"It was a pleasure meeting you tonight, Abby. Looking forward to seeing you again on Monday."

There's something wrong with Roman's text, and I don't know what it is. I am not big on emojis or pet names, but his plain message makes my chest tighten.

Did I do something wrong? Am I missing something?

Our date had a rough start, but the dinner was magical, right? The city lights twinkling around us, the subtle wind, Roman's eyes burning into my soul, and his smile... I loved how we opened up our hearts to each other just like that. Okay, his cold side gave me shivers at first, but he was jealous—which was adorable, now that I think about it.

Just as I'm about to shove my phone into my bag, my screen lights up again. This time, it's a text from Olga.

"Why are there so many douchebags in Manhattan?"

I grin as the cab pulls over in front of my building, and shut the door behind me. Olga was supposed to have dinner with a guy she met at work. Looks like mine isn't the only date that's cut short tonight.

"Wanna come over?" I type and hit reply.

"On my way," she texts back.

Call me selfish, but I feel ten times lighter knowing that I won't be alone, sulking at home. Olga's coming over. My best friend. My person.

Sometimes I think we are soulmates—not the romantic kind. Neither of us swing that way. But just like there are many stars in our universe, I believe we have multiple soulmates, and Olga is one of mine.

I hurry upstairs, quickly change into shorts and a t-shirt, then throw myself on the bed.

Does Roman really have a meeting? Why didn't he come home with me? I thought we had a spark—a real connection.

I gasp when my phone buzzes next to my head. It's another text from Roman.

"Did you get home safely?"

And just like that, my worries disappear.

"Yeah," I reply with a stupid smile. "About to google you."

"Let me know if you like what you find," Roman types, and I wish I could see his face. Is he smirking or are his brows pulling together with worry? Why would he be worried, though? Does he have a sex tape or something?

My cheeks flush and I choke on my own breath. God, I hope Roman has a sex tape. I don't care about watching him with another woman. I just want to see the pleasure on his face and hear his guttural grunts.

Fuck. What's wrong with me?

"I'm about to take my Tokyo call," Roman texts again.

I draw a deep breath and glare at the cracks on the ceiling. My therapist would tell me to take it slow. Stop overthinking. And definitely stop fantasizing about him.

"Tie or no tie?" Roman asks in his next text.

Wait, did he just send me a photo?

I click on the image in a rush. Roman's in a dark room, sitting in front of a laptop. The screen's pale light defines his sharp jawline, and his smirk is sexy as hell. I want to twirl his black tie around my hand and pull him in for a kiss.

A silent moan vibrates in my throat. Feels like Roman's sitting on my bed, looking down at me as I lay under him.

"You look hot," I reply, breathing heavily. "Keep the tie."

Three dots appear at the top of my screen, then disappear. Then they appear again, only to disappear once more.

Is he feeling the same heat as I am?

My underwear is a damp mess. All I can imagine is Roman's hand grazing over it.

"It's on. Good night, Abby."

Letting out a deep breath, I sit up in bed. I must find out more about Roman before I completely lose my mind.

I quickly tap on the browser and type his name. The top three results are news articles about Roman and the magazine. I zoom into a photo of him with board members. He's standing between to an old guy and a tall, blonde woman, with five other people around them. They all look professional in their suits and ambitious smiles.

I click on the next two links and find out that my Prince Charming is not just a little prince. He's the Roman Emperor of business! I don't even scroll down to read the rest of the articles. Though, I'm tempted to search for a sex tape to have an idea of what he's like in bed.

The door rings before I can search for Roman's socials. I streak through the corridor and let Olga in.

"I don't want to talk about it," she says, throwing her bag next to the door.

My heart aches for her. She really made an effort to look extra hot tonight. Her pixie hair is combed aside with blonde wisps falling onto her forehead. Her thick, winged eyeliner accentuates her baby blue eyes.

"All I'm gonna say is, big dick energy is dickhead energy," she adds.

I follow her to the L-shaped couch and take a seat next to her. "Do we need wine?"

"Nah, I had plenty." She sighs, kicking off her high heels. "He was hot and all. And we've been flirting at the office for a while. But he didn't ask single question about me all night—until—he had the audacity to ask if we're having sex tonight."

"He didn't!"

"His words," she says, then deepens her voice to immitate him. "So, what do you say, birdie? Are we on tonight, or what?"

"I don't know, birdie." I chuckle. "He sounds pretty serious to me."

When Olga rolls her eyes, I click my tongue, shooting a glance toward the kitchen. "Want me to check if I have ice-cream?"

"It's fine," she says, settling between the cushions more comfortably, only to sit up once again. Her eyes widen with realization. "Aren't you supposed to be on a hot date with Mr. CEO?"

"I am... I was... I mean—"

"Is he a douche?" She scoots toward the edge of her seat, ready to tear Roman's imaginary face apart.

I laugh and shake my head. "It went well, actually." My lips still sizzle from Roman's kiss. His caramel eye flash somewhere in the back of my mind.

"What's that face?" Olga asks, and I snap a gaze at her. "That smile. This one. What is it?"

I touch my lips then slump back, hugging a cushion. "I don't know, Olga. I never felt anything like this. Something inside me knows him... I don't mean his character, his quirks, or what he does everyday—but what he's made of. What he really is beyond his skin." I lift my head to give my friend a nervous furrow. "You know what I mean?"

"Yeah," she says, offering me a warm smile. "You felt a connection."

My heart thumps as I bite my lip and shake my head. "It's not just any connection."

"What is it?" Olga asks, nudging my shoulder, but I shuffle my bangs and avert my gaze. "Abby! Tell me!"

"Okay," I say, flicking the cushion's corner. "Have you heard about twin flames?"

Olga lifts her brows and stares at me as if I'm a lunatic. "You mean, mirror souls?"

"Forget it," I snap.

"No... Of course, I know!" She flutters her lashes as she tries to grasp my words. "One soul split into two bodies... Their burning pieces drift in the universe, longing to reunite with each other."

When I take a desperate breath, Olga starts smirking.

"Oh, come on! You know it's impossible to meet your twin flame, right?" she asks, then waves her hands to stop me before I can even protest. "Okay, okay. Hear me out. For twin flames to exist, first, you need to have a split soul... Think of it as having a twin, an embryo split in two identical parts, which is only 0.5% chance. Then, both souls need to end up in the same galaxy, on the same planet, within the same timeframe, and find each other. What's the world's population? Eight billion? What are the chances of meeting that one random person who shares a part of your soul?"

I know! It sounds crazy. But I can't stop thinking about Roman since the day we met! How can I call this feeling a simple connection when my soul is burning for him?

"Why don't I have a normal friend?" Olga protests, her gaze drifting to the ceiling. "No, seriously, I love Miss Nutty-Nut-Nuts, and I'd go to the end of the world for her. But isn't this a bit—extreme?"

I roll my eyes, trying to stifle my laughter.

"Is it because he's hot?" she asks, swinging an arm in protest. "Is he hot? At least, tell me he's hot!" Taking her phone out of her pocket, she finds Roman's photo on a business app and squirms. "Flat face!"

"Olga!" I protest, slapping her leg with a chuckle.

"Where are his cheekbones? Oh, here they are. Look at his brows! The guy is made of brows..."

"Olga, stop it!" I hit her hand this time, though I can't stop chuckling. "Rude! He is..." Charismatic? Masculine? Dreamy? Smart? Stunning...?

"Abby!" Olga grabs my arms and starts shaking me. "Roman can't be your twin flame!"

The playful glow in her baby blue eyes turns into something serious when our gazes meet. Her mouth gapes open.

Wow... This is the first time Miss Know-It-All is rendered speechless.

Olga shakes her head, blinking a couple of times. "Okay. Maybe he is—we don't know," she stutters. "You guys have only been on one date. I don't want you to fall head over heels from day one."

She has a point, but I can't help it! I've never met anyone like Roman. "I'm seeing him again on Monday."

"Go get him," she replies, patting my knee, then pushes herself up to her feet. "Now, what kind of beer do you have?"

"Guinness." Olga's favorite. I chuckle, pointing toward the kitchen. "Fridge. Top shelf."

I turn the TV on as she brings back two bottles, and settles next to me. The romantic comedy we found is horrible, but that's our favorite kind. We make fun of the cheesy lines and dramatic faces for a good hour. And when Olga starts snoring, I turn the TV off and tip toe back to bed.