Prologue
Weallknowthesaying—everything happens for a reason. But let’s be honest, most people throw it around like it’s a bandage. Like it’s supposed to make the heartbreak hurt less, or somehow justify the way your whole life got flipped without warning. The truth is, no one actually knows why things happen the way they do. No one can predict the moment everything changes—when the right person walks in too early, or the wrong one stays too long.
The journey to where you’re meant to be? It isn’t always lined with clarity and soft moments. Sometimes, it’s a brutal collision. Sometimes it’s falling so hard you don’t recognize yourself when you stand back up. It’s heartbreak disguised as a beginning. It’s a job you thought you needed until it vanished. It’s showing up for something small and finding something massive. Maybe it’s love. Maybe it’s loss. Maybe it’s a flight you almost missed—but didn’t. And because of that, everything changed.
Because here’s what I’ve learned—timing is everything. That’s what people really mean when they say things happen for a reason. Timing is the thread pulling everything together, or unraveling it when you least expect it. It’s never about what you think you want. It’s about what you need, and when you need it most. The timing of it all determines whether you get cracked open in all the wrong ways or rebuilt in all the right ones.
And with every perfectly or horribly timed moment comes a consequence. Some are ugly. Some are unbearable. And some… some are beautiful in a way you don’t fully understand until later. Until hindsight hits. Like when you meet someone because your car broke down. Or when you lose everything and realize it’s the only reason you finally saw clearly.
That’s the thing—no matter how hard you try to control it, life will keep happening. It won’t wait for your permission. It won’t follow your plans. It doesn’t care how many boxes you checked or how good your intentions were. Theuniverse doesn’t run on your expectations—it runs on chaos, and sometimes that chaos delivers something more honest than any plan ever could.
All you can do is be present when it comes. Feel it. Let it strip you down if it needs to. Let it show you what you’re made of.
You don’t have to believe in fate to be wrecked by it. You don’t have to understand it for it to rip your life apart and piece it back together in a way that makes more sense than anything ever has. Fate is like the tide—it doesn’t ask for permission to pull you under. And like the sand, sometimes you have to surrender to it. Let it shape you. Let it move you. Let it bury you and rebuild you, over and over again.
You don’t always get to see fate coming. Most times, you don’t know it was fate until you’re already in the aftermath. And that’s where the beauty is. In the wreckage. In the realization. In the breath you take after being held under for too damn long.
So, no—I’m not here to define it for you. I’m here to show you what fate looks like. What it feels like to stand in the eye of it. How it tastes when it crashes into you like a wave you didn’t see coming.
Because this story?
It’s not about chance.
It’s about timing.
It’s about consequence.
It’s about fate.
—Jaxon
1
Timing
Itwas8:45AMon a Wednesday morning, and the Atlanta airport felt like hell on Earth. The kind with flickering fluorescent lights, screaming toddlers, and too many people pretending their Starbucks made them better than everyone else.
Jaxon Stone stood still in the middle of it—head pounding, suit rumpled, soul somewhere between his hangover and gate A17. Yesterday’s choices clawed at the back of his mind with the precision of regret sharpened by tequila. He rubbed his temples and cursed himself for thinking that third round of drinks at last night’s dinner meeting was a good idea. It wasn’t. It never was.
The departure board glared down at him like a judge handing out a sentence. Neon letters blurred slightly as he squinted up at it, the blue screen doing absolutely nothing for the jackhammer currently going off in his skull. And then, just to add insult to injury, came the laughter—shrill, high-pitched, hyena-level cackling from a group nearby that clearly hadn’t gotten the memo that airports were not a place for joy.
He wanted to snap. Or at least throw a look sharp enough to make them rethink breathing. But then—
“Where are you headed?”
The voice cut through the chaos. Too close. Too loud. Too…something. Jaxon turned, ready to unload whatever sarcastic one-liner his headache could muster.
But the words got lost in his throat.
Green eyes. Sea-glass green, soft and steady like a tide just before it crashes. A brunette stood there, close enough to touch, with a kind of calm that didn’t belong in a place like this. Her voice had been louder than necessary, but her expression wasn’t demanding—it was curious. And kind.
Still half-asleep and all the way thrown off, he blinked and said the first word that came to mind. “Home.”
She laughed. Awkward. A little confused. “Well, okay then.”
And just like that, she turned and walked off with her group—gone in a blur of sunlight hair and laughter that didn’t give him a second glance.
Jaxon stood there like a jackass. Blinking. Processing.
