Amelia didn't sleep that night.
Even after she'd left the pier—after Dominic had disappeared into the darkness without so much as a goodbye—his presence clung to her like smoke. Her skin still tingled where his fingers had brushed her. Her mind was a storm of desire and doubt.
Back in her apartment, the silence was maddening. Every tick of the clock reminded her of how fast her control was slipping. This wasn't like her. She didn't chase danger. She didn't let herself unravel like this. But Dominic… Dominic was a tear in the fabric of her careful life.
The next morning arrived dull and overcast, as if the sky itself couldn't shake the weight of what lingered in the air. Amelia stood by the kitchen window with a mug of coffee growing cold in her hand. Down below, the streets bustled with commuters, lives moving on schedule, unaware of the quiet chaos burning in her chest.
Her phone vibrated on the counter.
Unknown Number.
She stared at it for a moment before answering.
"I thought you said last night was the beginning," she said, not bothering with a greeting.
"I did," Dominic replied. His voice was calmer now, almost gentle. "But not all beginnings happen in the dark. Some require daylight."
Amelia's stomach flipped. She hated that he could do that—shift her whole mood with just his voice.
"So what's next? You keep showing up like a ghost and disappearing before I can catch my breath?"
There was a soft laugh on the other end. "I'd rather be something real to you. If you'll let me."
She stayed silent.
"I want to see you again," he continued.
"Dinner. Tonight. No riddles. No disappearing acts. Just us. Somewhere public. Safe."
Safe. That word tugged at something deep in her. As if he knew she'd been questioning if this was smart. If he was dangerous. If she was losing herself.
"Fine," she said. "But this time, you talk. No more mysteries."
"You'll get your answers," he promised. "But are you sure you're ready for them?"
The line went dead.
The restaurant was upscale, nestled in a quiet corner of the city. Not the kind of place she'd expected from a man like him. It was sleek, understated, and oddly intimate. Dim lights cast soft shadows across the table, and the air smelled faintly of lavender and wine.
He was already there when she arrived, dressed in black again—simple, clean-cut, but somehow dangerous still. He stood when she approached, pulling out her chair like a gentleman.
"You clean up well," Amelia said, sliding into the seat.
"So do you." His eyes wandered, not with lust, but curiosity. As if he were trying to see something deeper.
They ordered wine. She didn't need it, but she took a glass anyway. The tension between them was a living thing now, stretching taut across the table.
"Alright," she said after a sip. "Tell me who you really are."
Dominic leaned back, folding his hands in his lap. "I'm someone who's lost a lot. Someone who's had to learn to survive without trust. Without comfort. But… you," he paused, "you make me want those things again."
Her throat tightened. That wasn't what she expected. Not a confession. Not so soon.
"I don't know you," she said, careful. "I don't even know what you do. You just... appeared. Out of nowhere."
"I didn't come here by chance," he admitted.
Her breath caught. "What does that mean?"
"It means," he said slowly, "I came to this city looking for someone. And I think I found her."
Amelia's chest ached with both dread and curiosity. "Me?"
"I know how that sounds," he said. "But it's not obsession. Not yet. It's a need I don't fully understand."
The table fell into silence, their eyes locked. Amelia's heart pounded. She should've walked out right then. She should've run.
But she didn't.
Instead, she leaned forward. "Why me?"
He studied her. "Because you look like someone I once knew. Someone I failed. But when I got closer, I realized you're not her. You're… something else entirely."
She swallowed hard. "So I'm just a ghost to you? A replacement?"
"No." He shook his head. "You're the second chance."
They left the restaurant under the shroud of night. The air had shifted; it was heavier, wetter, like a storm approaching. Dominic insisted on walking her home.
The city hummed around them—honking taxis, flickering streetlights, the distant thrum of music from somewhere underground. But between them, the silence was loud.
"You still haven't told me what you do," she said as they turned onto her street.
"I work in security," he said.
"That's vague."
"Because my work is."
Her brows furrowed. "Military?"
"Not anymore."
She stopped walking, turned to face him.
"You're not just some man who wanders into women's lives and seduces them at piers, are you?"
His jaw tightened. "No. I've done things. I've seen things. Some of which I'm not proud of."
"And yet you expect me to let you in."
"No," he said. "I expect you to be curious enough to not turn away."
Before she could respond, thunder rumbled overhead. A sudden gust of wind whipped her coat open, and the first drops of rain began to fall.
Dominic stepped closer, so close she could feel the heat radiating from him. The streetlamp above them flickered. His hand found her waist—firm, possessive.
"I haven't touched you properly yet," he whispered.
Her breath hitched.
"I've been patient. But you have no idea how badly I want to."
The rain came down harder now, plastering strands of her hair to her face. She didn't move. Didn't pull away.
"Then what are you waiting for?" she whispered.
He kissed her.
It wasn't soft. It wasn't sweet. It was hungry—like he'd been starving and she was the only thing he wanted. His hands held her tight as the world blurred around them, and for the first time, Amelia let herself give in. Let herself feel.
They pulled apart, breathless, drenched, eyes wild.
"This changes things," she said.
Dominic nodded, his thumb brushing her cheek. "It always does."