Evelyn Carter knew better than to believe in fate.
Fate was what people clung to when they wanted to avoid taking responsibility for their own choices. Fate was what made her readers swoon over the love stories she wrote, where the right people always found their way back to each other—no matter the obstacles. But in real life?
Love was fleeting. Temporary. A beautifully written illusion.
Which was why she didn't flinch when she passed the kissing couple outside her Brooklyn brownstone or when she ignored the bouquet shop downstairs that had a special on red roses. Romance was something she crafted for a paycheck, not something she expected in her own life.
She juggled her coffee, a stack of mail, and her phone between her hands as she climbed the stairs to her apartment.
"Six weeks, Evelyn," her agent's voice rang through the speaker. "Your next book is due in six weeks. How's the new draft coming along?"
Evelyn unlocked her door with a sigh. The new draft was a mess. Half of it was written in a flurry of caffeine and deadlines, and the other half was a blank document mocking her every time she sat down to write.
"It's coming," she said vaguely, kicking the door shut behind her. "Slowly."
"Eve." A pause. "Please tell me you at least have the love interest figured out this time?"
She dumped the mail on the kitchen counter, flipping through it absently. Bills. A magazine. A subscription box advertisement. And then—
Her fingers stilled.
A single envelope stood out among the rest. A faded, cream-colored envelope with an old postmark from ten years ago. The ink was slightly smudged, but the words were still clear:
To Evelyn Carter.
148 West Hollow Street, Brooklyn.
Her exact address. But ten years ago, she hadn't lived here. No one had. This building had been abandoned before it was renovated two years ago.
She flipped the envelope over, her pulse quickening. The sender's name was written in neat, slanted handwriting.
Theo Bennett.
The name sent an inexplicable shiver down her spine.
"Evelyn? You still there?"
She barely heard her agent's voice as she set the other mail aside and slowly opened the envelope.
Inside was a single page, slightly yellowed with time. Her breath caught as she unfolded it and began to read.
---
Evelyn,
I don't know if this letter will ever reach you, but if it does, I hope it finds you happy. I hope life gave you everything I couldn't. I know I should have let you go a long time ago, but some loves don't fade, no matter how much time passes.
Maybe in another lifetime, we would have gotten it right. Maybe in another version of us, I wouldn't have let you slip away.
But if fate is real—if it ever brings you back to me—know that I never stopped waiting.
Yours,
Theo.
---
Evelyn's hands shook as she finished reading.
This had to be a joke. A mistake. A weird coincidence.
Because the letter felt personal—as if it had been written by someone who knew her intimately. Someone who had loved her.
But she had never met anyone named Theo Bennett in her life.
And yet… his words made her chest ache, like a forgotten memory struggling to surface.
The buzzing in her ear reminded her that she was still on the call.
"I'll call you back," she muttered, hanging up before her agent could protest.
She grabbed her laptop and did a quick search. Theo Bennett. A common enough name. There were dozens of LinkedIn profiles, a few articles, but nothing that connected to her.
Her fingers hovered over the keyboard before she hesitated.
If she wanted real answers, she needed to find the person who wrote this letter.
And there was only one way to do that.
---
The Next Day
Evelyn hadn't planned on confronting Theo Bennett in person. But once the thought had lodged itself in her mind, she couldn't shake it.
Her search had led her to a literary agency in Midtown, where Theo Bennett was listed as a senior agent.
Which meant he was in the same industry as her.
Coincidence?
She didn't believe in those.
Taking a steadying breath, she pushed open the agency's glass doors and walked inside. The receptionist, a young woman with glasses, greeted her with a polite smile.
"Hi, I'm here to see Theo Bennett," Evelyn said, forcing her voice to stay calm. "Is he available?"
The receptionist's brows lifted slightly. "Do you have an appointment?"
"No, but it's important."
The woman hesitated, then glanced at the schedule. "Let me check if he's free."
Evelyn tapped her fingers against the marble counter, her heartbeat thrumming.
What if he denied writing the letter? What if this was all some elaborate misunderstanding?
"Mr. Bennett can see you now," the receptionist said finally. "His office is down the hall, second door on the right."
Evelyn nodded her thanks and made her way down the hall.
When she reached the door, she knocked once before pushing it open.
Theo Bennett was nothing like she had imagined.
She had expected someone older—maybe in his late thirties or forties, with a forgettable face. Instead, the man sitting behind the sleek black desk was young, sharp-featured, and annoyingly attractive. Dark brown hair, tousled as if he had run his fingers through it too many times. A crisp navy-blue suit that fit his broad shoulders perfectly.
And the most intense, dark eyes she had ever seen.
Eyes that froze the moment they landed on her.
A flicker of something—recognition?—passed across his expression.
"Evelyn Carter," he said slowly. His voice was smooth, rich with a hint of something unreadable. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"
Evelyn swallowed, gripping the letter in her hand.
"You tell me," she said, stepping forward and placing the letter on his desk.
He didn't touch it. Just stared at it.
Then, finally, he spoke.
"I've never seen this before in my life."
But the way his fingers curled slightly against the desk—the way his jaw tensed—said otherwise.
Evelyn narrowed her eyes.
"Then why," she said quietly, "is your name on it?"
---
End of Chapter 1