Chapter 1 – Sofia
Present Day
Sharon’s bookstore is quiet in the way I like most things to be. Not graveyard quiet, or totally empty, just muted.
Pages turning somewhere in the distance. A faint hum from the air conditioner above. The occasional creak of old wood as someone adjusts in their seat.
I drift between the shelves slowly, fingertips brushing book spines as I pass. I’m not really looking for anything specific. I never am. It’s more like I’m listening for something I haven’t found yet.
Behind me, Ashley is anything but quiet.
“I swear, if you pick up another tragic romance, I’m leaving you here,” she says, dragging her fingers along a shelf like she owns the place.
I don’t turn around.
“You wouldn’t leave me,” I reply.
“That’s exactly what someone I would leave would say.”
A small smile pulls at my mouth despite myself.
Ashley Kang is walking energy. Confidence in motion. She moves through space like it belongs to her, with everyone else merely temporarily occupying it. Today she’s in a fitted jacket, clean sneakers, and an expression that looks permanently amused by my existence.
She leans closer over my shoulder.
“What are you doing right now?” she asks.
“Looking.”
“At books?”
“Yes.”
She sighs dramatically. “See? This is what I mean. Normal people look for books. You… commune with them.”
I finally glance at her. “That’s not a thing.”
“It is in your world.”
I turn back to the shelf before she can drag me into a longer argument. My fingers pause on a worn spine. The cover is slightly faded, the kind of book that has been read too many times to still care about being pretty.
I pull it out carefully.
Ashley watches me.
“Oh no,” she says. “That face. That’s the ‘I’ve found my emotional destruction for the week’ face.”
“It’s just a book.”
“It’s never just a book with you.”
I ignore her and open it, scanning the first page. The words settle in easily, like they’ve been waiting.
My shoulders loosen without me realizing.
This is what I like.
I read all kinds of books. I’m not picky. From romance in every shade of heartbreak and longing to non-fiction that explains the world in ways people assume are simple, I read it. If a book calls out to me, I pick it up.
Ashley is just like me—a huge reader—but she sticks mostly to romance. She reads for fun, for escape, for feeling.
I don’t think I ever learned how to read only for fun.
I read because it’s my life.
I cannot remember a time when I wasn’t reading. When I wasn’t curled over a page, following words like they were instructions for staying steady in the world.
Sharon’s bookstore is my sanctuary. My place of silence. My place of control.
It started during the worst of it—when Valeria was being hunted by Anton here in America, and everything around us felt like it could collapse at any moment.
Anton was picking off everyone who helped her. Anyone loyal to her. Anyone close enough to be useful, or dangerous, or both.
And since everyone knew I was her best friend… since everyone knew I helped her leave Russia after he murdered her entire family…
I felt hunted too.
I felt watched.
Unsafe in a way that never fully left my skin.
This bookstore became my hiding place.
Not just somewhere I visited.
Somewhere I lived inside.
It also helped that Sharon stocked old books. The kind most people forget exist. The kind with worn spines and heavy pages and histories that feel like they were written before the world learned to rush.
I never thought I would find them again.
But I did.
And somehow, they felt like home.
Old books are my bias, because they feel familiar in a way I can’t explain.
Like something my father once shared with me before everything broke.
Ashley Kang is the reason I didn’t disappear completely into that silence.
We met here, in this same bookstore. She walked in like she owned the air around her—stylish, loud, confident without raising her voice, effortlessly pulling attention even when she wasn’t trying to.
Korean-American. Striking. Outspoken. She makes introductions feel unnecessary because she simply inserts herself into your life and stays.
We became inseparable quickly.
She’s a breath of fresh air in a way I sometimes don’t know how to describe.
She carries conversation.
She carries energy.
She carries the parts of the world I tend to forget about.
And with her, I’m allowed to stay in my head for as long as I want.
Which is always.
“Sof, you found a book?” Ashley calls from a few steps away, her arms already stacked with four books. “We have to leave so I can stop by the mall and grab dinner.”
Right.
Dinner.
And the sleepover tonight at her place.
I hum without looking up. “Hmm.”
My fingers turn each page slowly, absorbing the lines, the rhythm, the structure. Something about it feels so familiar that it tightens quietly in my chest.
I pause. Frown slightly.
I know this feeling.
I’ve read this before.
Not recently.
Long ago.
Back when Moscow still felt like a place I belonged to.
Before I left.
Before everything shifted.
It’s one of the old books my papa and I pored over together. I have a copy, but it’s part of the stash I left in Moscow before I fled. Oh, I have to read this again.
“And when I said you commune with your books earlier, you said that’s not a thing. It is definitely a thing,” Ashley says, appearing beside me again with a pointed look.
I finally glance at her.
She gestures at me like she’s building a case.
“Before you pick a book, you touch it like you’re checking its pulse. You read a few lines. You go quiet. Sometimes you even—” she narrows her eyes slightly, “—murmur things under your breath.”
I blink. “I don’t murmur.”
“You do.”
“I don’t.”
Ashley exhales dramatically. “It’s almost spiritual. If I didn’t know you, I’d think you were into some voodoo or juju things.”
That finally pulls a laugh out of me.
It slips out before I can stop it.
I close the book gently.
“Fine,” I say, tucking it under my arm. “Let’s go.”
Ashley grins. “Finally.”
I fall into step beside her as she heads toward the counter to log in her books. The staff already know us by name. Sharon stopped treating us like ordinary customers a long time ago.
Mostly because we practically live here.
They trust us enough now that sometimes they don’t even bother logging the books properly if we’re in a hurry. We always return them.
“Another stack?” the cashier asks when we approach.
Ashley places her books down dramatically. “Please don’t judge me.”
“I’m absolutely judging you,” he replies without looking up.
I slide my own book onto the counter.
The cashier glances at the title and raises a brow slightly. “This old thing?”
“Don’t even ask,” Ashley sighs.
The transaction finishes quickly, and a few minutes later, we step out of the bookstore, carrying paper bags filled with books.
Cold evening air brushes against my face.
The city is alive around us.
Cars. Music somewhere in the distance. People talking too loudly as they pass by.
Ashley inhales deeply, like she’s personally responsible for New York’s existence.
Then she throws both arms into the air.
“Whooo!” she yells. “It’s about to be an interesting night!”
Several people turn to stare.
My soul nearly leaves my body.
Ashley smiles at them like attention is sunlight and she was born to stand in it.
“Ash,” I hiss, grabbing her arm and yanking it back down. “Please.”
She rolls her eyes. “What?” she says unapologetically. “I’m excited.”
“You’re embarrassing me.”
Ashley groans. “These people will forget our faces before they even get home. No need to be so shy.”
Before I can respond, she breaks into an absolutely ridiculous dance in the middle of the pavement.
Normally, it would be funny.
If we were alone.
But we are very much not alone.
People slow down to stare. A few laugh openly. Someone even pulls out their phone.
Mortification washes through me.
“Ashley,” I hiss.
She only dances harder.
“Oh my God,” I mutter, already trying to escape the situation.
I step away from her too quickly without looking properly.
My foot leaves the pavement.
And suddenly—
Headlights.
A horn blares.
Tires screech violently against wet asphalt.
Everything happens at once.
The car stops barely inches away from me.
My breath disappears.
The paper bag slips from my fingers.
Books scatter everywhere across the wet road with awful slapping sounds, pages soaking from the rainwater still pooled against the curb.
For a second, I can only stare.
No.
No, no, no.
I crouch immediately, panic and frustration crashing together inside me as I start gathering them up with shaking hands.
The covers are wet.
One of the pages bends.
I want to cry.
Behind me, a car door swings open sharply.
I barely notice.
I’m too busy trying to save my books before the water ruins them completely.
A pair of polished black shoes stops directly in front of me.
Expensive.
Painfully expensive.
My gaze drifts upward automatically.
Black trousers.
Long dark coat.
Tall.
Lean.
Controlled.
And then finally—
His face.
I go still for half a second.
He’s… stunning. Sharp features. Pale skin. Dark hair swept neatly back. Gray eyes so cold they almost don’t look real.
He looks like the kind of man romance authors invent after going through emotional trauma.
The dark hero Ashley is always trying to force me to read about.
The kind I always pretend to hate.
His mouth curls into a snarl.
“If you want to die, miss,” he says coldly, “how about jumping off a bridge instead?”
I blink, then gasp.
I rise to my feet immediately, clutching my soaked books against my chest. “Excuse me?”
“You’re not excused,” he snaps without hesitation. “Learn to watch the road before you put an innocent driver in trouble.”
My mouth falls open.
Innocent driver?
I stare at him in disbelief. “You almost hit me!”
“And yet,” he says flatly, “here you are. Alive.”
The audacity.
Something sharp flashes through me instantly.
Embarrassment. Adrenaline. Anger.
Maybe all three.
“You know,” I say tightly, “most people start with ‘Are you hurt?’ after almost running someone over.”
His gray eyes flick briefly over me. Assessing. “You stepped into moving traffic without looking.”
“And you were driving too fast!”
“No,” he says calmly. “You were being careless.”
I hate how composed he sounds.
I hate how unaffected he looks.
Rainwater drips slowly from the edges of my ruined book covers onto my sweater sleeve. I glance down at them with fresh horror.
One of the pages is warped already.
My heart physically aches.
The man notices my expression.
His gaze drops to the books in my arms.
Then to the ones still scattered near the tire.
Something unreadable passes across his face.
Not sympathy.
Definitely not sympathy.
More like… irritation adjusting shape.
Behind me, Ashley finally rushes over.
“Oh my God,” she breathes. “Sofia!”
Then she notices the man.
And pauses.
I actually watch her entire personality recalibrate in real time.
Her eyes widen slightly.
Because yes.
Unfortunately, he really is that attractive.
Ashley clears her throat. “Okay,” she says carefully, “nobody died. That’s good.”
The man says nothing.
His attention remains on me.
Steady.
Uncomfortable.
Too observant.
And for some reason, standing this close to him makes me strangely aware of everything.
The cold air.
The wet books in my hands.
My heartbeat.
The fact that his presence feels far too large for the space around us.
“Let’s go,” Ashley murmurs, touching my arm. “Come on.”
The stranger’s gaze remains fixed on me.
Steady.
Cold.
Like he’s waiting for something.
I hate that it affects me at all.
Even though I still have several hateful things I would like to say to him, I let Ashley guide me away.
Mostly because this isn’t like me. I don’t argue with strangers.
I don’t snap at people. I definitely don’t stand in the middle of the street, exchanging insults with terrifyingly attractive men in expensive coats.
But something about him gets under my skin almost instantly.
Like irritation sharpened into awareness.
We cross the street, my pulse still uneven from nearly being flattened by a luxury vehicle. The cold air bites against my cheeks as Ashley keeps talking beside me, probably trying to distract me before I spiral into embarrassment.
I barely hear her.
I can still feel him behind us, a strange pressure between my shoulder blades.
The feeling vanishes only when we turn onto the next street.
The moment the bookstore block disappears from view, I finally exhale properly.
Relief loosens my shoulders.
“Dang, Sofia,” Ashley says after a moment of silence. “That’s one very fine man.”
I shoot her a look. “Terrible attitude, though,” I deadpan, refusing to admit I noticed anything else about him. “I hope I never see him again.”
Ashley snorts.
“It’s New York,” she says. “You probably never will.”