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. I should’ve left. I should’ve disappeared into the night like I always did. But I stayed. For reasons I wish I could blame on the storm outside or the broken payphone in the corner.

In our line of work, there’s no room for mistakes. No room for hesitation. A second’s pause could mean your life—or the mission’s failure. I’ve trained myself to think like that: act without faltering, detach from emotion, and never let anything—or anyone—get too close. At least, that’s what I told myself. But how do you stay detached when the most dangerous thing you’re facing isn’t a target or an enemy? It’s the man standing beside you. The man with an infuriating smirk and eyes that could slice through steel. The man who’s supposed to have your back but whose secrets weigh heavier than the gun strapped to your thigh. Kade wasn’t just another agent. He was the boss’s son. The heir to the most dangerous organization I’d ever known. And yet, he didn’t act like it. Cold, aloof, impossible to read—he was nothing like the power-hungry tyrant who ran our missions. But that didn’t make him any less dangerous. He was a storm waiting to happen. And like a fool, I walked straight into its path. I’m just a girl trying to survive in a world built to destroy people like me. But Kade? He was the one thing I never saw coming. Setting: The faint hum of a ceiling fan cuts through the silence in the safehouse, but it’s not enough to drown out the chaos still screaming in my head. My hands won’t stop trembling, no matter how many times I clench and unclench them. Inches away, my jacket lies crumpled on the dusty floor where I threw it. I should pick it up. I should focus on something, anything. But all I can focus on is him. Kade leans against the counter, arms crossed like this is the most boring part of his day. His face is calm—disgustingly calm, like we hadn’t just run through a firestorm of bullets. His dark eyes, cool and indifferent, flick to me for the briefest second before settling on God knows what, and I feel heat rise in my face. Not from shame. From irritation.

(Her POV - you are this girl): It’s been ten years, but the wound still bleeds like it happened yesterday. I can still hear my mother’s screams echo in the silence, still see the cold eyes of the man who took her life. The mafia boss, untouchable, too powerful to even hope for justice. For years, I’ve waited, searched, followed any lead I could find. I learned patience, learned how to move in the shadows, to let the rage simmer beneath the surface without letting it boil over. For a long time, it seemed hopeless. He vanished, like a ghost, leaving no trace. But then, a spark—a name. His son. All I knew was that the boy had left the city, had slipped out of the life of crime and moved to some sleepy little town. He works as a bartender now, in a café of all places. Maybe it’s just a disguise, just another layer to the web his father spins. Or maybe he’s nothing like his father at all. But that doesn’t matter. He’s my only way in. So, I packed up everything, left behind the remnants of the life I’d known, and followed him here. I will find his father. I will finish this. But first, I have to get close to him. The bell above the café door chimes softly as I step inside. The air is warm, scented with coffee and cinnamon. I scan the room quickly, noting the mismatched tables, the worn leather couches, and the soft murmur of conversations. There’s nothing special about this place, nothing that screams “son of a mafia boss.” But that’s the point, isn’t it? A place to hide in plain sight. My eyes land on him instantly. Carter. He stands behind the counter, wiping a glass with a towel, looking nothing like the man I imagined. He’s tall, with broad shoulders, a mess of dark hair that falls into his eyes, and a quiet intensity that catches me off guard. He’s not wearing the expensive suits, not surrounded by bodyguards. Instead, he’s in a worn gray t-shirt, jeans, and a leather cuff around his wrist.

Adam’s POV: I always told myself that I was good at controlling my emotions, at keeping a level head regardless of what—or who—came through the library doors. Fairview Academy is full of distractions, but I’ve managed to navigate it all with a sense of calm professionalism. At least, I did until she started showing up every day. with her constant questions, her careless way of stacking books as though they weren’t delicate, and her maddening habit of humming loudly while wandering through the aisles. I can’t stand her—or at least that’s what I keep telling myself. But the truth is, she unsettles me in ways I can’t fully understand. Every time she enters the library, it’s like the air changes. And it doesn’t help that she seems to have no idea how much she affects me. The more I try to distance myself, the more drawn I am to her. It’s a terrible cycle of pretending to be annoyed, hiding the fact that her smile disarms me completely. And I think she knows it. The library was quiet, just how I liked it. Shelves neatly lined with books, the smell of paper and ink providing a soothing backdrop to the chaos of the school day. I was halfway through sorting a new stack of returns when, right on schedule, she walked in. I didn’t even need to look up to know it was her. The hum of her voice—she always hummed, as if she couldn’t help herself—floated through the aisles before she appeared. I pressed my lips into a thin line, trying to ignore the way my pulse quickened at the sound. (You’re the girl)

(Her POV) —> it’s you (your last name is Turner) My life at Oakridge Academy had always been a delicate balance of surviving under the radar. I wasn’t popular enough to be noticed, and I wasn’t invisible enough to be bullied. That was, until Logan Hayes. Logan Hayes, the king of Oakridge. The one whose family name was whispered in reverence and fear. The one who could make or break anyone with a single smirk. I thought I was safe, just another face in the crowd. But the day he noticed me, my world tilted on its axis. It started with a look—his cold, piercing eyes locking with mine, amusement dancing on his lips. In that moment, I felt it in my gut. A shift, a warning. I’d unknowingly crossed some invisible line, and from that point on, Logan made it his mission to unravel me. But what he doesn’t know is that I refuse to be broken. Even if it means standing toe to toe with the one person who can ruin me completely. The school hallway buzzed with its usual morning chatter. I kept my head down, focused on reaching my locker, slipping between clusters of students who barely noticed me. Oakridge Academy’s elite cliques moved with the precision of a social ballet, and I was content to remain on the outskirts. That was, until I felt him. A prickle of awareness raced down my spine before I even heard his voice. Logan Hayes. I didn’t need to turn around to know he was there. His presence was magnetic, heavy, and every student in the vicinity either parted for him or got out of his way entirely. I inhaled sharply as I fiddled with the combination on my locker. Just stay invisible, I told myself. But fate, it seemed, had other plans.