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When the Hearts collide

When the Hearts collide

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When the Hearts Collide is a deeply emotional, slow-burning romance woven with secrets, heartbreak, and the unexpected beauty of connection. Set between the gritty charm of New York City and the elegance of Paris, the story follows Amara Lane, a passionate street artist with a haunted past, and Julian Vale, a powerful finance executive hiding from a scandal that could destroy his life. Their worlds collide-literally-on a rainy afternoon in Central Park, when a chance encounter sparks something neither of them expected. Amara sees beyond Julian's guarded heart, while Julian finds peace in her chaos. But as their relationship deepens, so do the shadows they're both hiding. Julian's past is catching up with him in dangerous ways, and Amara is forced to choose between trust and self-protection. Full of romantic tension, surprising twists, heartbreaking choices, and moments of unexpected humor, When the Hearts Collide is a novel about love found in the wreckage, and what it means to fight for something real when everything else is falling apart.

Chapter 1 The Girl who drew in the rain

It was the kind of rain that made people curse the sky, but Amara Lane never minded. She sat on a damp bench in Central Park, sketchpad balanced on her knees, umbrella tipped just enough to protect the page but not herself. Her black coat was soaked through, her curls frizzing under the drizzle, but her hand moved with purpose. Lines turned into shadows. Raindrops into eyes.

Today's subject wasn't the trees or skyline-it was a stranger. A man pacing back and forth across the street, clearly arguing with someone on the phone, soaked in a navy-blue suit that had seen better days. She couldn't hear him, but his frustration translated easily into posture and expression. There was something magnetic about him. Maybe it was how he gestured with both hands, or the way his jaw clenched as if trying to bite down the words he wanted to scream.

Click.

The sound of her mechanical pencil snapped.

The stranger looked up-right at her.

Amara froze. He stared. She stared. For a second, the rain stopped mattering. His dark eyes narrowed in confusion before he turned away and stormed off, disappearing behind a yellow cab.

Her heart raced.

Why had that felt like the beginning of something?

Later that night, soaked to her bones and craving hot chocolate, Amara sat in her studio apartment. It was the size of a closet, the rent was absurd, and her neighbor practiced the violin terribly at all hours. But it was hers.

She flipped through her sketches, stopping at the soaked page of the man. Despite the hurried strokes, it was good. Too good. Emotion practically bled from the charcoal lines. She pinned it to her inspiration board.

"I'll call you Rain Guy," she whispered, sipping from her chipped mug.

Across the city, in a penthouse office that smelled like tension and espresso, Julian Vale ripped off his ruined suit jacket and slumped into his leather chair. The day had been hell. His firm was collapsing under an embezzlement scandal, his girlfriend of four years had dumped him via voicemail, and his last clean suit now smelled like a sewer.

But what lingered in his mind wasn't any of that.

It was her.

That girl in the park with the sketchpad and the umbrella. He'd only glanced at her for a moment, but something about her face stuck in his mind like a lyric you couldn't forget.

He hated that.

The next day, Julian walked into Café d'Art, a tucked-away spot near the art district, more out of habit than hunger. He needed caffeine, quiet, and space to think.

He did not need her.

But there she was.

Amara. Sitting by the window. Sketchpad open, lips pressed together in concentration, messy curls tucked behind her ears. She wore overalls and combat boots and looked like she belonged in a different decade.

Their eyes met again.

He frowned. She smiled.

"You're Rain Guy," she said, standing up and walking over.

He blinked. "Excuse me?"

"You were yelling into your phone in Central Park yesterday. I drew you." She tilted her sketchpad to show him. "You have a very expressive face."

He stared at the sketch, then at her. "You... drew me?

"I sketch strangers. You looked miserable. Made for good art.

"That's not exactly flattering.

"It's not meant to be. It's honest."

He should've been annoyed. But he laughed. A real, tired, much-needed laugh.

"Julian," he said, offering a hand. "Not Rain Guy."

"Amara," she said, shaking it. "Still calling you Rain Guy."

They started talking. One coffee turned into three. She was odd and open and chaotic. He was guarded, polished, and quietly sarcastic. It shouldn't have worked.

But it did.

They met again the next day. And the next.

He started bringing her chocolate croissants. She sketched him reading, thinking, and once while he was sleeping on the café sofa. He told her she was insane. She said thank you.

She made him feel human. He made her feel safe.

Neither realized they were falling until they already had.

But love has a way of arriving with thunder-and leaving with a storm.

Because Julian had secrets. Ugly ones. Ones that could destroy her world.

And Amara? She had something he didn't know he was still capable of giving

Hope.

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