The rumor reached him over the clinking of champagne flutes at a charity gala, a mandatory affair he’d been dragged to by an acquaintance.
“What was that? A sorcerer?”
Ethan arched an eyebrow, his forced smile finally dropping. He'd been nursing a glass of wine, nodding along to some vacuous talk about stock options. The man who’d spoken, reeking of whiskey-spiked punch, chuckled.
“That’s the word. Caleb had a fortune teller at his party last week. Put on quite a show, I hear. Spookily accurate, too. Had everyone buzzing.”
“Right.”
Ethan took a slow sip of his wine, the single word dripping with dismissal. Fortune tellers. He found the notion of believing in such charlatans laughable. A bitter laugh, perhaps, but a laugh all the same. He, of all people, had no room to judge.
The truth was, he'd consulted more seers and mystics than he could count, chasing whispers of fate from one darkened room to the next. The question was always the same, a desperate, familiar prayer: Where is my destined partner?
He’d paid fortunes for prophecies that turned to ash in his hands. Every time he thought he’d finally found the one, the connection would sever, the certainty would crumble, and he'd be left alone again. The cycle had repeated itself into a state of numb cynicism. He no longer believed, not blindly.
That was why the news of some new, supposedly gifted fortune teller didn’t move him. He listened with a flicker of passing interest, but his expression remained thoroughly unimpressed.
Sensing Ethan’s disinterest, the man cleared his throat. “Well, it was all in good fun, of course. Except, they apparently gave Liam a rather… ominous reading. He completely lost his temper.”
“Liam?” The name cut through Ethan’s boredom, and his gaze sharpened. “What did they tell him?”
The man shrugged, enjoying his role as the purveyor of gossip.
“Something about a great trial on the horizon. Said if he wasn’t careful, he’d make a mistake he would regret for the rest of his life.”
“What’s he going to do, lose the company?” another man in their circle chimed in with a snort.
A wave of condescending laughter followed. The idea was preposterous. Liam’s empire failing? The sun would burn out first. Ethan shared the sentiment.
The first man continued, “Who knows? The fortune teller said it was something more important than money. But before they could finish, Liam just stormed out. Furious.”
“He always did have a short fuse.”
“Can’t blame him. If someone laid a prediction like that on me, I’d walk out too.”
“Exactly. Nothing good comes from hearing bad news.”
The group murmured in agreement, the conversation soon drifting to safer, more profitable topics.
Ethan swirled the dregs of his wine, the words echoing in his head.
Liam, who had once been as notorious a womanizer as Ethan himself, had settled down years ago in a move that had shocked everyone. After marrying, he’d never so much as looked at another woman. For many, it was still a difficult reality to accept. If anything was precious enough to provoke such a volatile reaction from Liam, it had to be his wife, Chloe. Or maybe their two children.
A fraud.
That was the only logical conclusion. The thought of Chloe leaving Liam was absurd. And as for their two little kids, who were still practically infants? Even more so.
Liam had found his soulmate, the very thing Ethan had bled himself dry searching for.
And he’d found her first.
If there was a god, he was a cruel, biased son of a bitch.
Liam had always mocked Ethan for his obsession with finding his fated partner, only to stumble into his own happy ending without even trying.
Ethan’s jaw tightened at the thought. The bastard had never needed a single fortune told.
And now some upstart psychic had the gall to predict ruin for him? It was a miracle they’d walked away from that party in one piece. They must have used up a lifetime of luck just to escape Liam’s wrath.
Still, if Caleb had invited them, they couldn't be a complete unknown.
But spotting a talented con artist in a sea of them was nearly impossible.
That was the last thought Ethan gave the matter. He set his empty glass down and allowed himself to be swept back into the meaningless currents of party chatter.
The mysterious fortune teller was all but forgotten.
Until a month later, when everything changed.
He found himself frantically calling Caleb, demanding the fortune teller’s contact information.
Because Liam’s so-called bad omen had come true. Down to the last horrifying detail.
And he was in very, very deep trouble.
“Hmm…”
The fortune teller, a woman with silver-streaked hair and a grave expression, stared down at the cards arrayed on the worn velvet tablecloth.
Across from her, Ethan sat with his arms crossed, a scowl etched onto his face. The silence in the small, incense-heavy room stretched thin.
What’s taking so long? Was she stalling? Or was she just another fraud who didn't know how to read the damn cards? His skepticism curdled into outright suspicion. Just as his patience frayed to a single thread, the woman finally sat up, her spine straightening.
“This is… difficult.”
Ethan’s gaze was a physical weight, but the woman kept her eyes on the cards, either avoiding his stare or pointedly ignoring it.
“Your fated partner,” she began, her voice a low murmur. “The path to them is… complicated. Very complicated.”
“So?”
“Are you saying they don’t exist?”
The sharp edge in his voice made the fortune teller blink. She cleared her throat.
“I didn’t say that. But I cannot say with certainty that they do, either.”
“Did you think I came all this way to play word games?”
Ethan’s voice was deceptively soft, his mouth curving into a smile that held no warmth. The woman didn’t need cards to read the energy rolling off him.
He was practically vibrating with rage.
“Of course not.”
Years of dealing with desperate clients had taught her how to smooth over rough edges with a practiced smile.
“You have worked hard to find them. The reason you have failed is because the time was not right.”
“And?” Ethan prompted, his impatience undisguised.
“When will the time be right?” he leaned forward, his voice dangerously low. “Is it still years away? How much longer do I have to wait? Or is my soulmate a damn undertaker? Do I have to die to finally meet them?”
“Please, calm yourself.”
The fortune teller held up a placating hand, as if gentling a wild animal. After a brief pause, she spoke again.
“It will not be long. You will meet them soon. In fact, it’s possible your paths have already crossed.”
“They were right in front of me and I missed them?”
Doubt warred with a new, unwelcome flicker of hope in his eyes. Before he could voice his disbelief, she added,
“Not in a direct sense, perhaps. The world is woven with countless fleeting encounters. As the Buddhists say, even to brush sleeves with a stranger is a result of karma.”
Ethan’s brow furrowed as he watched her. He slowly leaned back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest again—a clear signal that he was losing what little patience he had left.
“So,” he drew the word out. “How do I find them?”
The fortune teller drew a single card from the deck and laid it face-up on the table.
Ethan glanced down at it as she spoke.
“Fire.”
“Fire?” he repeated, his frown deepening. She nodded.
“An act of service to others. And fire.”
“So, a firefighter?”
“Perhaps,” she said, her answer as elusive as smoke. “Or perhaps not.”
She was hedging again.
“Is there anything else?”
She pulled another card, studied it for a moment, and then looked at him.
“They could be a woman. Or a man.”
“Of course they could.” Ethan rolled his eyes. Then a predatory glint entered his expression. He leaned in conspiratorially. “What about their chest?”
“...I beg your pardon?” The woman blinked, her composure finally cracking.
Ethan didn’t relent. “Big? Small? Flat? Surely the cards can tell you that. So? What’s the verdict on the chest?”
Flustered, she fumbled for another card, flipping it over with a nervous flick of her wrist. “They’re… large,” she stammered.
A slow, satisfied smirk spread across Ethan’s face.
“A woman, then.”
The fortune teller stared, momentarily speechless, before her own brow furrowed in confusion.
If he was so certain, then why hadn’t the cards been clearer about the gender in the first place?