The rain fell in sheets, blurring the neon lights of the city and washing the streets with a shimmering glow. Ava hurried along the crowded sidewalk, her umbrella useless against the wind. She hated the rain—it always brought back memories she preferred to forget. She wasn’t in the mood for any more reminders tonight.

She turned a corner, lost in her thoughts, and that’s when it happened.

A hard collision sent her stumbling, and her umbrella slipped from her grasp. “Watch where you’re going!” she snapped, her voice sharper than intended.

“I could say the same thing,” came a calm, deep voice.

Ava looked up, her anger meeting a pair of cold, stormy eyes. The man in front of her was tall, with dark hair dripping wet, and an air of arrogance that made her blood boil instantly. He seemed unfazed by the rain or the fact that they’d almost knocked each other over. His eyes scanned her briefly, unimpressed, before he picked up her umbrella from the ground and handed it back.

"Thanks," she muttered, snatching it from his hand. His gaze lingered on her for a second longer than necessary, and something about it irritated her beyond reason. Who was he to look at her like that? Like she was the one who had done something wrong?

Without another word, Ava turned on her heel and stormed away, not waiting for an apology—or offering one of her own.

---

Damian watched her go, mildly amused. Most people would have stammered an apology or tried to avoid the situation entirely. But not her. She had met his glare with fire in her eyes, something he hadn’t seen in a long time. Most people avoided him, or tried to, but this woman... she had something different in her.

He shook his head, more intrigued than he wanted to admit, and continued walking in the opposite direction. His night had already been bad enough, and he didn’t need some random woman making it worse. But as he disappeared into the crowd, his thoughts drifted back to her sharp words and the flash of defiance in her eyes. He didn’t even know her name.

---

Back in her apartment, Ava slammed the door shut and threw her wet jacket onto the floor. She paced around the small room, trying to shake off the encounter. It was stupid, really. Just a bump in the street. Nothing more. And yet... his face stuck with her. His eyes, cold as ice, and the way he hadn’t flinched at her anger. Men like him usually pissed her off—they always thought they owned the world, that no one could stand up to them.

She was just about to push the memory aside when her phone buzzed. A message from her best friend, Clara.

"Don’t forget, tomorrow night at the gallery. You promised!"

Ava groaned. The last thing she wanted was to go to some pretentious art gallery opening, but Clara had been begging her for weeks. She couldn’t back out now.

---

The next evening, Ava stepped into the brightly lit gallery, immediately regretting her decision. The space was filled with people she didn’t recognize, all talking in hushed voices and sipping wine like they understood the meaning behind every brushstroke on the walls.

Clara was waving at her from across the room, her smile wide and welcoming. Ava forced a smile and started making her way over when she felt a familiar, unsettling presence. She glanced to her right—and froze.

There he was.

The same man from the street, leaning casually against the wall, a glass of wine in hand. His eyes met hers across the room, and for a moment, everything else faded away. The noise, the people, the art—it was just him and her, locked in some invisible battle neither of them had agreed to.

His gaze was intense, unreadable, and Ava could feel the same rush of irritation bubbling up inside her. What were the odds? Of all the places in the city, of all the nights... he had to be here.

She clenched her fists and looked away, determined not to let him ruin her night. But deep down, she knew this was just the beginning. This wasn’t over—not by a long shot.

---

Damian watched her from across the room, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He hadn’t expected to see her again, and certainly not here, of all places. Fate had a strange sense of humor.

As he sipped his wine, he found himself wondering what it was about her that had caught his attention. She was different—sharp, fiery. And now, seeing her again, he realized something else: he wasn’t going to let this chance encounter slip away.

Not yet.