Lilith Vale had never been fond of bookstores. Not because she hated books-quite the opposite. She loved them too much. They reminded her of lives she could never live, of people who found happy endings despite the odds. But this bookstore was different. Quiet, nestled in a dim-lit corner of Bellamy Street, it seemed forgotten by time. Dusty shelves, the faint scent of old paper, and jazz music whispering from an ancient radio made it feel like a secret world.
She wasn't supposed to be there.
Her fingers trailed the cracked spine of a secondhand novel. Her lilac dress clung to her figure like regret, and her eyes flicked over the pages without seeing. She didn't need distractions. She needed clarity. Escape.
Then came the voice.
Low. Rough. Controlled.
"You don't look like someone who reads tragedies," the man said behind her.
She turned sharply.
Tall. Imposing. Dark overcoat. A presence that swallowed the air between them. His eyes-grey, sharp as broken glass-met hers like a dare. Something in his stare made her stomach twist.
"I don't," she replied. "I live them."
Alec Thornhart smiled. But it wasn't kind. It was the kind of smile that made flowers wilt. He stepped closer, picking up the book she'd been touching. The Birth of Tragedy.
"Interesting choice," he said. "Do you believe in destiny, Miss...?"
"Vale," she answered, voice steadier than she felt. "Lilith Vale."
He repeated her name like a vow. "Destiny can be cruel."
She swallowed. "And fate?"
"Fate bends to the will of those who know how to break it."
Lilith stepped back. Everything about him screamed danger-the kind wrapped in charm and silk. The kind women don't walk away from. She'd read about men like him. She never thought she'd meet one.
"I should go," she murmured.
But he stepped into her path.
"You came in for a reason. Looking for something. Or running from it?"
"I don't know you."
"No," Alec said. "But I know you."
The words hung between them like smoke.
Then he moved-slow, deliberate-his fingers brushing a strand of hair from her face. Lilith froze.
His voice dropped. "You wear sorrow like perfume, Lilith. Who hurt you?"
She flinched.
That was when he smiled again-this time softer, darker. "I'll find out."
Without another word, he turned and walked away, leaving the book in her hands.
Her fingers trembled.
She should've left the moment he spoke.
But she didn't.
She followed him with her eyes as he stepped through the door, disappearing into the fog outside.
Her heart thundered. She didn't believe in omens-but that man felt like the beginning of something.
Something dangerous.
Something she wouldn't survive.