As the iron wheels of the train thundered along the tracks beneath her, Lily Winters drifted between wakefulness and uneasy slumber. Outside the window, a blur of moonlight streaked across the countryside, whispering secrets through the glass. Inside her private berth, Lily lay curled beneath a pale duvet, restless, her thoughts steeped in confusion and buried desire. Earlier that evening, she had shared a kiss with Damen Cain — a kiss that should have marked the beginning of something new. And yet, it had awoken ghosts she had long tried to silence.

Cain Ashby. A name she had vowed to leave in her past, but a memory that refused to loosen its grip on her soul.

She turned, clutching the covers tighter, as though the fabric could shield her from her own tangled emotions. Damen was reliable, respectful, safe. He offered stability. But Cain had always been fire — unpredictable, passionate, dangerous. And it was that fire she dreamt of, even now.

Then came the creak.

The door at the end of her compartment inched open on its own, carried by a wind that wasn’t there. Shadows slipped across the carpet like ink in water, coalescing into the silhouette of a man — tall, broad, intense. Her breath caught. The room’s temperature dipped, and in the silence, a voice — his voice — carved through the air like a blade.

“Lily,” it rasped. “We need to talk.”

Her heart thundered in her chest. Sitting up, she stared. It was Cain, wearing the dark button-down shirt she remembered from their late nights together — nights that began in fury and ended in forgiveness. But this Cain wasn’t real. He couldn’t be. He was… different. Haunted.

“This isn’t real,” she whispered, trembling. “You’re not here.”

“Maybe not in the way you want,” Cain said, stepping closer, “but I’m here because you need to hear me.”

He moved with the confidence of a man who knew her every fear, every weakness, every scar. She tried to look away, but his voice drew her back like gravity.

“I know you kissed Damen,” he said softly. “And I know you’re trying to convince yourself that he’s what you want.”

She felt exposed, stripped bare by the dream — if it was even that.

“But deep down,” Cain continued, crouching beside the bed, his voice low, intimate, “you still want me. You still feel this.”

She swallowed hard. “You left, Cain. You lied. Over and over. You broke us.”

“And yet,” he said, his hand brushing hers, “you still dream of me.”

Tears welled in her eyes. “Why now?”

“Because I’m in danger,” he replied, glancing toward the window, as though expecting something—or someone. “Someone’s been following me. Watching. I don’t know how much time I have.”

Lily recoiled. “This isn’t happening. You’re just a dream. A projection of my unresolved guilt.”

“Then why does it feel so real?” he challenged, his gaze searing into her. “Why are you shaking?”

The dream began to shift, darken. The air turned colder, the lights flickered, and the train groaned like it carried a burden too heavy to bear. Cain leaned closer, urgency pulsing from every word.

“You have to find something. It’s in my old storage unit. Locker 215B. The key’s in the locket I gave you for our anniversary. But be careful. Don’t trust anyone. Especially not Damen.”

Then he vanished.

Lily bolted upright, gasping, the sheets tangled around her legs. The train had stopped. Morning sunlight poured in, soft and golden, warming her skin but doing little to ease the chill that still clung to her spine.

Meanwhile, far from Lily’s private turmoil, tragedy had struck the heart of the Newman family.

Cole Howard was gone.

His death, sudden and cruel, had torn through Victoria and Clare like a hurricane. Diagnosed with Legionnaires’ disease, Cole fought valiantly, managing to wake long enough to share a final, heartfelt goodbye with the women he loved most. His passing left a silence in their home that not even the ticking grandfather clock could break. For Clare, the loss was especially destabilizing. Her world was already fragile — and now, it was crumbling.

Clare fled the hospital room, tears streaking down her face, her chest tight with grief. But she returned to the Newman estate with Victoria, where the two women, though battered by sorrow, shared a rare moment of laughter, their pain momentarily softened by memories.

Still, Clare was unraveling. Kyle Abbott remained unreachable, somewhere in Nice with the rest of the Newman and Abbott clan, all of them inexplicably off-grid. Holden Novak, ever the opportunist, stepped into the vacuum.

He had already been tasked with getting closer to Clare. Now, with her family gone and her emotional defenses weakened, the opportunity presented itself like a gift-wrapped secret. He comforted her through her panic attacks, stayed close, and offered a listening ear. Whether his intentions were pure or part of a larger scheme remained to be seen, but the bond forming between them was undeniable — and dangerous.

Back in Genoa City, Victoria Newman struggled with her grief. Alone. The powerhouse executive, known for burying herself in work during moments of crisis, could no longer outrun her feelings. Her sobs on July 3rd’s episode were raw, heart-wrenching — the kind that stripped away her armor and exposed a woman shattered by regret.

She should have said yes to Cole sooner. Should have held him tighter. Should have been there more.

But her support system was gone. Nikki, Victor, Nick — all unreachable in France. And Victoria, though strong, wasn’t indestructible. The question loomed: Would she spiral deeper into sorrow? Or would she find solace in something else — something darker?