- Prologue -

How could this happen? It had all happened so fast. A split second of distraction, a glance to the side – and Emilie couldn’t slam on the brakes in time. The car ahead had stopped without warning. She could only watch as her little Toyota crumpled into the rear of the black BMW.

Her heart hammered in her throat. How was she going to explain this to her parents? The car had been a gift for her eighteenth birthday – a token of trust.

Her parents practically worshiped her. Emilie had always been the reliable, sensible daughter. She was nothing like her cousin Tracy, who, at twenty, had already totaled three cars. Despite a certain family resemblance, they couldn’t have been more different in terms of their presence. Emilie had shoulder-length black hair, while Tracy preferred to wear her long, bleached-blonde hair loose. Emilie had inherited her father’s calm temperament and her mother’s beauty. She had been told more than once that she was the spitting image of her mother – the same large eyes and the same dimples that appeared with even the slightest smile. Tracy’s features, by contrast, were more angular. When she smiled, it was seductive and provocative; she had long since outgrown being described as merely sweet. She had inherited her wild, reckless nature from her mother –Emilie’s aunt. Because Tracy’s father was wealthy, her parents spent their lives cleaning up her messes.

For Emilie, things weren’t that simple. Her parents had money, sure, but they had principles when it came to supporting her.

A sharp rap on the window jolted Emilie from her spiral. She had completely drifted off, and the sudden realization of where she was hit her like a physical blow. The man staring through the glass looked agitated. But the moment Emilie opened the door and swung her long legs out of the car, something in his gaze shifted.

At nineteen, Emilie was lean and athletic. She was meticulous about her diet and obsessed with discipline. She allowed herself fast food only on the rarest of occasions; control was everything to her. She had actually been on her way to the gym to meet Tracy when it happened.

Oh no, Emilie thought. I’m going to be late.

“I’m so sorry!” she stammered. “It happened so fast. I couldn’t stop in time!“

The stranger didn’t say a word. His gaze crawled over her, lingering a second too long before he finally cleared his throat.

Emilie knew that look. She and Tracy were used to being watched by hungry men. Usually, Emilie didn’t handle it well. She wasn’t like Tracy, who would instinctively suck in her stomach and square her shoulders to emphasize her chest. But Emilie had watched Tracy long enough to know how the game was played.

“You must have been distracted,“ the man said. He pointed to her phone, docked in the mount near the air vent.

“No!“ Emilie snapped, her voice sharpening. She wasn’t going to let him pin this on her that easily. “You braked too hard. It was completely unexpected!“

“All right, all right,“ the man said, raising his hands in mock surrender. He knew he’d braked abruptly. “No real damage done. I’m sure your insurance will handle it,” he said, his voice dropping an octave, trying to soothe her. “You do have insurance, don’t you?“

Emilie’s pulse spiked again, but not from fear this time. She wondered if he was actually hitting on her. The low vibration in his voice confirmed it. He was easily twice her age, but there was something unsettlingly attractive about him.

His hair was salt-and-pepper, flecked with silver, making him hard to read. Late forties or early fifties? His blue eyes and the way his dimples showed when he smirked felt like a trap she wanted to walk into.

Emilie forced a smile. “But of course.“

She moved with deliberate, unhurried grace as she walked to the passenger side. Leaning deep into the car to retrieve her insurance card from the glove compartment, she was fully aware of where his eyes were fixed. Her short shorts left little to the imagination, showcasing the seamless tan she had been working on since May.

“Here’s the information,” Emilie said, handing him the card.

“Emilie Hartmann,” the man murmured, as if tasting the name. “Beautiful.“ – “Well, Emilie,” he repeated, dragging out the syllables.

Emilie found herself hanging on his every word. “If it’s all right with you, I’ll call your insurance and handle the details. Don’t worry – I deal with this kind of thing all the time. I’m a CEO; paperwork is my life.“

It sounded like a boast, a calculated move to win her over, but she let it slide.

“I’m sorry to cause you more trouble,” Emilie replied.She meant it. The embarrassment of the crash was still gnawing at her.

“Don’t mention it. Here’s my card.“ He handed it over, and Emilie fought the urge to smirk as she read it.

“Maybe I should give you my cell number, too,“ she added, her voice turning sweet, almost melodic.

“Please do,” he replied instantly. “But call me Greg. Let’s just take a few photos for the insurance. No need to involve the cops, right?“

The police hadn’t even crossed her mind, but the idea of avoiding them was a relief. As Greg began taking photos with his phone, Emilie did the same.

“So, are we all set?“ she asked. Their eyes met, and a cold shiver raced down her spine. There was something about him. He didn’t seem eager to break the connection either.

“What’s taking so long?” a voice shrieked from the BMW.

The passenger door flew open, and a woman with a face twisted in fury stepped out.

“It’s fine, Karen! We’re done here,” Greg snapped, his eyes instantly dropping to the pavement. “Well, I’ll be in touch with the insurance,” he muttered, effectively dismissing Emilie.

He had pointedly avoided using her name this time, yet he hadn’t quite retreated into formal distance either. Emilie watched him, puzzled, as he followed his wife back to the car. They both climbed inside and drove off.

“What just happened?” Emilie whispered to herself.

But there was no one there to answer her.

- 1 -

A few minutes later, Emilie arrived at the gym. Her cousin was already waiting for her.

“There you are,” Tracy called, visibly relieved. “I was starting to get worried about you. You’re never late!”

Emilie quickly recounted the minor fender bender – and the attractive older man. Tracy was clearly far more interested in the latter.

“I would’ve had that guy wrapped around my finger in no time!” she joked.

Emilie had practically expected a comment like that. Tracy loved wrapping men around her finger. That was nothing new. Still, hearing those words now made Emilie feel strangely uneasy.

The man – Greg, as she was supposed to call him – had been very kind to her. He could have reacted quite differently. She truly hadn’t been playing with her phone, but would the police have believed her? Emilie didn’t want to imagine how Tracy would have handled him. She deliberately left out the intense eye contact – and the detail about the wife.

“Come on, let’s go inside. The spin class must have started already,” Emilie said, hoping Tracy would lose interest in the subject as quickly as she usually lost interest in her men.

Even though fitness was one of Emilie’s greatest passions, and working out normally helped her relieve stress and clear her mind, she couldn’t focus on her exercises today. Her thoughts kept drifting back to Greg.

She had definitely felt a strong attraction toward him. She couldn’t quite explain why, but no one had ever stirred something in her so effortlessly before. Had the shock of the accident played a part? Emilie didn’t understand it. She moved on to the next exercise, but within seconds her thoughts returned to him.

It had been naïve to give him her cell number. Of course she could have guessed that a man like him would be married. He was probably a family man. But then why had he flirted with her? Even if Emilie hadn’t known, he certainly had. His wife had been sitting right there in the car. And yet he had behaved so openly, so familiarly with her.

Or was that simply who he was? The kind of man who turned on the charm for every woman he met – just to reassure himself of his own appeal? Had she fallen for a phony? Had she made a fool of herself by eagerly giving him her number?

“Earth to Emilie!” Tracy’s voice cut through her thoughts. “Where did you just go?”

Emilie shrugged. “Today just isn’t my day,” she said apologetically. “I think I’m calling it.”

“The accident must have really rattled you. Or was it more about that man?” Tracy teased.

Emilie playfully punched her in the side.

“Oh! I guess I hit a nerve,” Tracy said, grinning.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Emilie shot back. “I’m done for today. Are you coming or staying?”

Tracy glanced around the gym. “Eh, I’ll come with you.”

Probably no interesting guys left, Emilie thought, suppressing the unkind remark. Today, it seemed, she alone had been lucky enough to make a new acquaintance.

- 2 -

Even at home, Emilie couldn’t find any peace. The scenes from that morning kept replaying behind her eyes – the enraged face at her window, and the way the man’s expression had shifted the moment she stepped out of the car. His anger had vanished instantly, as if a heavy weight had fallen away. Emilie was certain she hadn’t imagined it.

She didn’t understand why she couldn’t stop thinking about those moments. The man had promised to handle the claim. He had told her she didn’t need to worry anymore. For her, the matter should have been settled.

But it wasn’t that simple.

“Emilie! Emilie, come down here this instant!” a voice bellowed from the living room.

Her father had just gotten home, and it wouldn’t have been like him not to notice the damage to her car immediately.

Emilie had been counting the seconds between the sound of the front door closing and the call of her name.

Her father stood in the middle of the room, arms crossed. “Young lady,” he began, his voice carrying a warning, “what happened to your car?”

Emilie knew there was no point in pretending or denying the accident. She gave him a clinical account of the fender bender, which had left only a minor scratch on the front bumper. Her mother probably wouldn’t even have noticed it. Emilie herself hadn’t thought it worth mentioning. Her father, however, seemed determined to dissect every detail.

His first question – how this could have happened – immediately turned toward her phone. In his eyes, young people were far too easily distracted, glued to their smartphones day and night. Even though Emilie spent plenty of time on the “gadget,” as he sometimes called it, she respected the road and had made it a personal rule never to use her phone while driving.

She hadn’t broken that rule. Because of that, she could look him straight in the eye and assure him that her phone hadn’t caused the accident. The driver ahead of her had simply braked abruptly.

“How did the police report the accident?” her father asked.

Emilie hesitated.

Her father’s brow furrowed; his eyes narrowed. “Don’t tell me you didn’t call the police.”

Emilie shook her head. “No, honestly, I didn’t. The damage was so minimal; we both didn’t think it was necessary.”

Sam stared at her, stunned. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Hadn’t he always told her that no matter what happened on the road, you always – and he meant always – called the police when two parties were involved? How could she be so naïve? What had happened to his little girl?

“I just don’t believe this,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. For his age, it was still thick and dark – something he maintained with obvious pride.

“But Dad, I have insurance,” Emilie said, trying to calm him.

“The insurance isn’t going to pay for the damage to your car,” Sam snapped. “You’ll pay for this yourself. It’s coming out of your allowance.”

“It’s just a tiny scratch. You’re totally overreacting,” Emilie protested. “Mom wouldn’t even notice it.”

“It’s a good thing I’m not your mother. You’re taking the car to a repair shop and getting an estimate. Then we’ll talk.”

“But Dad –” Emilie started.

“No arguments! Otherwise, you won’t be driving anywhere for the foreseeable future.”

The discussion was over.

Emilie trudged back to her room. She knew that if she wanted to keep her car, she had to comply with her father’s “request”. What she hadn’t told him was that the driver she had hit – Greg – had offered to handle the insurance himself.

Her father had already made it clear how foolish it was not to call the police. What would he have said if he knew she had trusted a stranger to take care of everything?

And flirting with a man who could easily have been her father’s age?

No. There were things she could no longer discuss with him.

Those days were over.

- 3 -

Emilie woke in the middle of the night, drenched in sweat. Her heart pounded against her ribs, and she had to swallow hard. For a moment, she didn’t even know where she was. The dream had felt so real that it was difficult to accept it had only been a dream.

She rolled over and switched on the bedside lamp. Yes – she was in her bed, in her room. Thank God.

The dream still clung to her as she crept down the hallway into the bathroom. She splashed cold water on her face and leaned over the sink until her reflection filled the mirror.

She stared at herself and whispered his name.

“What are you doing to me, Greg?”

The water cleared some of her grogginess, but the fluttering in her stomach refused to fade.

Emilie climbed back into bed. The feverish fragments of the dream wouldn’t leave her alone – his hands on her breasts, his lips brushing softly along her neck.

Even though the lover in her dream had been much younger, she knew it was meant to be Greg.

What was this dream trying to tell me? she wondered. That Greg was too old, and she should know better? That something inside her had awakened – but reason should still prevail?

She couldn’t forget that he had a wife. The thought kept slipping to the back of her mind.

But was a wife really her problem – or his?

Emilie tossed and turned, unable to find rest as sleep continued to elude her.

She reached for her phone and began scrolling through social media. Would Greg be on Facebook?

Her pulse quickened as she typed his full name into the search bar. Should she really do this? What could possibly go wrong? A simple search wouldn’t hurt anyone.

She tapped Search.

Within seconds, several men named Greg Warner appeared. When his familiar, charming face smiled at her from the third result, her breath caught.

There he was. She clicked on his profile immediately, only to find it set to private. No posts were visible to her. Then again, she reasoned that a man of his standing would not spend much time sharing updates online anyway.

Only the profile pictures were accessible. In the newest photo, his hair was longer and jet black. The timestamp showed it was over a year old. The older pictures followed like fragments of another life – Greg by a pool, Greg holding his wife, Greg standing beside a magnificent Christmas tree with his wife and two children.

Emilie’s chest tightened as if something sharp had pierced it. She locked the screen and tossed the phone aside.

Greg was a father of two! And they had looked so happy. Her thoughts drifted to her own family, to warm Christmas mornings and familiar traditions.

What was wrong with her?

She had only looked at public photos. There was nothing forbidden about that. Nothing wrong. So why did guilt press so heavily on her chest? Why did it hurt?

She blinked back a tear. Yes – it hurt.

But what had she expected to find? What did people even post on Facebook?

She turned over again and picked up her phone. The Christmas photo appeared instantly. The timestamp revealed it was six years old. His children weren’t children anymore. They were teenagers now, perhaps even close to her own age.

But what difference did that make? He had a family. Nothing about that could change.

Suddenly, a green dot appeared next to his profile picture, indicating he was now online.

Emilie’s breath caught. She quickly locked the phone again.

Of course, Greg couldn’t know she had been looking at his profile. Still, the thought that he couldn’t sleep either – that somewhere out there he was awake, scrolling through Facebook at the very same moment – sent a shiver through her.

Was he still the happy family man from that old photograph?

© 2026 by Merci