Prologue

Robert Fischer had always considered himself a bit of an idealist, he had never been as hard as his father Maurice or as cutthroat as his Godfather. He grew up in an admittedly sheltered lifestyle, which would be an accurate description to any heir to the Fischer fortune. So when he reached Los Angeles alongside his father's coffin, a sense of catharsis had struck him from his subconscious during the flight, a dream that changed everything. His father had indeed been a hard man, but also a loving one. He had just never seen it until it was too late.

Within a few months Robert had found himself dismantling the tyranny of the Fischer Company's ruthless energy dominance in favor of starting a business of his own. One that would make his father proud. One that would redeem himself for trying so hard to follow his father's footsteps, when all along Maurice had wanted his son to create for himself.

He remembered explaining his resolution to his baffled godfather, the most assertive, and destructive, decision for the company that he had ever made. It had been a realization from a dream, a sign that he had misjudged his father's wishes all along. Browning had found himself distraught that he could do nothing against, what he perceived as, the disillusionment of Maurice's heir.

It was five months after his father's funeral that Robert found himself in Paris, he had been starting some contacts with some growing French energy companies to ally with a company of his own when he had walked past a particular corner bistro in the bustling city. A girl sitting in the café tables outside made him freeze. Curling, chestnut hair framed a delicate young face. She was tugging on a paisley scarf that hung loosely around her neck as she sat perusing a daunting college textbook, her coffee laid forgotten on the table.

A sense of intense déjà vu hit him.

The violent tendrils of chestnut hair whip around a youthful face, deep concerning brown eyes boring into his greet him after being blindfolded for so long. Skyscrapers crumble around them and he is fixated by the urgency of her gaze.

"Are you okay?"

The recollection is wildly vivid, as if something from a dream but so much clearer. He ogles the girl at the bistro and strides forward to sit down at her table. He is aware of how crazy his actions are. How unfounded his logic is. And yet, he is drawn to this girl who so resembles his supposed savior in a half-forgotten dream.

She looks up, her eyes widen in panic. He doesn't mean to alarm her, and he instantly feels guilty. However the familiar rich colors of her dark brown eyes confirm his suspicions. A smile tugs on his lips, and he finds himself feeling like has stumbled upon a part of him that he hadn't realized he had forgotten until now.

"I'm so sorry. I know this must seem so strange to you." He doesn't know what has come over himself, but the familiarity of her face won't let him walk away.

"But I swear I've seen you in my dreams."