Today day started innocently enough. At work, I was deep in edits, a romance manuscript that mirrored my own life a little too closely. The hero, a charismatic businessman, reminded me of Edward, and I smiled, sketching his copper hair in the margins. But then Lena leaned over, her voice low. “Heard something about your guy,” she said, her eyes cautious. “Edward Grey? Word is he’s got a reputation—past flings, playboy vibes. Just… be careful, okay?” Her words hit like a cold splash, and I froze, the pen slipping from my fingers.

I brushed it off at first, telling myself it was gossip, the kind that swirls around successful men. But as the day wore on, I overheard more—whispers in the break room about his charm winning hearts before moving on. My stomach churned, and doubt took root. Was I just another chapter in his story, a fleeting distraction in his luxurious life? I thought of the nights at his penthouse, the way he’d held me, and wondered if it was all a facade. My mother’s warnings echoed louder: “Be careful, beta, charm can hide intentions.”