Cairus Music was the only thing that ever listened back. Every note I played held control, precision-something my life never gave me after my parents were taken in a mafia raid. I built myself from silence into perfection, a name people respected, a sound they couldn't forget. But at this university, something feels wrong. Eyes linger too long. Footsteps echo when no one's there. The past I buried is breathing down my neck. And then there's Vance. Loud where I'm quiet. Reckless where I'm controlled. Dangerous in ways I can't read. He watches me like he already knows something I don't. Like I'm part of a rhythm I never chose. I don't trust him. But somehow, I can't ignore him either. Vance I don't fail. I just don't care-about classes, rules, or anything this place pretends matters. But I need Adrian to pass, so I play along. Show up. Pretend. Then I hear him. Caius. Every note he plays feels too perfect, too controlled-like he's hiding something under all that precision. And I know secrets when I see them. I've lived in them. He thinks he's untouchable. Untamed. He's wrong. Because I see the cracks-the way he looks over his shoulder, the tension in his hands. Someone's already hunting him. And the worst part? I don't know if I want to protect him... or be the one who breaks him.

What happens when the person who was once your everything forgets you ever existed? I thought I had left Tristan Richardson in the past. Then, years later, fate placed me right back in his life-as his replacement secretary. He doesn't remember me. Not the night that changed everything. Not the bond between us. And definitely not the secret I've been protecting all these years. His child. Now, working beside him every day is becoming harder than I ever imagined. The closer Tristan gets, the more difficult it becomes to keep my distance. But what happens when the man I spent years trying to forget starts looking at me like he wants to remember? Should I let him get close again? Or should I protect the life I built without him?

"Are you planning to sweep me out of the building, or can I finish my drawing?" When a relentless April rainstorm catches Cleo off guard, she sprints into the city library looking for a dry place to change out of her drenched clothes. But a quick nap in her favorite fiction aisle turns into a nightmare when she wakes up to pitch-black darkness, a missing receptionist, and heavy deadbolts locking the front doors from the outside. Terrified by a strange tapping sound echoing through the dark building, Cleo arms herself with a broken broomstick handle-only to stumble upon Silas. Safe in the shadows of the history section, Silas is completely unfazed by being trapped. He's armed only with a mini flashlight, an open sketchbook, and a sarcastic attitude. With zero phone service and twelve long hours until the morning shift arrives, two total opposites are forced to share the quiet corners of the empty library. As secrets are shared in the dark and the lines between them begin to blur, they realize that being trapped together might not be an accident after all. A cozy, slow-burn, forced-proximity story about art, poetry, and the things we only confess when the lights go out. ⚠️ CONTENT WARNING: This story contains mature themes, psychological trauma, depictions of severe childhood trauma/abuse, and visceral, macabre artistic imagery. Reader discretion is advised.