u/Beehlovato1997

Estou no capítulo 18 de A Cada Três Anos.

Da minha história sobre vampiro q acontece em Ibiza. Ibiza bebê

The sea at Ibiza always looked the same when viewed from afar: calm, bright, almost innocent. But Charlotte Duvall had already learned that beautiful places were rarely honest. She adjusted the collar of her uniform shirt as she walked down the corridor illuminated by golden light and soft music. The club was packed that night—as always—controlled laughter, expensive glasses, bodies too perfect to be real. Everything there was a performance. Even the silence. There was a specific kind of silence that only appeared when she was about to arrive. Charlotte couldn't explain when she had started to notice it. Maybe it hadn't been a beginning, but a recognition. As if the atmosphere itself changed before anyone noticed. And then she saw. At the top of the main staircase, where no one dared to climb without reason, a woman stood. Momentary. Too elegant to seem part of that world. She wore black, without exaggeration, without effort. The kind of presence that didn't draw attention—it just made everything around her lose importance.

Helena de Montclair Sinclair.

Charlotte had never heard the name spoken aloud. Not officially. Not as if it were allowed.

But she knew.

Everyone knew. The woman who appeared every three years.

And always made the club seem smaller when she was there.

Helena descended the first steps calmly. There was no hurry in her movements, as if time were not a rule, but a suggestion. Lucas Moretti passed by Charlotte and let out a low, nervous laugh.

"She arrived earlier this time…" he murmured, without looking directly.

Charlotte didn't answer. She couldn't.

Because there was something wrong with that presence. Something that wasn't visible, but that weighed in the air like electricity before a storm.

Helena stopped in the middle of the stairs.

And looked directly at her. Not at the hall. Not at the movement.

At Charlotte.

For a second too short to be certain, but too long to be ignored, the world seemed to lose its sound.

Charlotte felt her own body forget how to breathe properly.

It wasn't fear. Not yet.

It was the recognition of something she couldn't name.

Helena tilted her head slightly, as if observing a detail that no one else had noticed.

And then she continued down.

As if nothing had happened.

"You're pale," Lucas commented, finally looking at her.

Charlotte blinked, returning to the present with effort.

"Is she always like this?" the question came out before she could stop it.

Lucas hesitated.

That was his first mistake.

"Don't talk about her like that," he said softly. "Just… don't talk about her."

Charlotte followed Helena with her eyes.

And she noticed something that made her stomach clench inexplicably.

People made way for her without realizing it.

Not out of fear.

But as if it were natural.

As if the world already knew she was unstoppable.

On the other side of the room, Isabella Ferreira de Moreau was laughing at something with clients. Light, lightness, life.

Charlotte felt the contrast like a shock.

And, for the first time that night, she had the strange feeling that everything was about to change direction.

As if something old had just started breathing again.

Charlotte tried to ignore the strange feeling Helena's observation had left.

She tried to get back to work.

She tried to convince herself that she was just another important client.

The night continued to be busy. Orders. Reservations. Employees coming and going. Music filling the club's halls.

Still, at times, her eyes would find Helena's figure in different parts of the room. Near the bar. Walking through the corridors. Observing the sea through the enormous glass windows. Nothing unusual. Nothing that justified the discomfort she had felt when the woman stared at her.

Perhaps she was just tired.

• Charlotte? The familiar voice made her turn around.

Isabella was standing near the bar, holding a glass of wine.

She wore a light dress and a calm smile.

"I thought you were avoiding me."

"I'm working and you're strolling around the resort. Hard to compete."

"Then it's envy."

"Definitely."

Isabella laughed.

The two had met a few days before.

They talked by chance.

Then they met again.

And, since then, small conversations seemed to arise naturally whenever their schedules allowed.

"What time does your shift end?" Isabella asked.

"If I'm lucky, before dawn."

"I'll consider that a 'maybe' for coffee tomorrow."

"Maybe."

"I'll accept." Charlotte nodded, amused.

When she looked back at the lounge, Helena was no longer there.

And, for some reason, that seemed to end the strangeness of the night.

At least for now.

The early morning arrived without further events.

When she finally got home, exhaustion overcame any thought. And Helena ended up becoming just another fleeting memory of a shift that was far too long.