Chapter 6 — A Stranger at the Bookstore
573 Words
Clear Hollow’s only bookstore, The Dusty Shelf, smelled like pinewood shelves and forgotten pages. It wasn’t much—two aisles of paperbacks, a reading nook by the window, and a hand-painted sign out front. But to Marina Doyle, it was peace.
Twice a week, she hosted a small writing group. Locals who dreamed of penning novels but never made it past chapter three. Marina mostly listened. She didn’t talk much about her own writing—not that she had much to show, aside from a self-published novella and a few blog posts.
But lately, she’d been inspired.
A new idea had taken hold. A story of a woman who fakes her own death. Of a powerful man who wouldn’t let her go. Of a kiss… that wouldn’t leave her mind.
She tried to write it away. But every word just brought him closer.
Dominic Voss.
Even his name made her fingers tremble.
The bell above the bookstore door jingled.
Marina looked up from the counter—and froze.
A tall man stepped inside, dressed in dark slacks and a black button-up. He removed his sunglasses slowly, revealing eyes like cut steel. Cold. Calculating. Familiar.
Her heart stopped.
No. It couldn’t be.
But it was.
Dominic Voss had found her.
And he was standing five feet away.
He scanned the room like it bored him, then let his gaze land squarely on her. Her skin prickled. Her breath caught.
She almost ran.
Instead, she did what she’d trained herself to do for eight long years.
She smiled.
“Can I help you?” she asked, voice calm even as her pulse raged.
Dominic tilted his head, studying her like a specimen behind glass.
“You’re the author, aren’t you?” he said. “Marina Doyle.”
“That’s right.”
“Your face is on the flyer out front. Book signing on Saturday.”
“Are you… here for that?” she asked.
“No,” he said plainly. “But I do like your face.”
She flinched—but masked it with a practiced shrug.
“Funny, you don’t look like someone who reads romance.”
“I don’t,” he said. “But I do enjoy a good lie.”
The air between them thickened.
Marina stepped from behind the counter, forcing a calm tone. “Is there a reason you’re here, sir?”
He stepped forward. Close. Too close.
“I’ve been looking for someone,” he said, low and quiet. “A woman who looks exactly like you. Only, she died eight years ago. On a jet I put her on myself.”
Her throat tightened.
She kept her expression still. “That’s tragic.”
“Mm,” Dominic murmured. “She stole sixteen million dollars before she died.”
“Sounds like quite the woman.”
He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes.
“Oh, she was. Smart. Calculated. Beautiful. The kind of woman who could fake a voicemail, fake a crash, fake a life. Even fake a kiss.”
She turned away before her knees gave out.
“You’ve got the wrong woman,” she said, walking back to the counter.
“Do I?”
She didn’t answer.
Dominic leaned on the wood between them, voice lower now, just for her.
“I’ll ask just once. Are you Juliette Ward?”
She met his gaze.
And lied.
“No.”
End of Chapter 6.
- Writer
