Part One

That evening, Mr. Rickman was getting ready for a party.
Nothing unusual — an old friend of his, a director, had decided to celebrate his birthday. Rima hadn’t left his side for a moment. She helped him pick out a tie, style his hair, and even got ready to polish his shoes to a shine — something Alan simply couldn’t allow. That was always his own ritual.
Her behavior surprised him. She was usually preoccupied with her own things, but tonight she couldn’t accompany him — she wasn’t feeling well. It was clear she was nervous about him going alone. Alan tried not to acknowledge her state — or at least not to show that he had noticed the shift in her demeanor.
Only as he paused on the threshold to kiss her cheek, he said:

“I’ll try to slip out at the first opportunity. The old miser picked the worst possible restaurant for the celebration,” he added with a wink and a smile.

She smiled faintly, but his words didn’t put her at ease.

“Alan, I… I’m worried.”
She fell silent.

Alan wasn’t fond of needless worries or tears without reason — or with reason, for that matter. And this was no exception.
He raised one brow in mild surprise (yes, surprise — he didn’t actually want to know the reason for her concern), gave her another kiss on the cheek, hesitated for a second, then gently kissed her lips and headed out to the car waiting at the gate.

She watched him go, saw how, as he settled into the back seat, he gave her a little wave.
The black Bentley purred softly against the asphalt and disappeared into the dusk.

There was no reason to worry — just like always. And how could there be? Her troubled state must have been the cause of her anxious thoughts, nothing more. But she had never felt like this before. She had never been the worrying type, not even when he was surrounded by crowds of young fans clinging to him, pressing in close, even kissing him (on the cheek, of course — where else?). She used to laugh along with him, they would recall the funniest incidents together. They loved each other, and nothing could disturb their harmony.

When Alan first began gaining popularity and the first little groups of fans started appearing by the theater’s stage door, Rima even found it thrilling. At that time, she and Alan had already been together for quite a while, and their feelings had dulled somewhat. The idea that the man sleeping beside her was desired by other women — and more and more of them — began to arouse her. That period in their relationship was wonderful. It sparked something in both of them. The sex was divine. Rima, eager to assert her claim on her husband, was astonishing in bed. Alan was ecstatic. That unexpected surge — in both his creative life and his relationship — filled him with new energy. He poured himself into work completely, yet still had more than enough of himself left for Rima.

Gradually, everything settled into routine. She no longer felt the thrill of having the most desired man at her side. Age played its part too.
But still, they loved each other.
He wasn’t a womanizer. He never cheated.
They had no secrets from one another.
His dear, sweet, patient Rima.

So what could possibly be wrong today?

Alan hadn’t wanted to stay long — he had said so himself. In fact, he hadn’t even wanted to go in the first place, but politeness demanded it. Rima herself had insisted he attend.
He hadn’t spoken to the birthday host in a long time, though they were considered old friends.
The guests — all people Alan knew, mostly actors or others from the theater and film world.
No strangers.

Rima kept thinking, remembering, trying somehow to calm herself down. She was still standing in the doorway of their house. Hers and Alan’s house. But for how much longer?

It was completely dark outside. Rima realized she was cold. She stepped inside, closed the door, and walked toward the kitchen.

One of the main qualities Alan loved her for was her ability to set aside problems that had no immediate solution. Rima decided to wait. She took a sedative and went to the bedroom. Lying on her side of the bed, she quickly let go of the heavy thoughts and drifted off to sleep. As she was falling asleep, she told herself: “He’ll come home, slip into bed, and won’t want to wake me — as always. And tomorrow we’ll spend the day together. He promised.”

This was the first time she was both wrong and right at the same time.

She was wrong in hoping that Alan would return on time. But Alan never came home.

And she was right in her intuition — the reason for her anxiety turned out to be very real.

If she had told Alan about it, he would have laughed. He didn’t believe in vague moods or premonitions. He always acted with precision, taking responsibility for every decision. Radical change — that wasn’t like him. But how can a person be certain about everything? Even the richest and most powerful are subject to the smallest, most unpredictable factors.

Mr. Alan Rickman, world-renowned actor, with wealth, a wife, and all the other perks of life, was riding in his black Bentley, suspecting nothing.
What was expected to be a dull party had a surprise in store for him.
And only he could decide, in time, whether it was a good surprise — or not.
He would have to make a decision unlike any he had made before.
And not just once.
In one evening, his life would take a completely different turn.

_______________________________

The ride to the event venue didn’t take long at all — something Alan, admittedly, regretted. His welcome speech still wasn’t coming together, and he even considered turning back.

Then, suddenly, he noticed they had missed the necessary turn.

Or had skipped it on purpose.

Catching Rickman’s concerned glance in the rearview mirror, the driver said:

“Trust me, sir,” he smiled.

“How much time do I have?” Alan asked with relief.

“About fifteen minutes,” the driver replied. “Let’s hope they’re lucky ones,” he added with another smile.

“Oh, no doubt,” Alan said, leaning back in his seat and closing his eyes.

He recalled Rima’s eyes — filled with worry and sadness. He hadn’t seen her look so down in a long time.
What kind of evening was this turning into?
He should’ve stayed with her and to hell with that party.
Who was even going to show up?

Alan spent the rest of the ride finishing his welcome speech. It had been a long time since he’d wasted time like this.

The car pulled up in front of the hotel.

Everything sparkled — lights, camera flashes. The grand entrance was decorated with flowers, and the carpet was scattered with glitter and rose petals.

Alan quickly assessed the situation.
It wasn’t for nothing that he paid his driver more than generously — the man had brought him exactly at the right moment, just after the guest arrivals had finished, when most of the ever-present paparazzi had either gone inside or left, denied entry.

The moment the car pulled up, it was immediately swarmed with photographers. Alan gave his companion’s shoulder a grateful squeeze (yes, companion was the right word), hesitated for a second, then opened the door and stepped out. Three women rushed over to him with microphones, bombarding him with questions, all accompanied by the continuous clicking and flashing of cameras. Alan noted that this was nothing compared to what it would’ve been like had he arrived on time.

Flashing his dazzling smile at the cameras and tossing out quick answers to the women’s questions, Alan strode briskly through the large doors that had been opened for him.
“A portal,” Alan thought. “If only I could already be stepping through it — in the other direction.”

The evening hadn’t officially begun yet. Guests were milling around the corridors, chatting pleasantly, the occasional camera click echoing here and there. Nodding and smiling at familiar faces, Alan easily located the main hall. In front of the decorated stage were dozens of tables, some already occupied.

Someone called out to him and waved. Alan waved back and recognized the man who had invited him. Now he was weaving his way toward Alan between the tables.

“Mr. Rickman! Alan! I’m so glad to see you! I was beginning to think you’d decided to snub me!” The man embraced Alan, gave him a light pat on the back, and shook his hand vigorously and at length.

“Oh, come on, Mike!” Alan replied, trying to smile as naturally as possible. “I couldn’t miss such an occasion. Besides, it’s been so long since we last saw each other…”

“Thank you, my friend. You have no idea how much this means to me. Come, let me show you to your table.”

“Thanks, Mike, I’d appreciate that. I haven’t been able to figure out the guest seating arrangement.”

“Well, everyone has their own way of doing it. But I handled the seating myself, so I’m in the loop. That table,” he pointed to one in the middle of the first row in front of the stage, “is mine. And yours is right behind it.”

They approached a table set for three. One of the name cards read “Alan Rickman,” the second “Juliet Stevenson,” and the name on the third card was unfamiliar to Alan.

He sighed inwardly. “Good. Juliet — that’s good. That’s just perfect.”

The stingy bastard had clearly seated Alan behind himself so the cameras would catch recognizable faces and make his pompous party look more glamorous.

“Although… not such a bad party, after all.” Alan glanced around. The hall was gradually filling with guests.

Soft music played. The stage lights had been switched on.

“The program will be full and exciting, but I do hope we’ll find a moment to chat,” the man said, eyes gleaming. “I have some interesting proposals for you, and I’m dying to hear your thoughts!”

“We’ll definitely talk. You know where to find me,” Alan said, pointing at the name card with his name. The two men chuckled.

“Excellent. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve still got a few instructions to give. If you don’t oversee things yourself, no one will.” With that, the host of the evening disappeared backstage.

Alan sat down at the table. He picked up a glass of water and took a sip. A young waiter approached and asked if he would like some wine, and what kind.

“Your choice,” Alan replied. “Tonight’s full of surprises — you might as well surprise me too.”

“Very well, sir.”

Alan glanced around, studying the people. Juliet hadn’t arrived yet.

“Oh, sorry,” Michael came up to him again. He picked up the third name card from the table. “This one ended up here by mistake — we hadn’t planned to seat this guest here.”

“No problem. Juliet and I would’ve been happy to spend the evening in the company of a stranger.”

But just then, a young woman from the service staff approached and removed the place setting for the third person.

Alan followed her with his eyes. She didn’t place the dishes at another table — she simply carried them off to the kitchen. Instead, he noticed Michael placing the name card discreetly on a small table near a column.

Alan decided to find out whether it was the same card. Pretending to walk through the rows and greet guests, he made his way toward the table with the name card. As he passed by and glanced at the name, he saw that it was indeed the one from his table.

“Alexa Bell” it read.

Alan didn’t know who that was. But she was probably an actress. Likely a young one — otherwise he would’ve recognized the name, or at least heard it mentioned somewhere.

“Now this is interesting. Let’s see who this slippery character is trying to cozy up to.”

Juliet Stevenson arrived among the last guests, just as the host began extolling the birthday honoree’s many achievements.

“Got held up at rehearsal,” she said, slightly out of breath. “Hi, Alan. I’ve missed you terribly.”

They kissed each other on both cheeks.

“And when did you even have time to miss me? We’ve only been apart for a week,” Alan said, narrowing his eyes and raising his trademark eyebrow.

Juliet waved him off and laughed.
“Oh, come on — how could I not miss you? You know I adore you.”

It was exactly this simplicity and sincerity that Alan loved about Juliet. She was one of his dearest friends, and among actors, there weren’t that many genuinely real people — no matter how strange that might sound.

They talked for quite a while, not even paying attention to what was happening on stage. The host had invited the birthday honoree up, who then launched into a long speech. Then came a video presentation of his latest directed film, followed by a speech from another guest, and then… Alan happened to glance over at that small table.

A girl was sitting there.
Alexa Bell.

A chill ran down Alan’s spine. Did he know her? No, he couldn’t have. But she looked so familiar… Alan froze. He was sitting and staring at Rima — yes, it looked just like Rima, only younger, much younger. That was the only explanation. There was definitely a resemblance.

He didn’t know how long he’d been staring at her.

Juliet noticed his confusion and looked in the same direction.

“What is it?” she asked. “Do you know her?”

Alan forced himself to look away.

“No… I just thought I recognized her.”
His lips were dry. He took a sip of wine.

When he looked at the girl again, she seemed completely different. No longer like Rima. Now she was looking the other way and bore no resemblance to her at all. Alan realized that the wine must have clouded his head. He must’ve looked pretty suspicious, staring at a stranger like that, because Juliet was now watching him with narrowed eyes.

Alan smiled and said,
“Now, where were we in our conversation?”