Chapter 1: The Collision
The streets of the capital city were alive that morning — vendors calling out prices, cars honking, and the sound of hurried footsteps on the pavement.
Emily stepped out of the tall glass doors of the company building, clutching a note from her boss.
“Go get me my coffee. Same as always. Don’t be late,” the woman had ordered
.Emily was a workaholic to the bone—early mornings, late nights, and a desk that saw more of her than her own bed. She wasn’t social, didn’t follow the news, and rarely paid attention to anything outside her workload. But she believed in one thing: if fate wanted something to happen, it would.
The coffee shop across the street was small but always warm and busy. Emily ordered with a polite smile, tapping her foot absentmindedly as she waited. She looked effortlessly sweet—golden-brown eyes framed by long lashes, brown straight silky hair tumbling down her back, catching the light with every movement. Without a trace of makeup, she was still the kind of girl men dreamed about—pretty and sexy in the same breath without trying.
A sudden shift in the crowd broke her focus. The usual confident bustle of the city slowed, conversations dimmed, and a quiet tension rolled in like a shadow. Heads turned toward one man making his way through the street, flanked by men who didn’t look like the average bodyguards — they radiated danger without speaking a word
Coffee in hand, she decided not to think about it cause it wasn’t her business who the strangers was and she turned to hurry back absent mindlessly .And then—
“Oh! I’m so sorry!” Emily gasped as she collided with the same stranger that made the busy and noisy city quiet, the hot liquid splashing onto his dark shirt.
Her gaze snapped up to meet his.
Dark hair, perfectly tousled, framed a face that could have stepped out of a dream. But it was his eyes—piercing, icy blue—that trapped her. For a moment, the noise of the street faded away.
The suit he wore looked like something she could spend her entire life savings on and still not be able to afford. Behind him, several men in dark suits stood like shadows—bodyguards, their presence sharp and dangerous.Her golden-brown eyes flicked up for only a second — catching a glimpse of dark hair and piercing blue eyes, framed by a nose mask. The suit he wore looked like something she could spend her entire life savings on and still not afford.
But there was no warmth in his gaze — only a cold, unreadable smugness that made her pulse quicken.
The onlooker whispers began instantly. Who is he? Which family is he from? The Royals? The Blacks? The Writserfields? The Primes? All guesses, but no one really knew. Few dared to get close. Even fewer lived to tell the story if they crossed him. His name is Christian Kriss
But Emily… she just stepped back, mumbled a polite “Sorry,” and hurried on.
