The first time Amelia Carter saw Ethan Blake, she thought he was the coldest man she had ever met.
The second time she saw him, she couldn't stop thinking about him.
The third time, she discovered he was hiding something.
And by the fourth time, she found a letter with her name on it.
A letter written twenty years before they had ever met.
Rain hammered against the windows of the little bookstore where Amelia worked.
She glanced at the clock.
7:45 p.m.
Most of the shops on the street had already closed, but Amelia still had several boxes of donated books to organize before she could go home.
She picked up another dusty novel and sighed.
"One more box," she whispered. "Then I'm leaving."
As she pulled a book from the bottom of the box, something slipped from between its pages and fell onto the wooden floor.
An envelope.
Amelia bent down and picked it up.
It was old and yellow, with slightly torn edges.
She turned it over.
There was no return address.
No stamp.
No name of a sender.
Only one word was written across the front.
Amelia.
Her heart skipped.
She stared at it for several seconds.
"How does this know my name?"
She looked around the empty bookstore.
There was nobody there.
Slowly, Amelia opened the envelope.
Inside was a single sheet of paper.
The handwriting was elegant, but the ink had faded with age.
She began reading.
Dear Amelia,
Her fingers tightened around the paper.
If you are reading this letter, then something has gone terribly wrong.
Amelia frowned.
She continued.
There is something you must know about Ethan Blake.
Her breath caught.
Ethan Blake.
She knew that name.
Three days earlier, he had walked into the bookstore.
He had been tall, well-dressed, and unusually quiet. He had asked for a rare first edition, and when Amelia found it for him, he had looked at her for several seconds before taking the book.
There had been something strange about his eyes.
Something familiar.
She had dismissed the feeling as imagination.
Now his name was staring back at her from an old letter.
Amelia read the next line.
Do not trust him.
She stopped.
A cold feeling traveled down her spine.
Why would someone have written this?
And why had they written it to her?
She continued reading.
His family destroyed ours once. They will do anything to make sure the truth never comes out.
Amelia's mind raced.
She had never met Ethan's family.
She barely knew Ethan.
She looked toward the front door.
Locked.
Good.
Her eyes returned to the letter.
Then she read the final paragraph.
Before you fall in love with Ethan, find out what happened to your father.
The paper slipped from her fingers.
"My father?"
Amelia's voice trembled.
Her father had died when she was eight.
At least, that was what her mother had always told her.
A heart condition.
A sudden death.
Twenty years ago.
She had spent most of her childhood accepting the story because her mother never wanted to discuss it.
But now this letter was telling her something completely different.
Amelia quickly picked up the paper and folded it.
She had just placed it inside her handbag when the bell above the bookstore door rang.
She froze.
A familiar voice came from the entrance.
"Amelia."
She turned.
Ethan Blake stood there.
Rainwater glistened on his dark coat. His hair was slightly wet, and his expression was more serious than she had ever seen it.
"What are you doing here?" Amelia asked.
"I need to talk to you."
"About what?"
Ethan's eyes moved to her handbag.
Amelia noticed.
Her stomach tightened.
"You know about the letter," she said.
Ethan didn't answer.
That was answer enough.
"You knew?"
"Amelia, listen to me."
"No. You listen to me."
She stepped away from him.
"You know my name. You know about my father. And somehow you knew about a letter that was hidden inside a book."
Ethan closed his eyes briefly.
"I've been looking for that letter for twenty years."
Amelia stared at him.
"Why?"
He looked at her again.
And for the first time, she saw fear in his eyes.
"Because my mother wrote it."
Amelia couldn't speak.
"Your mother?"
Ethan nodded.
"My mother knew your father."
"How?"
"That's what I've been trying to find out."
Amelia shook her head.
"You expect me to believe that?"
"I don't expect you to believe anything I say."
He reached into his coat and pulled out a small photograph.
He handed it to her.
Amelia looked down.
The photograph showed three people standing outside a large house.
One was a much younger Ethan's mother.
The second was a man Amelia didn't recognize.
The third—
Her hands began to tremble.
She knew that face.
She had seen it countless times in the only photograph her mother had kept of her father.
"My father," she whispered.
Ethan nodded.
"That photograph was taken twenty years ago."
Amelia stared at him.
"That's impossible."
"Your father wasn't dead."
She looked up sharply.
"What did you say?"
Ethan's voice became quiet.
"Your father disappeared."
Amelia felt as though the floor had vanished beneath her.
Before she could respond, headlights appeared through the bookstore window.
A black car stopped across the street.
Ethan immediately turned toward it.
His expression changed.
"We have to go."
"Why?"
"Because whoever has been searching for that letter knows you found it."
A shadow moved inside the car.
Then another.
Ethan grabbed Amelia's hand.
"Trust me."
She looked at his hand around hers.
Her heart was beating faster—not only from fear, but from something she didn't understand.
Then the bookstore lights suddenly went out.
Darkness swallowed the room.
A loud crash came from the back door.
Amelia gasped.
Ethan pulled her closer.
Another crash.
Then silence.
He whispered three words that made her blood run cold.
"They found us."