved harder on the commodities hedge, should she have taken that meeting in Geneva, should she have married Tyler, or at least kept the ring. She closed her eyes and saw charts. Losses. A flicker of a memory she couldn't place. Something warmer. Guitar music. Laughter.
In the middle of the night, she got up to use the bathroom. After washing her hands, she caught a glimpse of her face in the mirror- a little pale. But as she turned to leave, the floor tilted beneath her. She stumbled, hit the tile and everything went black.
..
The world felt wrong.
Everything was loud and soft at the same time breath- too vivid and too vague. Her ears rang, but somewhere in the back of her mind, she could hear a low hum of music. Her chest rose and fell in shallow panic breathes, like her body was trying to convince itself it still belonged to her.
She was backstage.
Or behind a curtain. A bar maybe? It smelled like beer and wood smoke, cheap perfume and cigarette ash. Her hands were trembling around the neck of a guitar- a battered Martin D-18 she hadn't seen in thirty-one years.
No, no, no, no.
She clutched the instrument like it was a life preserver. The crowd beyond the curtain clapped: light, appreciative, casual.
Then-
She heard his voice.
"Evenin'. I'm Klaus. Gonna try a new one tonight- hope y'all don't mind."
The sound sliced through her.
It couldn't be,
Shaking, she edged toward the gap in the curtain, barely breathing and peeked out.
There he was.
Perched on a stool under a cone of golden light, guitar resting on one knee, brown hair curling at his collar and temples, boots tapping lightly on the worn wooden floor. He was beautiful in the way real things were. Lived in. A little unkempt. A little undone.
Klaus.
Alive.
Caroline nearly dropped her guitar.
He strummed a few cords- easy, aching, low- and she felt it in her ribs before she recognized the progression. His voice joined in, rough velvet, heartbreak set to melody. Her legs forgot how to hold her. She sat, hard, on a crate by the curtain and stared like he might vanish if she blinked.
Klaus Mikaelson, Thirty years ago. In the flesh.
The past didn't feel like a metaphor anymore. It felt like sweat behind her knees and the taste of lemon in her drink and the way his thumb brushed a string like it was a secret.
She didn't know what year it was or how she had gotten here. Or how long she had. Maybe it was all a dream and she'd wake up shortly.
But none of it mattered.
Because he was here.
And she had one song's worth of time before she met the love of her life for the first time…again.