part 1 : the first encounter

It was late evening in Paris.

Rain fell in a gentle mist, painting the rooftops with silver. The city glowed under streetlamps, reflections dancing in puddles as though Paris itself was welcoming her with open arms. The air smelled of fresh rain and warm bread, and every corner hummed with the quiet music of life.

Fiona stepped off the train with her coat wrapped tightly around her and a lavender scarf fluttering behind her. Her eyes sparkled with something rare—not relief, not exhaustion. Pure joy. The kind that comes after years of dreaming and working and wondering if this moment would ever come.

She was finally here.

Not because she was running. Not because she needed to hide or heal.

She had fought to be here.

For years, Paris had lived in her mind like a postcard—soft lights, long walks, the smell of roasted chestnuts, the sound of violins echoing in alleys. But life hadn't made it easy. There were bills. Responsibilities. Doubts. People who said "you should be realistic." People who told her dreams were only for those with time, money, or luck.

She had none of those.

But she had grit. She worked long shifts, skipped weekends out, studied at night, saved every coin. She spent years being her own cheerleader—telling herself it would be worth it when she stepped onto Parisian soil. When she could look at herself and say, You did it.

And now, as the train pulled away behind her and the wind kissed her cheeks, she smiled.

Fiona wasn't here to fall in love. She was already in love—with this city, this feeling, this version of herself.

She lifted her chin and took her first step onto the platform—and that's when she saw him.

At the far end, a tall man stood like he belonged to the shadows. His black trench coat moved with the wind, and a cigarette dangled from his tattooed fingers—unlit, forgotten. He didn't move. He didn't glance around.

But when he turned, their eyes met.

And everything else stopped.

His gaze was dark, stormy, and strange. But it wasn't threatening. It was familiar, almost… curious. As if he had been waiting—not for just anyone, but for her. Like he somehow knew what this moment meant.

He stepped forward. Silently. Slowly.

And even though he didn't say a word, Fiona heard it in her chest like a whisper only she could feel:

You're mine now.

But for the first time, it didn't scare her.

She wasn't here to be saved. She wasn't here to be claimed.

She was here because she earned this life.

And maybe—just maybe—this was the beginning of something more.