The rain hadn’t stopped for two days. Diana sat by her window, staring at the droplets racing each other down the glass. Her phone buzzed for the tenth time that morning, but she ignored it. Friends meant well, but she was tired of hearing the same line:
“You’ll love again, Diana. Just give it time.”
Love? Never again.
Not after her ex-fiancé decided three weeks before the wedding that he was “rediscovering himself”—with her bridesmaid.
She leaned back on the couch and muttered, “Love is a scam invented by chocolate companies.”
Her best friend Mariah, who had been listening while painting her nails, burst out laughing. “Diana, that’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard. Chocolate existed before heartbreak.”
“Exactly,” Diana shot back. “Chocolate never leaves you for your bridesmaid.”
Mariah shook her head. “You’re dramatic, but fine. If you want to grow old alone with twenty cats, that’s your choice.”
“I prefer dogs,” Diana said, crossing her arms. “And solitude.”
Across town, Daniel Evans was on his third cup of coffee, typing furiously at his laptop. He barely noticed his assistant knocking until she cleared her throat loudly.
“Sir, you’ve been in the office since yesterday. Don’t you think—”
“No time, Grace,” Daniel cut her off, eyes still glued to the screen. “The merger deadline is in two days. If this fails, everything I’ve worked for collapses.”
Grace sighed. “When was the last time you went on a date?”
Daniel finally looked up, frowning. “What does that have to do with the merger?”
“You’re thirty-three, single, and married to work. Your mother called again this morning, asking if you’ve ‘met anyone normal yet.’ Want me to lie for you this time?”
Daniel groaned, massaging his temples. “Tell her I’m in a committed relationship with my spreadsheet.”
Grace grinned. “I’ll put that on the wedding invitations.”
Diana and Daniel. Two lives, two walls. Neither wanted love. Neither expected it.
But fate? Fate was already laughing, plotting their collision.
Diana had decided that mornings were the enemy. It wasn’t just the alarm clock or the groggy stumble to the kitchen—it was the cruel reminder that life went on, even when hers had crumbled.
She worked at a small publishing house as an editor, which meant two things: endless manuscripts and even more endless coffee. Today was no different. She slipped into her office with her cardigan half on, her hair in a bun that screamed “I gave up”, and a cup of strong black coffee.
“Morning, boss,” said Jeremy, the intern, looking way too cheerful for 9 a.m. “Got a new manuscript for you. Romantic comedy. A divorced couple falls in love again—”
Diana held up her hand like a traffic cop. “Stop right there. Romance is banned in this office.”
Jeremy blinked. “But… we’re a publishing company. Half our books are romance.”
“Then consider me the exception.”
Jeremy mumbled something about “editorial bitterness” and left her to it.
Meanwhile, Daniel’s life was an entirely different circus. He was preparing for one of the biggest business deals of his career—a merger that would either cement his company’s future or ruin it. Meetings were stacked, investors restless, and his inbox had grown into a monster he could never quite slay.
At lunch, his friend and business partner, Aaron, leaned across the table and said, “You know, if you keep living like this, your obituary will read: ‘Here lies Daniel Evans, survived by his Excel spreadsheets.’”
Daniel didn’t even glance up from his phone. “Better spreadsheets than drama.”
Aaron smirked. “Drama? You mean women?”
Daniel finally looked up, his tone flat. “I don’t have time for relationships. Not now, not ever.”
Aaron whistled. “Ouch. Who hurt you?”
“No one,” Daniel said quickly. Too quickly. “I just prefer predictability. Numbers don’t lie.”
“Neither do women. They just… edit the truth a little.”
Daniel rolled his eyes. “You should try stand-up comedy. After this merger, I’ll buy you a ticket.”
Two people. One swearing off love forever. One too busy for it.
They didn’t know it yet, but destiny had already booked their first meeting. And it wouldn’t be pretty.
It happened on a Wednesday.
The kind of Wednesday where the sky was dull, people were cranky, and the universe decided chaos was amusing.
Diana had been sent to a corporate office downtown to discuss a possible book deal—apparently, a certain wealthy CEO wanted his company’s story turned into a glossy coffee-table book. She didn’t care much. It sounded like more work. But her boss insisted.
She arrived late, clutching her umbrella and muttering curses at the rain. Her shoes squelched as she stepped into the sleek, polished lobby. Everything screamed money and no soul.
“Appointment with Mr. Evans,” she told the receptionist, trying not to drip too much on the marble floor.
Upstairs, Daniel was already irritated. His assistant had double-booked his schedule, and now he had to waste precious minutes with some publishing rep. He didn’t even want a book. The PR department had cooked up the idea, and somehow it landed on his desk.
When the door opened, he didn’t look up immediately—he was still typing furiously.
“Sit,” he said curtly.
Diana raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”
That voice made him pause. Sharp. Female. Unamused. He looked up—and nearly choked.
Standing in front of him was a woman with rain-tangled hair, mud-splattered shoes, and eyes that looked like they could cut glass.
“Mr. Evans, I presume?” she said flatly.
Daniel blinked. “You’re late.”
“You’re rude,” she shot back.
There was a beat of silence. Then Grace, Daniel’s assistant, peeked in. “Oh good, you two have met. I’ll… leave you to it.” She closed the door quickly, probably sensing the storm brewing.
Diana sat down, crossing her legs with exaggerated grace. “So. You want your company’s story in print.”
“I don’t,” Daniel corrected. “My PR team does. Personally, I think books are a waste of time.”
Her jaw dropped. “You do realize you’re saying that… to an editor?”
“Yes. And I meant it.”
Diana leaned forward, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “And here I thought billionaires were at least charming. Guess the stereotype’s wrong.”
Daniel leaned back, unfazed. “And here I thought editors were supposed to be professional.”
The meeting was a disaster.
Every sentence was a clash.
By the time she stormed out, Diana was swearing under her breath that she’d never see that arrogant man again.
Daniel, on the other hand, muttered to himself, “Unbelievable. Who even argues like that in a business meeting?”
Neither realized that fate wasn’t finished with them yet.
“Guess who I saw today?” Diana groaned later that evening as she collapsed on Mariah’s couch.
“Please don’t say your ex with another bridesmaid,” Mariah said, handing her wine.
“Worse. Some corporate robot with the personality of a stapler.”
Mariah grinned. “Staplers can be useful. Was he at least cute?”
Diana hesitated. “Infuriating doesn’t count as cute.”
“So he was hot.”
“Mariah!”
Her friend shrugged. “Hey, I’m just connecting dots. You hate him because you noticed him.”
Meanwhile, Daniel sat across from Aaron at their usual bar.
“She was impossible,” he said, stabbing his drink with the straw. “Late, sarcastic, unprofessional—”
Aaron smirked. “And beautiful?”
Daniel froze. “That’s irrelevant.”
“Translation: yes.”
“She’s not my type.”
“You don’t have a type. You’re married to your work, remember?”
Daniel rolled his eyes. But a small part of him, annoyingly, remembered the way her eyes flashed when she was angry.
The second meeting wasn’t supposed to happen. But it did.
Two weeks later, Diana was asked to attend a charity gala her company was sponsoring. She almost said no—until she saw the guest list.
Daniel Evans.
“Absolutely not,” she told her boss.
“You’re going,” her boss replied.
So she went.
The ballroom glittered with chandeliers and expensive gowns. Diana felt out of place in her simple black dress, clutching a glass of champagne she didn’t want.
And then, of course, he appeared. Tall, polished, and infuriatingly composed in a tuxedo. Daniel spotted her almost immediately—and the smirk that tugged at his lips made her want to throw her champagne in his face.
“Well, if it isn’t the editor who hates romance,” he said smoothly.
“And if it isn’t the CEO who thinks books are a waste of paper.”
They clashed again, words sharp but laced with something else—something neither of them wanted to name.
But then, in the middle of their banter, something strange happened. A man bumped into Daniel—hard—nearly spilling his drink. The stranger muttered an apology and hurried off, but not before Diana noticed his nervous
Daniel frowned, reaching into his pocket. His wallet was gone.
Diana raised an eyebrow. “Well, looks like someone doesn’t love you either.”
“Not funny,” Daniel muttered, scanning the crowd.
And just like that, their night took an unexpected turn—one that would pull them into more than just verbal sparring.
“Wait here,” Daniel said, already moving through
“Excuse me?” Diana crossed her arms. “Why would I wait here? What if the thief walks right past me?”
He shot her a look over his shoulder. “You’re not exactly trained for this.”
“Oh, and you are? What are you going to do, threaten him with an Excel spreadsheet?”
Daniel groaned. Why did she have to follow him? But sure enough, Diana trailed behind like a stubborn shadow, weaving through the glittering crowd as he searched for the suspicious man.
They spotted him near the exit, shoving something into his jacket. Daniel picked up his pace, but before he could get close, Diana grabbed a tray of hors d’oeuvres from a passing waiter and—without hesitation—tripped right into the man. Shrimp skewers went flying.
“Oops!” she gasped in fake horror. “I’m so clumsy.”
The man cursed, trying to shove past her, but Daniel was already there. Together—much to his surprise—they managed to corner him until security intervened.
Minutes later, Daniel retrieved his wallet. The man had slipped out excuses about being desperate, about bills and family. Security escorted him away, but Diana noticed Daniel’s expression soften. For a moment, he almost looked… guilty.
“You okay?” she asked, brushing cocktail sauce off her dress.
He nodded slowly. “I just… I hate when people feel cornered enough to do that. Doesn’t excuse it, but still.”
Diana blinked. Maybe he wasn’t just a robot after all.
Of course, she wasn’t about to say that.
Instead, she smirked. “Well, you’re welcome. Clearly, you needed my professional shrimp-sabotage skills.”
Daniel stared at her, and then—to her shock—he actually laughed.
It was a low, warm laugh, the kind of laugh that lingered. And for just a second, Diana forgot why she’d decided never to love again.
The next morning, Diana swore she’d put the gala out of her mind. But fate clearly enjoyed messing with her, because when she walked into her favorite coffee shop, there he was—Daniel Evans, standing in line ahead of her.
She considered turning around, but then he noticed her. His smirk returned instantly.
“Following me now?” he teased.
“In your dreams,” she muttered. “This place has been my sanctuary since before you were born.”
“I’m thirty-three.”
“Exactly. Ancient.”
He chuckled, shaking his head. “Coffee’s on me today. Least I can do after you ruined a perfectly good dress saving my wallet.”
Diana blinked. Was he… being nice?
Suspicion prickled, but she allowed it. They sat at a small corner table, sipping lattes in awkward silence. Well, awkward for him. Diana had no problem filling the air with sarcasm.
“So,” she said finally, “do you always laugh like a villain at charity galas?”
“Only when shrimp skewers are involved.”
They actually smiled at each other then. A small, reluctant smile—but it was there.
And just like that, something shifted.
Later that week, Diana found herself editing yet another romance manuscript. Normally she’d breeze through, rolling her eyes at every cliché. But this time, she lingered. Her mind kept drifting back to Daniel’s laugh. To the strange warmth in his eyes after the wallet incident.
She hated it. Absolutely hated it.
Love was a scam, remember? She’d promised herself never again.
Meanwhile, Daniel was in his office, staring blankly at financial reports. He prided himself on focus. Discipline. Efficiency. But lately, his thoughts betrayed him—wandering back to a certain stubborn editor who wore sarcasm like armor.
Aaron noticed immediately.
“You’re distracted,” Aaron said, leaning against his desk.
“I’m not,” Daniel snapped.
“You are. Is this about that woman at the gala? What was her name again?”
“Diana.” The name slipped out before he could stop it.
Aaron grinned. “Ah. Thought so.”
Daniel sighed, rubbing his temples. “She’s infuriating. She thinks books matter more than numbers. She trips thieves with shrimp. She—”
“She makes you feel alive,” Aaron interrupted softly.
Daniel froze. Alive? He hadn’t thought about it like that. But maybe… Aaron was right.
And that terrified him.
Just when things seemed almost normal, trouble returned.
One evening, as Diana locked up her office, she noticed someone lingering across the street. A man in a dark coat, watching her too closely. Her stomach twisted, but she shook it off. Big city, strangers everywhere.
The next night, she saw him again. This time, he was closer. Too close.
Diana’s pulse quickened. She wasn’t the type to panic easily, but something about his gaze sent shivers down her spine.
Unwillingly, her mind jumped to Daniel. Annoying, arrogant Daniel—who, for some reason, made her feel oddly safe.
Maybe she needed to call him.
Diana locked her office door with shaky hands. The street was quiet, too quiet. The man in the dark coat leaned casually against a lamppost, pretending to scroll his phone, but his eyes never left her.
She considered calling the police, but what would she say? “Excuse me, officer, there’s a man looking at me funny.” They’d laugh her off.
Instead, she pulled out her phone and—against her better judgment—scrolled to the one person she really didn’t want to call.
Daniel.
She hesitated. He’d probably make some sarcastic remark, ask if she was imagining things. But before she could talk herself out of it, her thumb hit “call.”
Daniel was buried in spreadsheets when his phone buzzed. Seeing her name made his chest tighten in a way he didn’t care to analyze.
“Diana?” he answered.
There was silence. Then her voice, low and uneasy: “I… I think someone’s following me.”
Daniel sat up straighter. “Where are you?”
“Outside my office.”
“Stay there. I’m coming.”
Ten minutes later, his sleek black car pulled up to the curb. Diana climbed in quickly, relief flooding her chest.
“You didn’t have to—” she began.
“Yes, I did,” he cut in, eyes scanning the street. The man was gone. But Daniel’s jaw tightened anyway. “Next time, don’t wait. Call me sooner.”
She frowned. “Next time? You’re assuming I’ll need rescuing again.”
“With you? Absolutely.”
Despite her fear, she almost smiled. Almost.
Daniel insisted on driving her home. When they arrived, she hesitated outside her apartment door.
“You don’t have to come in,” she said.
“Good,” he replied. But he didn’t leave. He stood there, watching as she fumbled with her keys. “I’ll wait until you’re inside.”
She glanced at him, softening despite herself. “You’re infuriating, you know that?”
“I’ve been told.”
Inside, she leaned against the door after locking it, exhaling shakily. Safe. For now.
But the image of Daniel standing guard outside her door lingered long after he left.
Meanwhile, Daniel returned home restless. He told himself it was just instinct protecting her was logical, sensible. Nothing more. But the truth gnawed at him. He cared. More than he should.
He poured himself a drink, staring out the window at the city lights. Relationships were messy, dangerous. He didn’t have time for them.
So why did one stubborn editor refuse to leave his thoughts?
