The soft chime of the bell above the bookstore door barely registered in Elena Carter's mind as she sat behind the counter, flipping lazily through the latest bestseller. It was another slow evening at Page & Quill, the tiny bookstore where she had worked for the past two years. The pay wasn't great, but it paid the bills—barely.
She glanced at the clock. 8:42 PM. Just eighteen more minutes before she could go home, throw on an oversized hoodie, and binge her favorite show with a bowl of instant noodles.
The last thing she expected was Damián Knight walking into her store.
Of course, she didn't recognize him at first.
He wasn't draped in designer clothes, wasn't followed by a mob of screaming fans, and didn't have his usual entourage. He just looked like another tall, brooding guy in an expensive coat who probably had too much money and too little personality. The kind of customer who would glance at the books for five minutes before walking out.
Elena sighed and returned to her book.
Meanwhile, Damián Knight stood at the entrance, his jaw tight, hands shoved into his pockets, scanning the rows of bookshelves. This was the last place he expected to be tonight. He had just stormed out of a high-profile industry event, frustrated beyond words, after another round of record label drama and fake smiles. His world was full of lies, betrayals, and exhausting fame.
So, when his driver had asked, "Where to now, sir?" Damián had shrugged and muttered, "Just drive."
And now, somehow, he had ended up here.
He moved further into the store, running his fingers along the spines of books without really looking at them. The quiet was strangely soothing, a stark contrast to the flashing cameras and suffocating expectations that followed him everywhere.
Elena barely looked up when he approached the counter, too engrossed in the final pages of her book.
"Do you have anything… interesting?"
His voice was deep, smooth, with a slight edge to it. The kind of voice that had women melting—but Elena wasn't impressed. She glanced up, one eyebrow raised.
"That depends," she said, snapping her book shut. "Are you looking for something thought-provoking, or just something to look rich and pretentious while holding?"
Damián blinked.
For a moment, he was too stunned to speak. People didn't talk to him like this. Ever. He was used to fake admiration, forced smiles, and endless praise. Yet, here was this woman—this sarcastic, unimpressed bookstore clerk—treating him like some random guy off the street.
And for some reason, he found it amusing.
"I guess that depends," he said, mirroring her tone. "What would you recommend for someone who is… incredibly rich and only reads for appearances?"
Elena smirked. "Ah. In that case, might I interest you in a collector's edition of War and Peace? It'll make you look deep and intellectual, and you'll never actually have to read it."
Damián chuckled, shaking his head. "And what if I wanted something I'd actually enjoy?"
Elena's eyes flicked to his coat—designer, obviously—and the gold watch peeking from his sleeve. He was giving off major billionaire energy, but she had dealt with enough arrogant rich customers to know that some of them actually did like to read.
She turned, scanning the shelves behind her before pulling down a copy of The Picture of Dorian Gray.
"This," she said, sliding it across the counter. "A classic about vanity, corruption, and selling your soul. Perfect for someone who probably gets whatever he wants."
Damián smirked, picking up the book. "Sounds about right."
Before Elena could say something else sarcastic, the door burst open, and a giggling group of teenage girls rushed inside, clutching their phones.
"Oh my God, it's really him!" one of them squealed.
Elena blinked in confusion as the girls practically ran toward the counter, eyes wide with excitement.
"Damián, can we get a picture?" another girl asked breathlessly, holding up her phone.
Damián sighed, running a hand through his dark hair, the amusement from earlier fading.
Elena, however, was still catching up. She looked at the group, then at Damián, then back again.
Wait. Damián?
Her eyes widened in realization. Damián Knight. The Damián Knight. The Grammy-winning, chart-topping, billionaire musician. The man whose face was plastered on billboards and streaming platforms everywhere.
And she had just roasted him to his face.
Oh. Crap.
Damián noticed the way her posture stiffened, and his smirk returned. "Something wrong?" he asked, leaning slightly over the counter.
Elena swallowed. Nope. Absolutely not freaking out.
She cleared her throat. "No, just… uh, I suddenly realized you might actually like War and Peace."
Damián chuckled, signing the girls' phones and taking a few quick selfies. As soon as they left, he turned back to Elena, still clearly amused.
"So," he said, tapping the book she had given him, "now that you know who I am, do you want to pretend to be nice to me, or are you going to keep insulting my intelligence?"
Elena folded her arms, regaining her composure. "I don't do fake. If you want compliments, I'm sure you can buy some."
Damián laughed, a deep, genuine sound. It had been a while since someone had spoken to him like this.
"I like you, Elena Carter," he said, reading her name tag. "You're refreshingly… honest."
Elena rolled her eyes. "Glad to be of service."
Damián opened his wallet, pulling out his black Amex card to pay for the book. But before he could hand it over, Elena stopped him.
"Cash only after 8:30," she said, nodding at the handwritten sign taped to the counter.
Damián stared at her. "Are you serious?"
Elena shrugged. "Rules are rules."
For a moment, Damián looked like he was actually considering walking out without the book. But then, with a resigned sigh, he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a few crisp hundred-dollar bills, sliding them across the counter.
Elena took the money and rang up his purchase.
Damián grabbed the book and tucked it under his arm. "I'll see you around, Elena."
She arched a brow. "You're planning on becoming a regular?"
Damián smirked. "Maybe."
And with that, he turned and walked out the door, leaving Elena standing behind the counter, heart still pounding, wondering what the hell had just happened.
Because something told her…
This wasn't the last time she'd be seeing Damián Knight.