Chapter 1

Audrey’s P.O.V.

“You have to be kidding me!” Rob’s voice booms in my ear.

“I can’t believe it either, but yeah—here I am.” I smile to myself, pacing around my very new and very empty apartment, the phone still pressed to my ear as I try to take in my surroundings, trying to grasp this new reality.

I’m in L.A. I actually did it. I’m starting over.

The only problem? I’m building everything from scratch here, which means I’m alone in every possible way. The only person I even remotely know—someone I could maybe call a friend—is all the way in Ohio. And the funniest part? I’ve never even met him in person. Just an old pen pal from my teen years. Yep. Rob—the same one I just dropped the bomb on, telling him I’ve officially moved.

“Listen, love,” he says, his tone softening, “I’ll tell Gina when she gets home, and we’ll fly out to see you as soon as we can. I know you could use some company. Flying halfway across the globe like that... it’s no small thing. It can be devastating.” He sighs.

He always knows exactly what to say, like he’s cracked some secret code to my brain.

“Rob, it’s not—”

“Bullshit.” He cuts me off. “We’ve been talking about this for what, ten years? Twelve? I’ve lost count of how many times we dreamed about you coming to visit. And now that you’re finally here, you think we’re not coming to see you? No way.”

I give up. When Rob sets his mind to something, there’s no talking him out of it.

“Okay, okay, you win. Come over whenever you can. Mi casa, su casa,” I laugh, trying to mask the crack in my voice. But deep down, I’m relieved. I could really use a friend right now.

“Good,” he says, voice firm with finality.

“Good,” I repeat, mimicking his tone.

We both laugh, then chat for a bit longer before saying goodbye. I glance around the cold, bare apartment once more. The only thing decorating the space is my luggage. That’s it.

Ugh. When are these movers going to bring my furniture? I might have to sleep on the floor tonight.

I sink to the ground and send a quick text to my mom letting her know I’m okay. She’s been on my case all day, worried about how I’m holding up. She knows how much I’ve wanted this—how hard I fought for this life—but also how painful it was when the opportunity finally came. The timing couldn’t have been worse. I had to weigh every option, tear apart every scenario, before making this move. And even now, it still feels like swallowing a bitter pill that got stuck halfway down.

Lying flat on my back, I scroll aimlessly on my phone, trying to distract myself. Somewhere in the distance, I hear muffled music drifting through the building. I ignore the tears silently sliding down my cheeks and laugh at myself. What a mess. But no—I can’t cry. I chose this. I wanted this. It took a mountain of sacrifice to get here, and I won’t jinx it with self-pity.

The jet lag finally hits me as I wait in line for food a couple of hours later. I won’t have to sleep on the floor after all—the movers are upstairs, putting the furniture in place. Figured I’d grab something quick from the fast food joint across the street before I pass out from hunger. Between the twenty-three hour flight, meeting my agent to get the keys, and hauling my stuff into the apartment, I haven’t had a second to eat.

The woman at the counter calls my number, and I take the bag with a quiet thanks.

As I cross back toward my building, a burst of distant laughter catches my attention. Deep. Gravelly. Natural baritone. The kind of voice that’s always captivated me.

I turn my head on instinct and spot two guys walking along the other side of the street. It’s too dark to make out their faces, but one is tall and lean, the other a bit shorter with long hair. They’re dressed in black—leather jackets, maybe—and they move like they own the place.

I shake off the tug in my stomach and head inside. Enough for one day.

****

After a restless night and a hectic morning arranging furniture, it’s time to meet my new assistant. I take a quick shower, slip into a black camisole and matching tailored suit, then grab my red stilettos. One last glance in the mirror makes me pause.

With my long black hair, pale complexion, and head-to-toe black ensemble, I look like I’m headed to a funeral—not exactly the warmest first impression for someone I’ll be working closely with.

I swipe on a bold red lipstick. There. A little life.

Satisfied, I step out and wait for the elevator.

When the doors slide open, I’m greeted by two leather-clad backs and the strong scent of expensive cologne. Two men are inside, adjusting their hair in the mirrored panel.

“Oops! Sorry!” one of them says, his voice low and raspy—the same one I heard last night.

He turns, and I meet a pair of piercing blue eyes.

“Morning!” the other guy chimes in, cheerful, but I’m already frozen.

My mind blanks. Um... what’s my name again?

No way. No actual way.

Of all the people, on my first real day here, it’s him?

“Uh, you can come in… if you’d like?” His voice is slower this time, cautious, like he’s trying to read me.

“Yeah, um, sorry. Still half-asleep,” I mumble as I step into the elevator, forcing a tight smile.

They exchange a quick glance before the one I don’t recognize speaks.

“I’m Damien. You must be the new neighbor.”

“I am. Nice to meet you,” I reply politely, avoiding eye contact with either of them.

From the corner of my vision, Drew flashes a lazy smile—complete with a dimple I was hoping I’d imagined. Definitely not making eye contact again.

Chill, Audrey. He doesn’t recognize you. He’s not going to.

He studies me for a beat before speaking. “I’m Drew. I guess you’re in the apartment below mine? There was some mix-up with your furniture delivery yesterday.”

Hearing him say his name out loud sends a jolt through me. It's real. He’s real. Andrew—in the flesh.

“Nice to meet you,” I manage, matching the tone I used with Damien.

While Drew’s momentarily distracted by his phone, I risk a closer look. His black hair is tousled, like he just rolled out of bed, one strand falling messily over a dark brow. Those eyes are even more glacial up close. His cheekbones are high, sharp. Striking. But there’s something gaunt beneath the good looks—something hollow. A tattoo peeks out from the collar of his leather jacket, curling up the side of his neck. Hy heartbeat is erratic, while i try to play it cool.

The elevator pings. Longest ride of my life.

I slip out as soon as the doors part.

“I didn’t catch your name!” Damien calls after me.

I pause, glance back.

“Audrey!” I say with a quick smile, then walk off as fast as my red heels will carry me.

****

Drew’s P.O.V.

Evanescence is touring again. Wow—didn’t realize they were still alive.

Mayday Parade has a full magazine spread and some kind of T-shirt bundle going on.

I keep scrolling, half-reading the junk on my phone.

“You planning on redecorating our apartment without telling me?” D.D. barges in, tossing his jacket onto the couch beside me like he owns the place.

With the headache pounding behind my eyes, his voice is very much not appreciated.

I lift my gaze, giving him a look. “My apartment,” I correct. “And no. What are you even talking about?”

He jerks his thumb toward the open door, where a tall guy in a work uniform is holding a clipboard like he’s got business here.

“And the truck downstairs,” D.D. adds, giving me that duh face like it’s obvious.

I get up and walk to the door. “Hey. Can I help you?”

“Sorry, man. We’re here to deliver the furniture you requested. I know we’re a bit late, but—”

“What furniture?” My voice is flat. If this is one of D.D.'s pranks, he picked the wrong day. “I didn’t order anything.”

Now he’s the confused one. He hands me the clipboard, and I check the address.

People really can’t read anymore, huh?

“Wrong floor,” I say, handing it back. “You’re looking for the apartment just below.”

He nods sheepishly and walks off. I shut the door and turn around—just in time to see D.D. taking a bite out of my sandwich.

“That was my dinner,” I mutter, staring at the half that remains in his hands.

He grins through a mouthful. “Didn’t know you had new neighbors.”

“That makes two of us.” I snatch the sandwich back.

“Come on, princess. Throw on a shirt and I’ll treat you to a romantic dinner across the street,” he teases, blowing me a kiss.

I roll my eyes and head to my room. When I return, D.D.’s hanging half out the front door, peering down the staircase with a shit-eating grin.

“What now?”

“Dude,” he says, cat-whistling, “you are one lucky motherfucker.”

I raise an eyebrow, waiting.

“Your new neighbor. Hot. Like, pass-out-on-the-sidewalk hot.”

“I’ve sworn off women,” I reply dryly, pulling the door shut behind me.

“You what? You—”

“Shut up. My head’s killing me.”

“Lame. Two beers in and I guarantee you’ll change your mind.”

We head down to the elevator. As we step inside, my phone buzzes with a text.

She’s coming back.

Perfect. Just what I needed to make the day worse.

****

Waking up with a hangover and D.D. shouting outside my door is exactly as miserable as it sounds. He’s rambling about not pissing the guys off any more than I already have. Like I need a reminder.

Why they keep dragging me to the studio this early is beyond me.

I drag myself up, open the door, shove D.D. out of the way, and stumble into the bathroom. The mirror is not kind this morning. Puffy eyes. Pale face. I look as wrecked as I feel.

The hot water burns, but it helps. I only had two beers—at least I think I did. But it feels like a damn truck hit me.

After throwing on the first clean clothes I find, I head out with Damien. As always, we’re in matching black—leather jackets and all. The elevator mirror shows our hair’s a disaster, so we both turn and start fixing it like the vain idiots we are.

Then the elevator stops one floor down. The doors slide open and I catch a glimpse of black hair from the corner of the mirror and a sweet smell of jasmine, vanilla and caramel invades my senses.

And there she is.

Jet black hair. Blood-red lips. Pale as porcelain. She looks like a gothic business dream. Like someone who walked right out of one of my lyrics.

“Oops. Sorry,” I mutter, turning to face her. And then I see her eyes. The finest whiskey shot. Liquid Amber.

“Morning!” Damien chimes, too damn chipper for this hour, shaking me off my daze.

She’s frozen. Just staring. And for a second, so am I.

She’s stunning. And something about her… familiar.

“Uh, you can come in… if you’d like?” I say, breaking the silence.

“Yeah, um, sorry. Still sleepy,” she mumbles, stepping inside.

“I’m Damien. You must be the new neighbor.”

“I am. Nice to meet you,” she says, polite and composed. Still avoiding eye contact.

I smile a little. There’s something about her voice—it sinks in slow, warm, like the first sip of whiskey.

“I’m Drew,” I add. “I think you got the apartment under mine? There was a mix-up with your furniture yesterday.” I overexplain like I usually tend to, when I interact with people out of my close circle. Social butterfly, I know.

She nods again. No recognition in her eyes. I’m not sure if I’m relieved or disappointed.

As she looks away, I glance at her from the corner of my eye, pretending to keep busy with my phone. She’s got this familiar presence, but maybe I’m just projecting. I’ve written about a woman like her more times than I'd like to admit—dark-haired, pale, with those blood-red lips. A walking ghost from my past.

Damn it. Her again.

It never fails. Every time I’m reminded, it takes days to shove the memory back into the dark.

And that smell. That hypnotic perfume i bought years ago, just to imagine how she would smell in reality.

The elevator dings and she flees too fast.

“I didn’t catch your name!” Damien calls after her.

She pauses, turns, and gives a quick smile.

“Audrey.”

And just like that, she’s gone.

Of course that’s her name.

Because the universe has a sick sense of humor.

But it's not her. Or is it?

It can't be...