Giana used to believe heartbreak happened loudly.
She imagined screams, dramatic exits, maybe a glass shattering against a wall.
Instead, heartbreak was quiet.
It was the soft click of her phone lighting up in the dark.
It was a picture she never asked to see.
It was a ring she couldn't stop staring at.
Her boyfriend—no, her fiancé, the man she had planned a future with—was getting married.
To the CEO's daughter.
Giana sat on the edge of her bed, knees pulled to her chest, phone trembling in her hands.
The picture glowed mercilessly on the screen: his familiar smile, polished now, standing beside a woman dressed in white, her manicured fingers wrapped proudly around his arm.
The ring on that woman's finger caught the light.
Giana's chest tightened. She zoomed in without realizing she was crying.
That ring had been meant for her.
She dropped the phone like it burned and buried her face into her pillow, a broken sound escaping her throat.
The walls of her room closed in as if they, too, were complicit in her humiliation.
Days passed.
She didn't know how many. She stopped answering calls. Stopped opening her curtains. Stopped caring whether the sun rose or not.
Food sat untouched on her bedside table until it spoiled.
Only two people dared to enter her silence.
"Gia, you can't rot in here forever," Mira said gently, sitting on the floor beside the bed.
"And if you do," Leo added from the doorway, arms crossed, "at least rot dramatically. This is depressing."
Giana didn't respond.
Leo sighed and walked in, sitting beside Mira. "He's trash."
Mira nodded firmly. "Certified."
Giana finally turned her head. Her eyes were swollen, lashes clumped with dried tears. "He didn't even tell me," she whispered. "I found out online."
Mira's jaw tightened. "Then he didn't deserve you."
"He took my job too," Giana said quietly.
"After the breakup… he replaced me. Said it was 'business.'"
Leo cursed under his breath.
Silence stretched again, heavier this time.
Then Mira clapped her hands suddenly. "Okay. That's it."
Giana flinched. "What?"
"You're going on vacation."
Giana let out a hollow laugh. "I can't even afford groceries."
Leo grinned. "Good thing you have friends with poor financial judgment."
"We've already booked it," Mira added proudly. "You're going. Alone. New city. New air. New life."
Giana shook her head weakly. "I don't want to go anywhere."
"That's exactly why you should," Leo said softly.
And somehow… she agreed.
The airport buzzed with movement—rolling suitcases, overlapping languages, laughter, irritation.
Giana clutched her bag tightly as she walked outside the airport following the tourist group she had been assigned to, her mind elsewhere.
She almost didn't notice the woman walking ahead of her.
Headphones on. Music loud. Completely unaware of the vehicle speeding toward her.
"Hey!" Giana screamed.
No response.
"Move!" she cried again, panic rising.
People walked past, absorbed in their own business, as if nothing were happening.
Time slowed.
The wind lifted Giana's hair as adrenaline surged through her veins. Without thinking, she ran forward and shoved the woman aside just as the vehicle screeched past.
They both hit the ground hard.
Pain shot through Giana's leg and palm, the wind lifted her hair, tangling it around her face as adrenaline surged through her veins.
The woman ripped off her headphones, eyes blazing, and began shouting—sharp, angry words in a language Giana didn't understand.
"I— I saved you," Giana tried to say, her voice shaking.
The woman didn't listen.
Security arrived. People gathered. Hands pointed at Giana.
She tried to explain, tears burning her eyes, but the words failed her.
People stared. Whispered and walked away.
She felt small.
Alone.
Invisible.
Then—a calm voice cut through the noise.
"She pushed her out of the way."
Everyone turned.
He stood there tall and composed, sharp eyes glinting with quiet confidence, dark hair perfectly in place, and a face with features so balanced and captivating it drew the gaze naturally. His presence shifted the air itself, commanding attention without a word.
The guards listened.
The woman faltered.
Minutes passed.
Then the guards nodded and walked away.
Giana was still on the floor when he turned to her.
He stretched out his hand.
"Come," he said gently.
She stared at his hand before taking it.
The moment their skin touched, warmth spread through her chest.
As she stood, the world felt suddenly quiet—as if everyone else had disappeared.
Her face flushed.
The wind brushed past her hair, a strand falling across her cheek, and he tucked it behind her ear almost unconsciously.
"So… what did you say to them?" she asked, curiosity overriding shock.
He smirked. "That you're a witch."
Her eyes widened. "What?"
He chuckled. "Relax. I told them you're my wife."
She stopped walking. "Your— what?"
"I was joking."
He laughed, and the sound was deep, smooth, infectious.
Giana couldn't help but laugh too, her shoulders loosening for the first time in days.
He noticed a small cut on her hand.
"You're hurt."
"It's nothing."
He led her to a quiet spot, returned with a first aid kit from his car.
"Are you a doctor?" she asked.
"No."
"Then why do you have that?"
"In case I meet a girl who saves someone from being hit by a car, gets injured, and almost arrested."
She laughed despite herself.
He cleaned the scrape gently, his fingers careful, almost reverent.
Giana watched him from beneath her lashes, telling herself she was only checking to see what he was doing.
He felt her gaze and looked up.
Their eyes met.
She quickly looked away.
A second later, he glanced up again—just in time to catch her stealing another look.
This time, she didn't look away fast enough.
The moment stretched, quiet and charged, the world shrinking to the space between them.
He cleared his throat and focused back on her hand.
"Does it hurt?" he asked.
"Not really," she said softly. "I think the shock was worse."
He nodded, then finished wrapping the bandage, his thumb brushing her skin briefly before pulling away.
"Thank you," she said. "Really."
He closed the first-aid kit and finally stood.
"You're welcome."
There was a pause.
"I'm Giana. Giana Rivera" she said, extending her uninjured hand.
He took it, his grip warm and steady.
"Alex Hale".
"Thank you for helping me, Alex," she said, smiling. "A complete stranger."
He smirked. "That's interesting, coming from someone who just saved a stranger from getting run over and nearly got arrested for it."
She laughed, the sound soft and genuine.
"I guess we're even."
They stood there for a moment longer than necessary, neither quite ready to walk away.
He glanced around. "I saw that you were with a tour group?"
She followed his gaze, then sighed. "They left. I guess they assumed I'd catch up."
"Do you know where you're going?"
"Yes," she said. "I'm staying at the Bellmare Hotel."
"I'll drop you off."
"Oh—no," she said quickly. "You've already done too much."
"It's on my way," he replied easily.
She hesitated, then shook her head. "I'll be fine. Really."
Another pause. This one even heavier
They both seemed aware that this was the moment—the quiet fork in the road where something either continued… or didn't.
"Well," he said slowly, "take care, Gianna."
"You too, Alex."
Even as she walked away, Giana's mind was tangled in thoughts of him—his voice, his touch, the way he looked at her.
Alex, meanwhile, watched her disappear from view, a strange pull tightening in his chest. Something about her—the way she moved, the way she laughed, the way she had risked herself for a stranger—left him unsettled.
He didn't know it yet… but this encounter was only the first page of a story neither of them could walk away from.