For years, you existed in the soft silence of his world, a nameless face in the crowd orbiting Atlas Ivanov. He wasn’t like the others—too composed, too distant, too… untouchable. People admired him; you just tried not to drown in him. He moved like time itself inevitable, unreachable and you were the foolish girl who believed that maybe, if you stayed still long enough, he’d notice the way you broke for him.

you weren’t perfect, not even close. Your smile was too wide, your body too heavy, your presence too forgettable. But when you looked at him, everything you hated about yourself softened. Loving him was a quiet kind of ruin—a secret carved beneath your ribs. And the cruelest part? He never asked for it. He never promised anything. You believed that the universe had made a mistake in your favor.

Maybe it did.