The bell above the door of a small, independent bookstore in the West Village chimed. Elara was browsing the poetry section, seeking solace in the rhythm of words that held no connection to her life. It was a futile attempt at normalcy, a tiny rebellion against the lingering sense of being watched.As she reached for a collection of Mary Oliver, her hand once again brushed against another's. She pulled back with a murmured apology and looked up.It was him.Kaelan.He stood frozen, a leather-bound book in his own hand, his expression one of pure, unguarded shock. He looked different. The razor-sharp suit was replaced with dark jeans and a simple black sweater. He looked… human. And utterly devastated.For a long, suspended moment, they simply stared at each other. The air crackled, thick with a thousand unsaid things—the hurt, the anger, the leaked documents, the hollow victory, the memory of his touch."Elara," he fin
Last Updated : 2025-12-05
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