When Love Collides With Dark Past

anonymous online relationship was my safe haven from a world t

He was a bestselling author, and his p

" he wrote. "I can't

d it. The next morning, my boss ordered me to deliver files to our company's top client-the

he treated me like a stranger. I later found out the truth: he' d

for revenge. She forced me into a dinner with a dangerous man from my

n my phone, realizing this was no longer about sa

pte

Perkin

th a man I've never met. A man I only know a

age that made my stoma

o a book tour. Across the

This was our one rule. The only rul

ow we can'

an't do this wit

frantic, trapped bird. I typed the wo

ybe we shou

ed, then appeared again. The silen

supposed to be. It wa

owing monitor. My online persona, 'Pixel_Perfect,' was everything I wasn' t in real life: sharp, witty, and unafraid. My real life was a care

bestselling crime author, blew up my quiet world wi

for help, disguise

st author headshot for review. They claim it is 'intimidating.' I write novels about

the forum lit up. Most of the comments were from star-struck fa

were

site. Cristian Lancaster had the kind of face that belonged on a Roman statue-sharp jaw, high cheekbon

ly. His arms were crossed so tightly over his chest they looked like they were part of his ribcage. His jaw was clenched, and hi

branding

efore I could second-guess myself, my

.' You' ve crossed it. Your posture is screaming 'defensive,' and your expression says you' d rather be undergoing a root canal. You need to l

f adrenaline and terror. I had just sassed one

message notification popped

as... blunt. And accura

y my online bravado, came roaring back. But this

jaw. You' re going to crack a tooth. Third, think about something that doesn' t involve disme

image appeared in our chat. It w

: Be

ean against a bookshelf. Look slightly away from the camera, as if you' ve just been interrupted from

t director. I was ruthless, direct, and completely in my element. He was a surprisi

oft light catching the sharp planes of his face. His expression was still serious, but the tension was gone. H

e. That' s your mi

. I would like to compe

rom my payment app lit up my screen. "

od ran

an Lan

n. It wasn' t an alias. It wasn' t a pseu

me, Kiana Perkins, and frantically set everything to private. My portfolio, my old college photos, my sparse personal posts-all hidden aw

eem to noti

ce was more valuable than anythin

ore money than I made in a month. With a deep, shaky breath, I accepted the payment and t

book covers, website design, and social media strategy. And somewhere

shared love for old movies, rainy days, and a mutual disdain for crowded places. He was nothing like his intimidating public ima

he company of pixels to people. I was the only person w

aily chats, he sent a messa

r messages more than I look forward to writing. This is.

structed digital

or a witty avatar and a good eye

mor. I know how you see the world. Tha

. constant. He started sending good morning messages every day, without fail. He' d send pictures of

abic replies. "Morning

him that my resolve began to crumble. He was like a big, lonely g

link to a video on non-v

g. Real-life awkwardness just makes people think you' re a ser

don' t u

He was hopeless. And I was, against all my

-