Vianne's POV
My head hurt—not just a little, but like someone was pounding a drum inside my skull. My eyes were blurry, my stomach twisted, and my thoughts were all over the place. I couldn't tell if I was standing straight or falling apart, but I didn't have time to break down, not with my apron sticking to me, coffee buzzing through my body, and a line of tired, angry customers staring like I owed them more than just a latte.
Sleep didn't help. I tossed and turned for two nights, stuck in the same loop. Every time I shut my eyes, I saw him—his hands, his mouth, that slow, dangerous smirk. Like he knew exactly what he was doing to me.
It started two nights ago after a long shift at Greystone Bistro, when Lauren caught me in the break room. She was full of energy, talking about a party and pulling me out of my usual routine. I didn't want to go, but she pushed, saying I needed it. Maybe she was right—a small part of me was curious.
Stephanie was supposed to come too but backed out last minute. Honestly, it was probably better that way.
The mansion where the party was being held was insane. Everything was gold and glass, with a fountain inside like it was totally normal. Expensive cars lined the driveway. It was the kind of place where people acted like rules didn't apply. I should've left, but I followed Lauren in.
We got in under Stephanie's name, and nobody questioned it. Inside, the air was thick with perfume, sweat, and champagne. Everyone looked like they were on stage, and all I kept hearing was one name—over and over.
Dante De Santis.
Lauren disappeared into the crowd while I stood alone, feeling overwhelmed. I made my way to the bathroom, stared at myself in the mirror, and told myself I'd leave by midnight.
That didn't happen.
Outside, I spotted him—the last person I wanted to see. My stepdad. The sight of him twisted something cold and sharp inside me. His eyes locked onto me, his frown deepening as he started walking my way.
Panic slammed into me like a punch. Without thinking, I spun around and bolted toward the one of the buildings in the estate, heart hammering, praying I wouldn't have to face him.
Just as I reached the entrance, someone called out to him from behind, sidetracking him.
He must have paused and glanced away, as he stopped following me.
Relief flooded me but I hurriedly slipped inside, desperate to disappear into the quiet. But the memories came rushing back—harsh words, slammed doors, nights filled with silence and fear—ghosts I thought I'd left behind.
My heart pounded in my chest, every breath heavy with what I wanted to forget.
Before I could steady myself, the door creaked open behind me—
Then he walked in.
Dante.
He didn't say anything at first, just looked at me like he already knew who I was. The room suddenly felt smaller, the air heavy.
We talked, but not much—more like we challenged each other. His voice was calm, deep, and every word felt like a test.
Then he kissed me. It wasn't gentle or sweet. It was hot and rough, like he'd been waiting for it. His hands grabbed me and pulled me closer, his mouth moving slowly like he wanted to learn everything about me.
I didn't stop him. I couldn't. My body reacted before my mind caught up.
We fell into each other fast—too fast. He touched me like I already belonged to him. His voice in my ear, his hands on my skin—it was intense, messy, breathless, like we couldn't get close enough.
Afterward, we stayed tangled up, catching our breath. For a second, everything was still.
Then there was a knock.
"Dante. They need you."
He stood up, his jaw tight. He looked at me one last time—his face hard to read—and walked out.
And just like that, the moment was gone.
Now, two days later, I was wiping down tables with sore hands and a head that still ached, stuck thinking about something I couldn't forget.
I hated that I could still feel him, that I could still remember the silence when he left, and that his touch felt like it was still hiding under my skin, waiting to come back.
"Vianne!"
My boss's voice snapped through the kitchen window. I jumped and dropped the rag.
"Stop standing there like an idiot and do your job!"
I muttered something under my breath and gripped the counter to keep steady. My cheeks burned, and my legs felt unsteady.
Suddenly, the bell over the door jingled.
I turned without thinking, pushed my hair out of my face, and forced a smile—something I'd done a thousand times.
"Welcome to Greystone Bistro, how can I—" My voice trailed off.
It was him.
He stood there like nothing had changed, like this was normal. My stomach dropped, my breath caught, and hot and cold rushed over me at the same time.
Same eyes. Same jaw. Same way of walking into a room like he owned it. Our eyes met—and I knew he remembered. I saw it in the way his mouth tugged into that almost-smile, like he still felt everything we did.
I wanted to run, disappear, hide under the counter and vanish.
But I didn't.
My boss was probably yelling again, but I couldn't hear a thing—just my heart pounding and the sound of my own breath. This wasn't supposed to happen. One-night stands weren't supposed to show up at your job like they've got something to finish.
But there he was, the same amber eyes with no surprise in them.
"Good morning," he said. "Did you miss me?"