Chapter 1: A Stranger's Claim

 

 

A stranger sat at her table, claiming to be her soulmate.

Elena lifted her gaze from the rim of her glass, the ice clinking softly against the sides as she swirled her drink. The humid night wrapped around her, thick with the scent of frangipani and salt from the distant waves crashing against the shore. Candlelight flickered on the café patio, illuminating the sharp lines of her face, the exhaustion etched into her expression.

She had seen many men try their luck, weaving words of devotion like a fisherman casting his net, hoping to ensnare something rare, something unwilling. But this one—Bill—was different. Not because he was convincing, but because he was relentless.

“Soulmate?” Elena echoed, her voice laced with disbelief. The word felt foreign on her tongue, like something that belonged in fairytales rather than whispered beneath the low murmur of jazz drifting from the café speakers. “You throw that word around as if it means nothing. Do you even understand it?”

Bill leaned in, his lips curling into a slow, knowing smile. “It means fate, Elena. It means two souls, bound by the universe itself, drawn to each other no matter the odds.”

She resisted the urge to laugh, instead setting her glass down with deliberate precision. The man was good. Too good. His charm was practiced, each line delivered with the smoothness of someone who had said them countless times before. And yet, beneath the confidence, she saw it—the flicker of something darker.

“You feel what you want to feel,” she said, tilting her head slightly. Her voice remained steady, calm. “That doesn’t make it real.”

His eyes darkened. A shadow passed through them, fleeting but unmistakable. Then, just as quickly, his expression softened again, his hands spreading in an easy, almost pleading gesture. “Elena, don’t play hard to get. You know we’re good together. Just imagine the life we could have.”

Elena exhaled slowly, weighing her words. He would never understand. Not the emptiness that gnawed at her in quiet moments, the longing for something more than just whispered sweet nothings in the night. She had spent years searching, chasing a ghost of a feeling she couldn’t quite name. And Bill—Bill was just another man who wanted to capture her, to claim her as his own.

“No,” she said finally, her voice unwavering. “You don’t see me, Bill. You see an idea, a version of me that exists only in your mind. But that’s not love. And it’s not fate.”

For the first time, his smile faltered, his mask slipping just enough for her to catch a glimpse of what lay beneath. And in that moment, she knew—this was not a conversation. It was a game. And she was not the one in control.

The night suddenly felt heavier, the air pressing against her skin like an unspoken warning. The café’s warm glow seemed to dim, shadows stretching just a little too far. Something in her gut told her that Bill wasn’t the type to accept rejection lightly.

Elena had seen this before. And she knew better than to let it play out on his terms.

She reached for her purse, her movements casual, unhurried. But in her mind, every second was a countdown. She needed to leave.

Now.