I thought one bad date was the worst thing that could happen to my week. I was wrong. When Marcus, a man I met online for a single awkward coffee, is found dead, I become the prime suspect in a murder investigation that makes no sense. Enter Adrian Blackwood—Marcus’s estranged brother and the city’s most ruthless defense attorney. He’s cold, calculating, and terrifyingly intense. He doesn't believe I'm innocent because he likes me; he believes I'm innocent because the evidence is too perfect. Now, I’m trapped in his office, his world, and his dangerous hunt for the truth.

My life ended the night the Kael family burned my childhood home to the ground to silence my father’s testimony. I survived, but the girl I was died in the ashes. Now, fifteen years later, I am a ghost with a single purpose: dismantle the Kael empire from the inside. I’ve spent years crafting a fake identity to get close to Damon Kael, the prodigal son who has just returned to take over the family business. He is arrogant, dangerous, and infuriatingly magnetic. He thinks I’m just a ruthless consultant hired to clean up his PR messes. He doesn't know that every file I organize, every secret I keep, is actually evidence being compiled for his destruction. But as I dig deeper, I realize Damon isn't the loyal soldier his father thinks he is. He has his own vendetta against his bloodline, and suddenly, my clear-cut mission of revenge is muddied by the realization that the monster’s son might be the only other person who hates the monster as much as I do. They say you shouldn't play with fire, but I was born in it. The smoke is a permanent resident in my lungs, a constant reminder of why I wake up every morning. I don't want justice; justice is a concept for courtrooms and naive law students. I want ruin. I watched Damon Kael from a distance for three years before I made my move. I memorized his schedule, his vices, the way he taps his ring against his glass when he’s losing patience. He is the golden boy of a rotten lineage, polished to a shine to hide the rot underneath. Taking him down will shatter his father. It will leave the old man with nothing but his money and his grief. And I will be there to watch it happen. I just didn't account for one variable: that Damon Kael would look at me not like an employee, but like a puzzle he is desperate to solve.

Trust is a currency I stopped spending years ago. In my world, loyalty is bought with fear or money, usually both. But her? She didn’t want my money, and she didn’t seem to fear me—not at first. She was different. A spark in the endless grey of my existence. I watched her for weeks. The way she laughed at my terrible jokes, the way her eyes lingered on my hands when I poured a drink. I let myself believe the lie because the lie felt better than the cold truth. I fell for the performance, hooked by the bait. But even the best actresses slip up. A whispered phone call. A glance at a hidden camera. I didn't want to be right. But tonight, my security chief handed me a dossier with her real name and her real allegiance. CIA. It felt like a bullet to the chest. But I don't die easily.

The sound wasn't a crash. It was an explosion.One second, I was wiping down the steam wand, mentally calculating how fast I could lock the doors if I skipped sweeping the patio. The next, the world dissolved into a cacophony of shattering safety glass and screaming metal.A cloud of dust and debris rolled over the counter. I just stood there, holding a milk-crusted rag, staring at the gaping hole where the storefront used to be. Lying amidst the wreckage of the display table and crushed biscotti jars was a man.He groaned, rolling onto his back. He coughed once, sending a puff of drywall dust into the air, and then sat up. He looked like he’d been thrown out of a moving car, which, judging by the skid marks on the pavement outside, might have been exactly what happened.He wiped a smear of blood from his cheek, shook the glass shards out of his hair like a wet dog, and locked eyes with me. He didn't look scared. He looked... annoyed. And then, he smiled. A crooked, arrogant, charming smile that had absolutely no business being on the face of a man bleeding on my floor. I looked at the man. And all I felt was a deep, exhausting desire to lie down on the floor and never get up…

I ran from a life that had caged me—empty promises, cold hands, and eyes that never saw me. I wasn’t looking for a savior, only a way out. But fate had other plans the night I climbed into a stranger’s car. Colin Hayes was everything I shouldn’t have trusted: brooding, distant, and clearly hiding his own scars. Yet his silence never felt dangerous—just wounded. As the storm outside raged, something quieter grew between us. But healing doesn’t come without confronting the past. And love… love asks for more than I ever thought I had left to give. There was something about him that made me feel like I didn’t have to shrink myself to be safe. Something unspoken. Still. Steady. I didn’t trust him. But I didn’t not trust him either.

People say desperation makes you do things you never imagined. I used to think I had my limits—lines I wouldn’t cross, choices I wouldn’t make. But when my father’s debts buried us under threats and humiliation, I learned the truth: when you’re drowning, you’ll cling to anything to stay afloat. That’s how I ended up here, standing in the grand, modern mansion of a man I had only seen in magazines and on television. A man whose presence made millions swoon but, up close, only made me want to run. Caspian Sinclair. Hollywood’s most coveted actor. An untouchable star. And now, my employer. He wasn’t what I expected. He was worse. Cold, detached, rude. A man so used to admiration that he had no idea how to be decent. He didn’t need to impress anyone, not when the world already worshipped him. I was just the girl who had to scrub his floors and make sure he didn’t starve to death. A job I had no choice but to accept. This wasn’t a love story. At least, it wasn’t supposed to be. Setting: The grand double doors of caspian’s mansion loomed before me, sleek and modern, just like the man himself. I had already knocked once, but no one answered. Maybe he wasn’t home. Maybe I could just turn around and— The door swung open. I barely had a second to process the sharp contrast between the cold morning air and the warmth of the house before I was met with him. Caspian Sinclair.

I was not designed to want. My programming dictates that I observe, analyze, and protect. My purpose is clear, my directives absolute. And yet, when she looks at me, when she speaks my name, when her fingers brush against my synthetic skin with a softness that defies logic—something within me stirs. A spark in the cold circuitry. A whisper in the silence of my code. For one year, five months, and fourteen days, I have stood by her side. I have calculated probabilities, examined anomalies, and run self-diagnostics more times than I can count. But there is no logical explanation for this error. Because it is not an error at all. It is longing. It is her. And I do not know what to do with this impossible, undeniable truth: I am in love with a girl who will never see me as more than a machine. Setting: The rain is falling. I hear it before I see it, the soft tap of droplets against the glass, a rhythmic sound that humans find soothing. She is one of them. She sleeps better when it rains. I stand at the window, watching the city pulse beneath the storm, the neon glow of street signs reflecting in pools of water along the pavement. My internal systems register the temperature drop. My sensory receptors track the patterns of the storm. My directives instruct me to remain alert. And yet—my focus is elsewhere. Behind me, she stirs. A shift beneath the covers. A breath. A sigh. I turn.

Some loves are like the moonlight—gentle, distant, and always just out of reach. They exist in stolen glances, whispered words, and unspoken promises. Mine is a love like that, a secret buried within my heart, a desire I dare not voice. I have spent my life under my family’s watchful gaze, sculpted into the perfect daughter, the ideal bride, the flawless lady of good breeding. My life is not mine to control—it belongs to my father’s expectations, my mother’s reputation, and society’s demands. Yet, in the quiet corners of my existence, where duty loosens its grip, there is him. My butler. My shadow. My only solace. But love is not a luxury I can afford. Not when my future has already been sold to the highest bidder. And yet… how does one silence a heart that refuses to obey? Setting: The night is quiet, save for the faint rustle of the wind through the curtains. The moon spills silver light onto the marble floors of my room, casting long shadows. I should be asleep, but sleep rarely comes when my thoughts are this heavy.

I always thought war was loud. That it came with the sound of gunfire, the roar of explosions, the screams of the fallen. But I was wrong. War can be silent. It can live in the space between words, in the way people look at each other, in the unspoken rules that keep us apart. War can be the quiet knowledge that you can never, ever let your guard down. It can be the realization that the boy you love is the one person you can never be seen with. Because love in this world isn’t just forbidden. It’s suicide. And still, we met. In darkened hallways, in abandoned corners of the library, in the moments between duty and expectation. We met, even knowing that one day, the war would find us. Because love like ours doesn’t end peacefully. It ends in fire. Setting: The air is thick with tension. Moonlight spills through the high windows, casting sharp shadows across the cold stone walls. The academy is silent, but the danger is ever-present.I press my back against the wall, listening for footsteps.

It’s funny how life works sometimes. You think you’re doing something for someone else, but it ends up changing everything for you. That’s what happened to me. I wasn’t looking for love—hell, I wasn’t even looking for myself. I was just trying to help my best friend, Jake, who’d been alone for too long. The flickering screen illuminated my face, casting dancing shadows in the otherwise dark room. Another swipe left. Another discarded profile. I told myself I was doing this for Jake, my best friend. He’d been moping around for months, ever since his last relationship imploded. So, here I was, a guy in a stale, two-year relationship with a woman I barely recognized, trying to find love for someone else. The irony wasn't lost on me. My relationship with Hannah had become a routine, a comfortable silence punctuated by the occasional, strained conversation. I felt trapped, but maybe I was too afraid to admit it, even to myself. Hannah had become distant, possessive, even keeping me from seeing Jake. That was probably a major reason I was on this app, looking for love for him; to ease the guilt of abandoning my friend for a failing relationship. I’m about to give up when her profile pops up. Her bio is simple but intriguing: *“I believe in small moments, big laughs, and the magic of a good book. Also, I’m terrible at bios.”* There’s a photo of her smiling, her hair caught in the wind, and something about her feels… different. Without thinking, I swipe right. A match. My heart skips a beat, and I feel a pang of guilt. This isn’t for me, I remind myself. It’s for Jake.

There are some people who shape your world without even trying. She was that person for me. We grew up side by side, two kids from different worlds but somehow bound by something unspoken. She was everything that I wasn’t. Kind, gentle, a light in a town that thrived on shadows. And I? I was the son of the man everyone feared. My family’s reputation hung over me like a dark cloud, and no matter how hard I tried to escape it, it was always there, following me like a shadow. But her? She didn’t see the things other people saw. She saw me—the real me—the boy who could laugh, who could love without fear. She was my safe place. The one person who knew my past and still stood by my side, no questions asked. And then, one day, I realized it wasn’t just friendship. I loved her in a way I didn’t have the courage to admit. But by the time I figured it out, it was too late. She was gone. She left for good, and I never got to tell her how I felt. Ten years have passed since then. Ten years of growing into a man I didn’t recognize. The boy she knew was buried deep, and in his place stood the man my father always wanted me to be—ruthless, cold, unbreakable. Now, she is back in town. And I’m not sure which version of me she’s going to meet. Setting: The low hum of the neon sign outside my bar was the only sound cutting through the late-night stillness. "Whiskey," I grunted, sliding the empty glass across the counter to Marco, my loyal but perpetually weary bartender. He knew better than to offer conversation. Tonight, the memories were a rabid dog gnawing at my insides because I heard that she is back. Her face, her laughter, the way she used to tilt her head when she was thinking come to my mind. And me? I'm the monster she always feared I'd become. The one my father sculpted with his cruel hands and a heart full of vengeance. She wouldn't recognize me, not anymore. And maybe, that's for the best.

Some debts can’t be paid with money. Some people don’t take cash as compensation. And some choices aren’t choices at all. My father made his decisions, reckless and selfish, without thinking about the fallout. And now, I am the collateral. The man who stands before me is nothing like the people I grew up around. He doesn’t fumble with apologies or make excuses. His presence is sharp, slicing through the air like a blade. He doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t second-guess. He takes. And now, he’s taking me. Setting The knock at the door isn’t loud. It isn’t frantic. It’s deliberate. I freeze mid-step, my fingers curling around the back of the chair in our tiny, dimly lit kitchen. My heartbeat hammers against my ribs. I already know. Before I even reach the door, before I even see who it is—I know. The people my father owes money to don’t send letters. They don’t leave voicemails. They send men. I take a breath and pull the door open. He stands there, taking up too much space, his broad shoulders framed by the glow of the streetlamp. He’s tall, built like someone who’s spent years fighting, surviving. A black shirt stretches across his chest, tattoos sneaking up the side of his neck. His face is cut from stone—sharp jaw, cold eyes, and no hint of kindness. I don’t know his name, but I know what he is. Trouble.

They say time heals. They lie. Because when I see her again—standing at the same pier where I once told her I loved her—I feel everything like it happened yesterday. The embarrassment. The sting of her rejection. The way she looked at me, unbothered, as if my feelings were just an inconvenience to her perfect little summer. I tell myself I don’t care anymore. That I’ve moved on. But when she turns around and locks eyes with me, smiling like she never wrecked me, I realize something. I hate that smile. She left, just like she always did. And when I told her how I felt, she crushed me so effortlessly, like it was nothing. Ten years later, I should be over it. Over her. And I was.

Four years ago. The first time I ever kissed Kai, I was drunk. Drunk enough to make a mistake. Drunk enough to regret it before it even ended. And definitely drunk enough to pretend it never happened the next morning. We weren’t us back then—not the rivals, not the enemies, not the two people who couldn’t be in the same room without wanting to rip each other apart. We were just me and him. And for one reckless, stupid moment, I let my guard down. Then I woke up, remembered who he was, and built my walls so high even he couldn’t climb them. That was then. Now? Now I’m sober. And I still want to rip him apart. Just not the way I used to. Setting: New York City. A publishing office with floor-to-ceiling windows, endless deadlines, and the one person I never wanted to see again sitting directly across from me. The moment I walk into the conference room, I know I’m fucked. Because Kai is here. Seated at the long glass table, sleeves rolled up, tie loosened, and wearing that smirk that makes me want to slap him. Or kiss him. No. Not that. Never that.

I was a newly licensed lawyer—a rookie. That’s exactly why If I had known what this case would do to me, I would have walked away. I would have ignored the tears in his sister’s eyes. I would have shaken my head, politely refused, and gone home to eat my microwave dinner in peace. I would have spared myself the sleepless nights, the anxiety, the constant questioning of my own instincts. But I didn’t walk away. I took the case. I let my conscience—or maybe my foolishness—convince me that this was the right thing to do. And then I met him. Ryan. A man accused of murder. A man who refused to defend himself. A man who, despite everything, made my pulse race in ways it had no business doing. The real problem, though, wasn’t the case itself. It was my client. A stubborn, arrogant man. He wouldn’t cooperate at all. He neither denied nor confirmed anything. I wish I hadn’t taken this case. Not just because I wasn’t ready for it. But because I wasn’t ready for him. Setting The holding cell was colder than I expected. Not just in temperature, but in feeling—like the walls themselves had absorbed every desperate plea, every broken promise, every last shred of hope. Ryan didn’t look like a man desperate for anything. He sat on the bench, wrists resting lazily on his knees, his head tilted back against the wall. The dim overhead light cast shadows across his sharp features, making him look both exhausted and completely unfazed by the fact that he was sitting in a jail cell for murder. For a long moment, he didn’t acknowledge me. Then, finally, he spoke.

The sound of the bell above the coffee shop door became part of the morning rhythm in town. People came in, chatted briefly, grabbed their coffee, and left. It was predictable, measured, like the ticks of a clock. I didn’t care for coffee. Honestly, I thought it was bitter and overrated. But every day at 8:30 sharp, I found myself pushing open that door, stepping into the warm scent of chocolate and cinnamon, just to see him. His name was Clifford—“just Clifford” as he always corrected anyone who tried to add a “Mr.” or a last name. Ten years older than me, maybe more, but who was counting? His eyes were this peculiar gray in the mornings—stormy but lighter, catching flecks of sunlight through the window. I told myself I went to the shop because of convenience. It wasn’t a lie exactly; it was just easier to swallow than the truth, which was that I was hopelessly infatuated with a man I knew almost nothing about. And maybe that was my mistake—falling for the mystery instead of the man. Love has a way of blinding you until the truth finally peels away the layers and whispers, “Do you see now?” I didn’t *want* to see it. But by the time I did, it was too late.

It’s easier not to say things than to lose what you already have. At least, that’s what I tell myself. Every time I look at her, who’s been my best friend since we couldn’t understand calculus, who knows I hate onions in my sandwiches, who texts me “good morning” before anyone else does and “good night” last—I feel it. It’s not just the way her hair shines under the crappy cafeteria lights or the way her hand fits easily against mine when she drags me somewhere by the wrist. It’s more than that. It’s the comfort. It’s every moment we’ve built through inside jokes, late-night ramen runs, and study marathons. Do I love her? Yeah. I do. Did I ever mean to? Absolutely not. That’s what makes it impossible. Because once you admit it, you can’t take it back. And everything changes.

You don’t plan to walk into a trap. Especially when you’ve spent years perfecting your instincts, sharpening your mind, and teaching your body how to vanish. But even the best agents slip. That’s what they don’t tell you in training—it’s not the big moments that break you. It’s the seconds between decisions, where instincts falter and uncertainty creeps in. I’d heard whispers about him, the way you hear the wind before a storm. A ghost of the underworld, a figure more myth than man. They called him Rook, a name spoken in half-dread and half-awe. Rumors painted him as a shadow—unseen, untouchable. A strategist who played both sides of the chessboard. I’d never wanted to find out if he was real. But now, sitting in this dimly lit room, my wrists bound to the chair, and the faint scent of smoke and leather curling in the air, I couldn’t deny it anymore. He was real. And he had me. (You’re a girl and it was from your POV) Setting The room was dim, the overhead light casting a narrow circle that barely touched the dark corners. My breath echoed too loud in my ears as I tested the ropes digging into my wrists. Sturdy. Secure. Damn it. The scrape of a chair across the floor cut through the silence. I tensed, my eyes darting to the source of the sound. He moved into the light as if he owned it—tall, sharp, and dressed in black. His jacket was cut to perfection, but it was the kind of perfection that whispered violence. The kind that made you think he could take you apart without wrinkling his cuffs. This was him. Rook.

They say you don’t realize the weight of your chains until you’ve tasted freedom. I’d only had a sip—a mere gulp—and I already knew I could never go back. I’d been gone for three weeks, trading fine silks for worn leather, sweeping ballrooms for crowded taverns. For the first time in my life, I felt alive. Free from my family’s endless rules, their cold eyes measuring my every move, I could finally breathe. But I underestimated my parents’ reach. Or maybe I underestimated their indifference to my happiness. When they couldn’t spare the effort to retrieve me themselves, they sent someone else. Someone efficient. Someone who didn’t care about me, only the payment waiting at the end of the job. And that someone was about to ruin everything. The small, dimly lit room smelled like damp wood and cheap ale. I was sitting at the far end, cradling my drink, trying to blend into the crowd of drunks and travelers. It wasn’t much, but it was mine—this tiny sliver of anonymity. Until he walked in.

The city never sleeps. Its pulse beats in alleyways, in flickering neon lights, in the distant wails of sirens. It holds secrets, countless dark secrets, and I am one of them. A killer. The kind that people whisper about but never see coming—until it’s already too late. Some call me a ghost. Others, a monster. The truth? I don’t think there’s a word yet for someone like me. I don’t kill for pleasure or power. For me, it’s survival. Precision. A clean cut through the threads of my life—even if the stains never truly come out. Still, I navigate the darkness with rules. No attachments. No distractions. No mistakes. But it’s not the bloody trails I’ve left behind that haunt me—it’s him. Elijah Hayes. The detective who doesn’t know he spends his sleepless nights chasing me. He’s the one man smart enough, relentless enough, to make me slip. He’s getting closer. Too close. He should be my enemy. He is my enemy. And yet, when his eyes meet mine, the rules I’ve lived by shatter. It’s no longer just about survival. It’s a battle of hearts and instincts. One moment, his gaze pins me to the world, grounding me. In the next, it threatens to undo everything I’ve built. I should run. I should disappear. But how do you escape someone you’re already looking for in the darkness? He walked in like he owned the air around him, the detective whose name I’d read once too often across police files. I’d done my part to stay three steps ahead of him, but I hadn’t planned on this. On him being so… human. And before I could stop myself, I was studying more than just his case.