Chapter 1: The Stranger by the Shore 

Michelle's POV

It had been eight months since the death of my brother—Sam, yet for no reason the pain crept in uninvited again today.

I made my way down to the beach, hoping the sound of the waves might help clear my head, if only for a little while.

"Take me to the beach," I told the cab driver, my voice barely above a whisper. "Any beach."

The Pacific stretched endlessly before me as I stepped down from the car, the setting sun painting the sky in shades of orange and crimson. 

I picked my way across the sand, dodging joggers and evening surfers. I found a piece of driftwood, faraway from the crowd and sank onto it.

I was so lost in the hypnotic pull of the water,and the soft melody in my ears whispering about love and forever, that I didn’t hear the footsteps until they stopped just behind me.

“Mind if I sit?”

I removed my AirPods and turned to find a man standing a few feet away, hands shoved deep into his pockets. 

He was tall, with a strong, full frame—not bulky, just solid, like nothing could move him unless he let it.

“Sure.” I shifted over on the driftwood.

He settled beside me with a heavy exhale, both of us staring out at the waves. 

“Do you come here often?”

“Only when I need to… clear my head.” I responded.

“The ocean’s good for that,” he said, his gaze fixed on the restless sea. “It doesn’t care who we are. It just… keeps moving.”

I nodded and for several minutes, we sat in silence—two strangers united by whatever had driven us to seek solace in the endless sea.

“I lost my brother,” I finally said, surprising myself. “In an accident, eight months ago.”

He was quiet for a while, I wondered if he’d even heard me. Then: “I’m sorry. That’s.” He paused, then shook his head. “There aren’t words for that kind of loss.” 

“Sometimes I swear I see him in a crowd,” I whispered, my fingers brushing the small pendant at my neck—Sam gave me on my last birthday. It pressed against my skin as I tried to finish, “but it’s never him.”

“The mind plays tricks when we’re grieving,” he said softly. “It’s trying to protect us from a reality it’s not ready to accept.”

I glanced at him. “Have you ever lost someone close to you?”

His eyes stayed on mine for a moment before shifting away. 

“Why do you ask?” he murmured.

“Because you sound like you understand,” I whispered.

 “Maybe I do. Sixteen years ago… it was my mum in a car accident.” He smiled. 

“Oh, I’m so sorry.” I was touched, realizing we were both carrying the same type of pain. 

“Thank you,” he whispered, running his hands through his hair. I noticed his hands, they were strong but gentle, with an expensive watch glittering on his wrist.

A few seconds later, I glanced at him, then back at the waves. “It feels strange… talking to someone I just met.”

He beamed. “Sometimes strangers understand us better than people we’ve known for years.”

I frowned slightly. “You think so?”

“Yeah,” he said, leaning back on his hands. “Strangers don’t come with expectations. They don’t remind us of who we’re supposed to be. They just… take us as we are, in that moment.”

I let out a quiet breath. “Maybe that’s why I’m still sitting here.” 

He turned his head, his gaze brushing over me. “And maybe that’s why I joined you.” He grinned.

About an hour later, the beach had emptied around us, leaving only the sound of waves and distant traffic.

“I should probably go home,” I said with a tired sigh.

“Want to grab a drink?” he asked, gesturing towards his car. “I’ve got some in the car.

I thought about it. Going back to my dorm when Brenda and Lia weren’t around meant more thinking.

“I drove here,” he added, standing and brushing sand from his shorts. “If you’re comfortable with that.”

I looked at him—the ocean breeze pressing his shirt against his body, showing how fit he was. 

I hesitated. My mom’s warning echoing—never get into a car with a stranger. My fingers twitched to text Brenda, to make an excuse. But he kept his distance, and somehow my fear eased. 

Against my better judgment, I nodded.

I took his offered hand to pull myself up from the driftwood and we started walking toward where he had parked his car.

What I hadn’t expected was the kind of car he drove to the beach. The Lamborghini wasn’t just a car—it was the kind that screamed at poor college girls like me: Don’t even breathe near me, you’ll scratch the paint.

“Damn,” I breathed.

And he gave a soft laugh.

“Are you some kind of tech billionaire or something?”

“Oh, you think so?” he responded, smiling as he pressed the key fob to unlock the car. 

He moved closer and opened the passenger door for me. “If this makes you uncomfortable—”

“No, it’s just” I paused and stared at the butter-soft leather interior and the dashboard that looked like mission control.

“You getting in?” he asked.

That was when I realized I’d been staring.

I slid into the passenger seat. The leather was incredibly soft and smelled like an expensive perfume.

As he rounded the car and moved toward the driver’s side, fear gripped my heart. 

And the second he closed the door, I felt uneasy. Then came a soft click.

My heart raced so violently it felt as though it might leap straight out of my chest.

“Why… why did you lock the doors?” I asked, my voice cracked and trembled as much as my hands on my lap.