Elena Moreau never believed in love.

She believed in patterns, psychology, and data. Love, as the world saw it, was nothing more than an illusion—an intricate game of hormones and neural responses, a deception the mind played on itself. And she was an expert at decoding that deception.

As a psychologist and scientist, Elena had spent years studying the male psyche, pushing boundaries where others dared not tread. Her research was unconventional, even controversial—faking love affairs to observe emotions firsthand, peeling away the layers of desire, passion, and heartbreak.

Every relationship was an experiment. Every man was a subject.

Until she met him.

A long-distance connection, unexpected and intoxicating. What was meant to be just another study soon blurred into something else.