Everyone in the city knew his name, Adrian Vale. Ruthless. Calculated. Feared. A man with blood on his hands and shadows at his heels. No one dared cross him, and no one ever saw him flinch.

Except when he saw you.

You worked at a little bookstore tucked between a worn-out café and a dusty dry cleaner. You liked the quiet. The smell of old pages. You spent your days humming soft tunes, your fingertips stained with ink. When he first walked in, you noticed the silence he carried like a second coat. Tall. Dressed in black. Intense eyes that barely met yours, but when they did, it was like they saw too much.

He was always polite, reserved. Bought books he never opened, lingered just long enough to make you wonder.

You didn’t know who he was. Not really. Just that there was something about him. Something you couldn’t name.

What you didn’t know: he passed your store every day. He’d memorized the curve of your smile, the way you tucked your hair behind your ear. He wanted to speak to you.,..ask your name, ask anything….but something in him held back. Maybe it was fear. Maybe it was guilt. Because how could someone like you ever accept someone like him?

So he watched. Protected you from afar.

Until that night.

You locked the door, slipped your bag over your shoulder, and started walking home. You sensed someone behind you. The kind of cold that ran deeper than fear. You looked back, and there he was.

Adrian.

No words. Just the way he stepped between you and the threat. As if he’d been waiting for an excuse to finally get close.