Noah Harrison. The man who had turned literature into a marketing spectacle. How could she trust him with her great-grandmother’s words?

When Noah arrived at the house, the tension in the air was palpable.

—Nice place, —he commented with a crooked smile, scanning the bookshelves packed with novels.

—Don’t ruin it, —Georgia replied.

Noah dropped his suitcase and crossed his arms.

—Look, I know you don’t want me here. But I also know that Scarlett Stanton was one of the greatest writers of her generation. I want to finish this book because she deserves it. Not because of you.

—Great. Then keep things professional.

—I always do.

Their eyes met. Invisible sparks floated in the air. But it wasn’t attraction. It couldn’t be. It was a challenge.

Because this wasn’t just a book. It was the last remnant of Scarlett Stanton. And maybe, just maybe, it was also Georgia’s last chance to face the ruins of her own past.

Second Part: Unwritten Letters

The first days were a silent battle.