💎 Love in Disguise 💎

Montreal winters weren’t just cold. They were cruel. The wind tore through the narrow alleys of the Plateau, nipping at the ends of Nova Elaine Lane’s fingers despite the worn-out gloves she tugged tighter. Her breath fogged in front of her as she pushed the café door open, the bells overhead chiming like nervous laughter. Inside, the warmth hit her like a memory she wasn’t sure belonged to her. The café was quiet—just the way she liked it. Vintage frames lined the walls, holding half-faded art prints and sepia photographs of lovers kissing on rainy streets. The scent of espresso, old pages, and cinnamon clung to every inch of the place like it had something to say but never would. Nova slipped behind the counter, pulling her apron over her thick sweater, shaking the snow from her shoulders. Her sketchbook peeked from her bag like a secret. She always carried it, even if she didn’t remember why. The place was empty. Almost. He sat at the corner table. Dark suit. Black gloves. No coffee. Just... watching. Nova frowned. She hadn’t seen him come in. His coat looked like it cost more than her month’s rent, tailored perfectly to broad shoulders and a body that didn’t belong in the softness of a bookstore café. He looked like he was here by mistake—or by design. She hated that she noticed his jawline. Or that he didn’t flinch when she made eye contact. He looked like he was waiting for something. Or someone. Or maybe, like he was trying to disappear into the quiet. Nova grabbed a cloth, pretending to wipe the already-clean counter, stealing glances every few seconds. He didn’t move. And then, he did. He stood, walked slowly toward the counter, and stopped just short of the display case filled with half-sold pastries. “Coffee,” he said. His voice was low, rich, clipped at the edges. Nova blinked. “Black?” “Obviously.” She raised an eyebrow. “Wow. You sound fun.” That made the corner of his mouth twitch, just slightly—like a smile had once lived there but had long since died. As she poured his drink, she studied him again. Late twenties? Early thirties, probably. Businessman. Definitely not from this part of town. His eyes were sharp, but tired. Like someone who slept with one eye open and didn’t dream anymore. He paid in cash, dropped a large bill, and didn’t wait for change. Then it happened. She turned to hand him the cup—and slipped. Just slightly. Her foot hit a wet patch on the floor and before she could stop herself, the coffee splashed straight across his immaculate suit. Nova gasped. “Oh—oh my God, I’m so sorry.” He looked down at his coat, now stained with the kind of black that didn’t wash out, then up at her with eyes that didn’t blink. She expected anger. An outburst. Cold fury. What she didn’t expect was... silence. Unsettling, unshakable silence. “It’s fine,” he said finally, his voice low and unreadable. She blinked. “You don’t look fine.” “I don’t care about the suit.” That made her stare. “You don’t care about a suit that probably cost a fortune?” He looked at her for a long moment, then leaned in slightly. “You’re right. It cost exactly three thousand, four hundred and fifty dollars.” Nova’s mouth fell open. “But,” he added, “I care more about time than fabric. And right now, you’re wasting mine.” She scowled. “You didn’t have to be an ass about it.” He smiled then—cold, amused, infuriating. “And you didn’t have to spill the coffee.” With that, he turned and walked out into the storm. Nova stood behind the counter, stunned, heart pounding with something that wasn’t fear but wasn’t safe either. She didn’t know his name. She didn’t know why he’d been here. But something about him felt... wrong. Or maybe familiar. Later That Night The café closed early. The snow wouldn’t stop, and Nova’s bones ached with a cold that wasn’t from the weather. She climbed the narrow stairs to her apartment, flicked on the heater, and curled up beside the window with her sketchbook. Her hands moved on instinct, pencil sliding across paper faster than she could think. She didn’t know what she was drawing—until it was done. The man. His eyes. That coat. That smirk that felt like a knife. Nova stared at the sketch in her lap, the lines too perfect to be chance. She’d drawn him before. In other pages. In other moments she didn’t remember fully. He was in her mind before he ever walked into her café. Across Town Cassian Elias Wolfe stood in front of a massive screen, the coffee-stained coat draped over a chair, his assistant Sabrina pacing behind him. “She’s changed,” Sabrina said. “She doesn’t remember a thing,” Cassian replied. “Not consciously. But the tech is still live.” He stared at the screen—freeze-frame images of Nova from earlier that day. “She didn’t recognize me,” he murmured. “But she will.” Sabrina folded her arms. “What’s the play?” Cassian’s jaw flexed. “I need her close. Publicly.” “You want to pull her into a fake relationship to control the narrative?” He looked away, cold calculation in his eyes. “No. I want to control her before someone else finds her first.”