Amelia.

The buzzing of an alarm clock cut through the suffocating darkness of Amelia’s tiny apartment, vibrating aggressively against the rickety nightstand. A groggy hand fumbled for the button, silencing it instantly. But instead of rising, Amelia groaned and curled back into herself, the weight of exhaustion pinning her down. Five more minutes wouldn’t kill her.

Except five minutes turned into thirty.

When she bolted upright, panic flooded her veins. “Shit!” she hissed, shoving her tangled mess of dark hair away from her face. Her shift at the bar was starting in minutes. No time to think, no time to breathe—just move.

She scrambled off the lumpy mattress, stumbling over discarded clothes as she threw on the first half-clean thing she could find—tight jeans, a too-thin hoodie that barely did anything against the morning chill. Her fingers shook as she tugged on her boots, not even bothering to tie them properly before grabbing her bag and rushing out the door.

The twenty-minute walk to the bar was going to be hell. She was already late.

Cold morning air slapped against her face as she sped through the streets, weaving through the early risers and morning commuters. Her long dark hair streamed behind her like a banner of chaos. She knew she looked a mess—cheeks flushed, eyes still foggy with sleep, clothes wrinkled beyond saving. But she didn’t have time to care.

She rounded a corner at full speed, not seeing him until it was too late.

Impact.

She crashed into something solid—someone solid—knocking a sleek, expensive-looking phone straight out of his hand. Time seemed to slow as it tumbled to the pavement, landing with a sharp crack.

Her breath hitched as strong hands caught her arms, steadying her before she could follow the phone to the ground. Her first instinct was to jerk away, but the firm grip held her in place. Panic flared in her chest.

“I—I’m so sorry!” she rushed out, eyes wide as she stared up at the man she’d just body-checked.

He was tall. Unreasonably tall, compared to her barely five-foot frame. His piercing blue eyes locked onto hers, sharp and assessing, taking in her disheveled state. Dark hair, styled to perfection, barely moved despite the collision. An expensive coat framed broad shoulders, oozing wealth and composure that stood in stark contrast to her frenzied mess.

He didn’t let go.

“Are you alright?” His voice was smooth, controlled, like he wasn’t even slightly fazed by what had just happened.

She blinked, still trying to process the fact that he was touching her, holding her upright like she was something fragile. She didn’t like it. Didn’t know how to react to it.

“Yeah, yeah—I’m fine!” she rushed out, stepping back as fast as his grip would allow. She cast a quick glance at the fallen phone, guilt tightening her stomach. “I really didn’t mean to—”

“It’s fine.” He cut her off, eyes still fixed on her with an intensity that made her want to squirm. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

She nodded frantically, already retreating. “I—uh—I have to go.”

He didn’t stop her. But he watched.

She ran, feeling the weight of his gaze burning into her back as she disappeared down the street. But even as she rushed to make it to her shift, she couldn’t help herself.

She looked back.

And he was still watching.

~

A sickening wave of panic crashed over Amelia as she barreled through the back door of the run-down dive bar, her breath ragged, heart slamming against her ribs. The stench of stale cigarette smoke and old, sour liquor hit her immediately, thick in the air like a permanent fog. No matter how long she worked here, the smell always made her stomach twist.

She barely had time to yank on her apron before rushing toward the bar, where Sal was already waiting. The hulking, greasy owner wiped down the counter with a rag so filthy it probably made things dirtier. He slammed barstools onto the floor with too much force, each one screeching against the sticky tiles, as if punishing the furniture for existing.

His bloodshot eyes snapped to her the second she entered.

“You’re fuckin’ late, kid,” he spat, his voice a grating rasp, thick with years of chain-smoking.

“I’m sorry, I overslept,” Amelia murmured, ducking behind the bar and getting straight to work, hoping he’d let it go.

Sal let out a short, bitter laugh, more like a grunt. “That ain’t no damn excuse.” He shoved his bulk onto a stool with a groan, the wood creaking under his weight. Fishing a cigarette from his crumpled pack, he lit up, exhaling a thick cloud of smoke in her direction. “I give you these shifts ‘cause your little princess ass don’t wanna walk home alone at night. Least you could do is show up on fuckin’ time.”

Amelia clenched her jaw but said nothing. There was no point.

She moved through the bar, setting up tables, fixing chairs, dumping last night’s cigarette butts from overflowing ashtrays. She could feel his eyes on her the whole time—slow, lingering, watching her every move like a vulture sizing up a dying animal.

“Tie your fuckin’ hair up. It’s a mess,” he barked.

She obeyed without a word, pulling a hair tie from her pocket and yanking her long, dark locks into a ponytail. Anything to keep his attention off her.

The front doors were finally unlocked, allowing in a sliver of cool morning air—freedom, if only for a second. But it would be hours before customers came in. Hours stuck in here, alone with Sal.

She kept moving. Restocking the snack shelf. Cleaning glasses. Filling the fridge with cold beers. Anything to stay busy. Anything to keep her mind off the way his heavy gaze stayed glued to her.

Anything to ignore the feeling that he was always waiting for a moment to get her alone.

Amelia was right—there was only so much she could do to keep busy. By the time lunch rolled around, some of the regulars had shuffled in, most of them old men who had been coming here long before she had. A few of them were Sal’s friends, loud and crude, their conversations littered with barking laughter and cigarette smoke that curled in the air like ghosts of bad decisions.

At least they kept Sal occupied.

The bar wasn’t packed, but it was busy enough to keep Amelia on her toes. A small lunch rush had her moving on autopilot, taking orders, pouring drinks, sliding crumpled bills into the till without sparing anyone a second glance. It was all muscle memory—until one voice shattered through the haze.

Deep. Strong. Confident.

A voice that didn’t ask—it commanded.

“IPA.”

She froze, her hand still gripping a glass mid-pour. Something about the way he spoke tugged at her memory, and when she finally glanced up, her breath hitched.

Him.

The man she had slammed into that morning.

The expensive coat was gone now, but everything else was the same—his sharp, chiseled features, the spiked dark hair, the piercing blue eyes that seemed to pin her in place. Up close, in the dim bar lighting, there was something even more striking about him. Something unreadable.

Amelia swallowed hard, blinking away the sudden rush of flustered nerves. “Uh—” She cleared her throat, forcing herself to focus. “The owner doesn’t stock IPA. Just the regular stouts and Bud Light.”

Her voice wavered, just slightly.

The corner of his mouth lifted, not quite a smirk, not quite a smile. More like quiet amusement.

“Bud, then.” He reached into his wallet, pulling out a crisp fifty-dollar bill. He placed it on the counter, fingers tapping against the surface just once before sliding it toward her. “Keep the change.”

Amelia hesitated, but only for a second before nodding and moving to grab the beer. When she turned back, he had already taken a seat in a shadowed, secluded corner of the bar.

For the next hour, he barely touched his drink.

Instead, he watched.

Not in the way Sal did—his stare wasn’t slimy, wasn’t something that made her skin crawl. But it was intense. Calculated. Like he was waiting.

And for the first time in a long time, Amelia wasn’t sure whether she should be afraid of that—or intrigued.

As her shift neared its end, Amelia’s anxiety grew. The man who had ordered only a single beer still lingered in the corner, his presence enough of an intrusion for Sal to step out from behind the bar and grill her about it.

“Who’s your new friend?” Sal growled, a half-chuckle escaping his lips.

Amelia, wiping down the bar, stole a glance at the man in the corner, his confidence almost palpable.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” she shot back flippantly. “Must be someone passing through this shit hole of a town.”

Sal chuckled again, as though her nonchalance only fueled his amusement. He leaned in close, his breath hot against her ear. Amelia stiffened, repulsed by the proximity.

“Hope you have fun walking home, then,” he drawled, his voice far too close for comfort. He pulled back, coughing as his laughter rumbled through him.

As if sensing the shift in the atmosphere, the man effortlessly rose from his seat, checked his watch, and with one final, lingering glance at Amelia, made his swift exit. There was a stir in his chest—an unfamiliar sensation that he couldn’t quite place. He walked out of the dive bar and into the deadbeat town, his thoughts a whirlwind. What had started as a simple investment opportunity—some buildings he’d been eyeing to buy—had morphed into something entirely different.

He pulled his battered phone from his pocket, the screen cracked but still functional, and dialed his husband. The call was answered almost instantly.

“Paul? Where are you? Our flight leaves in two hours!” Daniel’s voice came through, frantic.

“Sorry, babe, I got caught up... some kid ran into me this morning,” Paul replied, trying to smooth the tension from his shoulders as he made his way to the parking lot where his Tesla was waiting.

“Are you okay? Did you get mugged or something?” Daniel’s concern was palpable.

Paul chuckled, his mood shifting slightly. “No... I didn’t get mugged. I found her, Dan. I found her. She’s the one.” There was a weight in his words. “I promise you, I got a picture of her. I couldn’t help myself... I sat and watched her for a while.”

He shook his head, focusing as he reached his car. “Let me send you the picture. She’s the one. I promise. I’ll tell you everything when I get back to the hotel, but just… look at the picture, okay?”

Daniel sighed but relented. The two of them had been searching for someone—the right one—for years. They were beginning to lose hope. Their lives were unconventional, to say the least, the kind of lifestyle frowned upon by wider society. But despite everything, they’d managed to get accepted into one of the most elite communities in the world—something few could even dream of, let alone achieve. It was exclusive, expensive, and involved extensive background checks. But they did it. They had made it into the prestigious Pennington community.

Now, all they needed was to find their little—someone to bring into their lives, to live with them, to complete their carefully curated world.