Strings and Schemes

Chapter 38

I desperately wish I could numb my feelings like Raina used to, but the idea of loosing myself and escaping this feeling is a betrayal I couldn't live with. So instead, I turn on my video game console and play til my eyes are red. Getting whatever frustrating and rage out in the best way I can. When blue-dawn starts, I don't even notice that I fell asleep.

I dream of her, of course. Her smile, her laughter, her etch-a-sketch head shake, her furrowed brows, the way she throws herself into her work, the way she makes me smile. The way I feel when I make her smile. For some time, I forget it's a dream - preferring to live in the reality where she's alive, and mine, and well.

She kisses my chest as she moves up my body, craning my neck to the side as she places delicate kisses that leave me wanting more, until she turns my face to look at her and my breath hitches. I kiss her with my full body. Moaning and leaning into her.

"Oi! Mate. Wake up!" Niall says, shaking me. "We've got shit to do. It's 10 am and you've got to get the smell of London and liquor off of you."

I groan, eyes prickling. 

It had felt so real. I am in the reality where Raina Addams isn't at my side as I wake, and I can't just call her up or text her random thoughts. I can't expect her to walk through my flat, or her flats door and tell me all about her day or ask about mine. All I can expect is that in this reality, she's gone.

I pull myself from the bed, finally smelling the waft of odour coming from my pores.

"Alright, that's the last time someone lets me get on a plane without showering first." I offer a laugh to Niall, who watches me tentatively, like I'm fragile and about to break.

It makes me feel more combustable to have his pitying glances. I grind my teeth and walk towards the shower. Showering alone feels so much worse than ever before.

By the time I drag myself out of the shower, the suite is buzzing with movement. Liam is on his laptop, Niall's flipping through notes, Louis is sipping coffee like it's an Olympic sport, and Harry is staring at his phone, probably debating whether to post something cryptic for dramatic effect.

The scent of burnt toast tells me someone—likely Niall—tried to make breakfast.  Or maybe this is a god-awful nightmare and I'm having a stroke. My head is still pounding from lack of sleep, but there's no time to sit around.

I step out into the main area, towel around my neck, rubbing the back of my head. "Please tell me we have a plan."

Liam looks up from his laptop, his expression sharper than usual. "We're finding Olivia."

Louis grins. "Good morning to you too, sleeping beauty."

I glare at him before turning back to Liam. "You have a lead?"

Liam nods. "She works at a film studio in Brooklyn."

We don't waste time.

Within the hour, we're outside a small film production office in Brooklyn, tucked between a boarded-up café and an overpriced juice bar. The air is thick with the scent of exhaust, coffee, and city grit.

Liam leads the way, hands shoved in his pockets, jaw tight with determination.

Louis nudges him. "You're going to do the talking, yeah?"

Liam nods.

Louis smirks. "And you're sure that has nothing to do with the fact that you're trying to act all noble while I—"

"Shut up," Liam mutters.

I let out a deep breath, pulling my hoodie up as we step inside.

The studio is busy—a mix of people in headsets, someone adjusting a camera rig, a frazzled intern dropping a tray of coffee. But our focus is on Olivia.

She's at the far end of the room, standing near a monitor, flipping through a script. She hasn't noticed us yet.

Olivia Monroe had the kind of beauty that was effortless but sharp, like a blade wrapped in silk. Freckles dusted across her porcelain skin, soft but noticeable, like tiny constellations scattered over her nose and cheekbones. Her auburn hair was thick and wild in a way that made it clear she rarely bothered to tame it, always tucked behind her ears in some messy but artful way.

Her dark, expressive brows framed hazel-green eyes, the kind that flickered between warm curiosity and quiet skepticism, depending on her mood. Long lashes softened the sharpness of her gaze, but nothing could dull the intelligence that sparked behind them. Her full lips—naturally pink, almost like she had just bitten them—tilted slightly whenever she was amused, which was often.

She was petite but carried herself with an air of confidence that made her seem taller, her posture always poised, her presence commanding without trying. She had the kind of delicate features that could be mistaken for softness, but there was nothing fragile about her. Her voice was smooth, but when she spoke, there was a bite to it—a quiet, unwavering intensity that made you listen.

And then there was the way Louis looked at her—like he was noticing all of this at once and pretending he wasn't.

Liam squares his shoulders. "Let me talk to her first."

Louis smirks again, muttering, "Yeah, sure, mate. Very noble."

Liam shoots him a glare before stepping forward.