CHAPTER ONE : FATE or ACCIDENT
“Get the hell out of my apartment!”
The shout echoed through the hallway as the front door flew open. Suitcases followed, crashing onto the corridor floor one after another. Moments later, a man stumbled out after them, pale, frantic, and dressed in nothing but his underwear.
That man was Zack—Emily’s boyfriend. And that was the day their three-year relationship came to a humiliating end.
Emily and Zack had met at an art exhibition three years earlier. They had been standing side by side, unknowingly admiring the same painting. It depicted a woman in a flowing red dress, dancing in the rain with a man clad in a crisp white two-piece outfit. The couple in the painting looked impossibly in love, so lost in each other that Emily felt a sharp ache of loneliness in her chest.
She had closed her eyes for a brief moment and made a silent wish—to find the perfect man, someone who would love her just as deeply. When she opened her eyes and turned to look for the friend she had come with, she saw Zack instead.
To her, in that instant, he looked like an answer to her prayers.
At the time, he seemed perfect.
She slammed the door behind her and slumped down resting lazily against the door. A loud sigh escaped her lips as she closed her eyes and went down memory lane to when it all started, when she met him
Emily stood quietly before the painting, her arms folded loosely across her chest. Raindrops streaked down the canvas, blurring the figures of a woman in a red dress and a man in white as they danced beneath the storm. The intimacy of it made her chest tighten.
“Funny,” a voice beside her said, “how a painting can make you feel like you’re intruding on something private.”
Emily glanced sideways, startled. A tall man stood next to her, hands tucked into his pockets, eyes fixed on the artwork. He wore a soft smile, the kind that felt effortless.
“I was thinking the same thing,” she replied. “They look so… happy. Almost unreal.”
“Or brave,” he said. “Dancing in the rain like that. Most people would run for cover.”
She smiled. “Maybe they don’t care about getting soaked—as long as they’re together.”
He finally turned to her. “I’m Zack.”
“Emily.”
They shook hands, and for a moment, the world around them seemed to fade—the low hum of conversation, the clinking of wine glasses, the soft jazz playing in the background.
“That dress,” Zack continued, nodding toward the painting. “Red is a bold choice. It’s like she wants the world to notice her.”
“Or like she’s in love,” Emily said softly. “When you’re in love, you stop caring who’s watching.”
Zack studied her with interest. “You sound like a romantic.”
“Maybe,” she admitted with a small laugh. “Or maybe I just wish someone would dance in the rain with me someday.”
He smiled, slow and confident. “Who says they won’t?”
Emily felt something stir inside her—hope, excitement, something dangerously close to belief.
At that moment, she turned, intending to find the friend she had come with. Instead, she found herself still standing there, facing Zack. And somehow, without realizing it, her silent wish no longer felt so distant.
It didn’t matter anymore. He wasn’t the Prince Charming she had once believed him to be. If anything, she felt relieved that it was finally over. She would no longer have to endure his constant cheating, his manipulation, or his need to control every part of her life.
She was free from Zack.
But freedom, she quickly realized, came with its own complications.
Her family’s expectations still loomed over her like a shadow she couldn’t escape. In twelve days, they would be hosting their annual Christmas gala—a lavish affair filled with familiar faces, whispered judgments, and carefully rehearsed smiles. And as always, everyone expected Emily to arrive with her fiancé, her arm looped gracefully through his.
Except now, there was no fiancé.
She had just ended the relationship she’d poured three years of her life into, and the thought of explaining that—to her parents, to relatives, to society—made her stomach twist.
“What am I going to do?” she murmured, pacing the length of the hallway.
Her heels clicked sharply against the floor as she turned again and again, the walls closing in with every step. Finally, unable to bear the weight of her thoughts any longer, she grabbed her coat.
A walk, she decided. She needed air. She needed space.
She stepped outside, hoping the cold would clear her head—if only for a moment.
**********
Pierce had just returned home after several years of traveling the world. To anyone who asked, he said he lived for the thrill—the adventures, the danger, the freedom of never staying in one place too long. But deep down, he knew that wasn’t the truth.
For five years, he hadn’t been chasing excitement.
He had been searching for something—something he couldn’t name.
The music pulsed around him, loud and suffocating. Women danced before him, their laughter sharp in the air. They were beautiful, undeniably so, yet their presence stirred nothing but irritation within him. It wasn’t disgust at their appearance—no, it was the emptiness he felt when he looked at them.
With a low, warning growl rumbling in his chest, Pierce rose to his feet.
The women stiffened instantly. They gathered their things in hurried silence and fled, heels clicking nervously against the floor. He watched them leave, unmoved, until the room fell quiet once more.
Only then did he retreat to his bedroom.
It was dark and gloomy, stripped of warmth—perfectly suited to his mood, to the man he had become. He crossed the room and knelt before a large black box, lifting its lid with care. A sad smile curved his lips.
Inside lay his most prized possession.
His father’s riding leather jacket.
He lifted it reverently and slipped it on. Despite its age, it fit him like a glove, worn smooth by time and memory. The jacket was old, but to Pierce, it was more valuable than anything else he owned.
Restless, the walls closing in around him, he knew he couldn’t stay inside.
He headed to the garage and swung onto his power bike. The moment he turned the ignition, the engine roared to life, shattering the silence of the night. The sound vibrated through his bones as he tore out of the garage and onto the quiet streets of Paris.
The city was calm, bathed in soft lights and hushed movement. The wind whispered past him, carrying his thoughts away, and for the first time that night, Pierce felt at peace.
Too peaceful.
So lost in the rush of air and memory, he didn’t see the fragile figure step onto the road ahead of him.
She, too, was lost in her thoughts.
Pierce slammed on the horn.
The sound ripped through the night, snapping her back to reality. But instead of moving—or screaming—she froze, standing perfectly still in the path of the oncoming bike.
