Chapter 1: The Collision
The city never stopped moving. Neon lights blinked like they had a secret to keep, and the night breeze carried a thousand unspoken stories across its high-rise sprawl. Ethan Delos, 23, coffee in one hand and headphones in, danced through traffic like a pro. Late for work, again. Not that it bothered him—punctuality had never been one of his strong suits. Predictability was boring, and Ethan hated boring.
He slid into the subway car just as the doors closed, flashing a charming grin at the old woman he nearly elbowed. Her scowl deepened. He winked anyway.
Twenty minutes and a podcast later, he was out and walking through Midtown, weaving around tourists and business suits. The city was alive, pulsing, like a puzzle waiting to be solved—and Ethan always thought he was the only one who could figure it out.
Then he ran into her. Literally.
A coffee cup exploded. Hers. Not his.
"Oh my god!" she gasped, stepping back as the dark stain spread across her cream blouse.
"Wow. That's… definitely my fault," Ethan said, blinking, trying to recover. She was stunning. Not in the airbrushed, model-perfect way, but in the way you look twice without meaning to. Her eyes were sharp, furious, but not afraid.
"You think?" she shot back, dabbing her chest with a napkin. "Do you always destroy people's mornings, or is this a special occasion?"
"Only on Wednesdays. I charge for Fridays," he replied smoothly, pulling out a spare napkin from his coat pocket. "Here. Truce?"
She hesitated. Took the napkin. "Thanks. I guess. What's your name, Coffee Assassin?"
"Ethan. And you are?"
"Claire. And don't think this is over. You owe me a coffee and a new blouse."
He grinned. "Deal. But only if you let me choose the coffee shop. I know places."
"Unpredictable and arrogant," she muttered, almost smiling.
Ethan didn't say it out loud, but he knew in that moment—his world, which he thought he already had a good grasp on—had just shifted.