When heart collides

For two years, I was in love with a man I only knew as C.L. Our anonymous online relationship was my safe haven from a world that terrified me, built on one simple rule: we would never meet.

That rule shattered with a single text. He was a bestselling author, and his publisher was forcing him on a book tour.

"I need to meet you," he wrote. "I can't do this without you."

My social anxiety spiraled. I broke the only rule I could control and told him we should end it. The next morning, my boss ordered me to deliver files to our company's top client-the notoriously private author, Cristian Lancaster. It was him. My anonymous lover was my boss.

He looked devastated, as if he' d been crying over my message, but he treated me like a stranger. I later found out the truth: he' d known who I was for two years, quietly waiting for me to trust him.

But as our worlds finally collided, a jealous manager saw her chance for revenge. She forced me into a dinner with a dangerous man from my past, a man who drugged my drink and drove me toward a desolate road.

As the car sped into the darkness, I hit record on my phone, realizing this was no longer about saving our love story. It was about saving my life.

Chapter 1

Kiana Perkins POV:

For the past two years, I've been in love with a man I've never met. A man I only know as 'C.L.' Today, that all came crashing down.

It started with a message that made my stomach plummet to the floor.

C.L.: They' re making me do a book tour. Across the country. I need to meet you.

My fingers trembled over the screen. This was our one rule. The only rule. No names. No faces. No real world.

Me: You know we can't do that.

C.L.: Kiana, I can't do this without you. Please.

My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic, trapped bird. I typed the words that felt like acid on my tongue.

Me: Then maybe we should end this.

The three dots appeared, disappeared, then appeared again. The silence stretched, thick and suffocating.

This wasn't how it was supposed to be. It was supposed to be safe.

It all started so innocently, so ridiculously. Two years ago, I was just another freelance graphic designer, hiding from the world behind my glowing monitor. My online persona, 'Pixel_Perfect,' was everything I wasn' t in real life: sharp, witty, and unafraid. My real life was a carefully curated routine of client emails, Adobe Creative Suite, and avoiding any and all human interaction that wasn' t filtered through a screen.

Then, Cristian Lancaster, the notoriously private, bestselling crime author, blew up my quiet world with a single, baffling post on a professional forum.

It was a public cry for help, disguised as a grumpy rant.

"My publisher insists my public persona is 'unapproachable.' I am attaching my latest author headshot for review. They claim it is 'intimidating.' I write novels about serial killers. Is that not the point? Seeking professional feedback on this matter."

The post was so out of character for the reclusive author that the forum lit up. Most of the comments were from star-struck fans or sycophantic industry types telling him he looked perfect.

They were lying.

I clicked on the attached photo. My breath hitched. It wasn't that he was unattractive. Quite the opposite. Cristian Lancaster had the kind of face that belonged on a Roman statue-sharp jaw, high cheekbones, eyes the color of a stormy sea. He was, objectively, one of the most handsome men I had ever seen.

The problem was, he looked like he was actively plotting to murder the photographer, and possibly the photographer's entire family. His arms were crossed so tightly over his chest they looked like they were part of his ribcage. His jaw was clenched, and his stare could curdle milk. He looked less like a bestselling author and more like a man who had just discovered a rat in his soup.

It was a branding nightmare.

My fingers flew across the keyboard before I could second-guess myself, my 'Pixel_Perfect' persona taking over.

"Unapproachable is a feature, not a bug, for a thriller author. However, there' s a fine line between 'enigmatic genius' and 'escaped convict.' You' ve crossed it. Your posture is screaming 'defensive,' and your expression says you' d rather be undergoing a root canal. You need to look like you write about murder, not like you' re about to commit one. DM me if you want advice that' s actually useful. My rates are reasonable."

I hit send, my heart thudding with a mixture of adrenaline and terror. I had just sassed one of the most successful authors on the planet.

To my utter shock, a private message notification popped up less than a minute later.

C.L.: Your assessment was… blunt. And accurate. What do you suggest?