The man’s face carried a quiet severity, expression smooth and unreadable, eyes sharp with a focus that felt deliberate rather than curious. His hair was styled with precision, drawing attention to the strong structure of his features, every detail controlled, every movement restrained.

His suit fit him like intention itself, tailored to sit perfectly on his frame, reinforcing the authority in his stance.

That was Ronan.

He stood grounded and unyielding, posture steady, presence heavy without effort, the kind that didn’t demand attention yet made it impossible to ignore.

I slowed down instinctively as I watched Jessica approach him. The way her heels clicked lightly against the floor didn’t match the sudden shift in the atmosphere. Her smile was soft—almost rehearsed—but his? There was nothing even remotely warm about it.

“You done?” He asked curtly. His voice was low, clipped. Annoyed. He didn’t even look at her properly, just kept his eyes locked ahead like her presence was an interruption.

Jessica, to her credit, kept smiling. “I opened my hair to hide the stain,” she said cheerfully, brushing a few strands forward.

He barely glanced. Just a faint nod. No compliment. No affection. Nothing. If I were her, I would've slapped him immediately for that bitter-ass response.

Jessica suddenly turned toward me and pointed with a radiant smile. “She was the one who gave me the idea,” she said, her voice sweet with gratitude.

I was still frozen in place, trying to piece together the oddity of the last few seconds. Jessica’s words felt far away as I locked eyes with him. Ronan's gaze slowly followed her gesture until his eyes landed on me. For the briefest heartbeat, something flickered in them. A break in the cold. A sliver of familiarity.

His brows drew together ever so slightly. “Café girl?” He muttered.

I heard it. As if he’d whispered it straight into my skin.

What?

“What do you mean, ‘Café girl’?” I snapped, my voice louder than I intended, slicing through the thick atmosphere around us.

But he didn’t answer. He didn’t even look at me after that. His attention slid back to Jessica with practiced indifference. “Jessica,” he said sharply, each syllable clean and cutting, “if you don’t mind, can you go? I’ll join you later.”

Her smile faltered instantly. The cheerful glow dimmed from her face as she hesitated, clearly thrown off by the change in his tone. “Alright.” She murmured, glancing at me once, then back at him with visible confusion. She walked away slowly, her heels softer now, unsure.

I barely noticed her leave.

Ronan was looking at me again. And this time, there was nothing subtle about it. That cold, unflinching stare. That intense energy that rippled from him like thunderclouds barely contained.

He began walking toward me. And I mean—toward me. Not beside me. Not past me. Not casually in my direction.

Toward. Me.

My heart slammed against my ribs, each step he took toward me making my breath hitch. I didn’t care who he was or what the hell he wanted—I needed to vanish before this turned into something bigger.

I instinctively stepped back. But before I could so much as pivot away, his hand shot out and grabbed my wrist. The grip wasn’t painful, but it was firm enough to stop me mid-motion and jolt me slightly off balance.

His towering frame closed the distance between us, close enough that I could feel the weight of his stare pressing on my skin like cold iron. My back stiffened at the sudden proximity, his aura sending a warning across every nerve ending in my body.

“The heck? Leave my hand!” I snapped, voice high and sharp, laced with frustration and indignation.

I twisted my wrist, attempting to pull away, but his grip didn’t budge. My glare met his—fierce, challenging. I didn’t care how tall or intimidating he looked. I didn’t appreciate being cornered like prey.

He didn’t respond to my outrage. Instead, he tilted his head slightly, his gaze not moving from my face, those icy eyes narrowing as if trying to place a puzzle piece.

“Have we met before?” He asked, and though his voice was controlled, there was a thread of something strange running through it—hesitation, or maybe disbelief.

I blinked at him, stunned. “Are you stupid? We just met yesterday, at night, where you and your girlfr—”

But before I could finish, his free hand rose with quiet authority, fingers moving with deliberate ease as they pressed into my cheeks. The touch wasn’t rough, just firm enough to steal my words and force my lips into an unwilling pout, his control settling in before I could react.

My eyes flew wide, cheeks flushed instantly with embarrassment and fury. My entire face burned as my words died in a muffled huff under his hold. “What the—” I tried again, but it was pointless.

His fingers were still pressing firmly against my skin. “No.” He interrupted, his voice low and unreadable. “I’m not talking about that.”

His cold gaze lingered on mine with unnerving sharpness as he leaned in closer. My breath caught as his hand moved from pressing my cheeks to softly tracing along one side of my face.

The warmth of his fingers contrasted with the chill in his expression, his touch firm yet strangely tender. “I feel like…” he murmured, voice so low it sent a tremble down my spine, “I’ve seen you before. Somewhere else.”

My heart stuttered violently. The way he looked at me like I wasn’t just a face in the crowd, but something familiar, something important, knocked the air out of my lungs. His presence was overbearing, suffocating.

But then, just like a snapped string, reality hit me hard.

I freed my wrist, and shoved him away with both hands, my palms pressed flat against his chest. He barely staggered, but I needed that space, that distance, anything to get out of that moment.

My face burned, the heat crawling from my neck to my hairline like wildfire. “You’re insane!” I blurted, my voice uneven, shaken by both rage and the aftershock of his softness.

What the hell was that?

Before he could say anything, I spun on my heel and bolted, ignoring how my heels wobbled slightly beneath me. The sharp click of them echoed against the marble floors as I hurried, stumbled, and half-tripped my way toward the exit like a girl possessed.

But curiosity is a cruel thing.
I dared one glance over my shoulder.

He hadn’t moved. He stood there, still as stone. His eyes followed me with that same unreadable focus, but there was no longer the cold detachment from before.

That mask he wore so effortlessly cracked around the edges. I caught it—that brief flicker of something soft, confused, maybe even... vulnerable?

His jaw tightened, his fists clenched at his sides for a heartbeat before he exhaled slowly. I watched his shoulders drop the tiniest bit, like he was letting go of something.

I swallowed hard and looked away quickly, pretending like none of that had happened.

The evening sun hung low in the sky, casting a warm golden hue across our house garden. The air was soft, carrying the faint scent of blooming flowers and freshly mown grass.

The vibrant patch of daisies near the fence swayed gently with the breeze, while the roses stood tall in their flowerbeds, their crimson petals glowing under the dying sunlight.

The grass beneath the swing was lush and verdant, a testament to the care the garden received. The swing itself, a wooden plank suspended by sturdy ropes tied to a sturdy oak thick sticks, creaked softly as I pushed myself back and forth.

I leaned back slightly, letting the wood plank press against my back.

Today was Thursday, my day off, and one of those rare, precious pockets of time when the world felt just a little gentler. Me and my friends had made a pact ages ago to close our café on Thursdays.

We all needed a breather from the usual whirlwind—the clatter of cups, the hum of conversations, and the endless buzz of orders. Sundays were our busiest days, so skipping a holiday then made perfect sense for the business.

But Thursdays? Thursdays were sacred. Our sanctuary.

Earlier this morning, Marco had been… different. Not the usual whirlwind of energy and mischief that usually made me want to throttle him with punch.

No, today, he was quiet, almost serious in a way that made my heart skip. He’d gotten himself ready for university with care—his pale blue shirt neat and crisp, those beige chinos perfectly pressed.

His dark hair was styled just right, not a strand out of place, and his shoes gleamed like he’d polished them himself. It was so unlike him to care that much about his look, and honestly, it threw me off.

I caught myself watching him more than once, wondering what could be going on under that calm exterior.

I mean, Marco was always the joker, the prankster, the one who could turn any dull moment into a laugh. So why was he suddenly… reserved? The question buzzed in my mind, curling itself tighter with every passing minute.

And then, just like that, the thought hit me like a surprise splash of cold water. “Does he have a girlfriend?” I blurted the question out loud, my eyes going wide.

For a moment, I sat frozen on the swing, my heart racing and my brain scrambling to catch up. It felt almost scandalous to even consider. Marco? The same annoying, goofy little brother who used to sneak into my room just to steal snacks or tease me mercilessly?

But then I shook my head and leaned back against the ropes again, the swing creaking softly as I exhaled a small laugh. “Nah. He’s a monkey.” I muttered to myself. But even as I said it, my thoughts kept twisting, now sliding away from Marco and spiraling somewhere else, somewhere more tangled.

My gaze drifted upward, catching the evening sky just as it slipped into its breathtaking show.

“Shall I tell Dad about what happened? That I encountered Ronan.. again?” I muttered softly, my voice barely rising. My fingers tightened their grip on the ropes of the swing, the rough texture grounding me.

I hadn’t told a single soul in the family about my strange meetings with Ronan. The first time had been odd enough, but twice? Twice felt like a secret wrapped in mystery—and for some reason, it made my skin crawl with unease.

And then there was Dad. The way his face had snapped from calm to cold whenever Ronan’s name came up. His jaw would clench, his eyes darken like storm clouds gathering, and his voice would grow sharp enough to cut through glass.

That look alone made me hesitate, swallowing my curiosity down.

I frowned, trying to remember every fleeting mention of Ronan in our conversations. Why did Dad despise him so much? I’d never dared to ask—maybe out of fear, or maybe because some answers were better left untouched.

“Maybe I shouldn’t,” I said again, releasing the ropes to let my hands fall softly to my sides. A small sigh slipped out as I stood up from the swing, straightening my short down.

Just as I turned toward the house, my eyes caught movement near the driveway. There was Marco, walking up with that wide grin that stretched from ear to ear.

He looked different. Energized. Like the weight of the world had been lifted off his shoulders, and he was glowing with a joy that was utterly contagious.

I raised a playful eyebrow, watching him closely as he crossed the threshold. That grin wasn’t the mischievous teasing smirk I knew—it was pure happiness, bright and unfiltered.

“Guess he does have a girlfriend now,” I whispered to myself, a mischievous smile curving my lips.

The thought tickled my insides in the best way, and before I knew it, my feet were moving faster, practically darting toward the house. My heart pounded with excitement and the thrill of what was to come.

Oh, he was going to get it this time—no more sneaky escapes. I was ready to tease him mercilessly, and I wasn’t about to let him wriggle out of it.