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Chapter 193 – Hope's POV
"Not everything mysterious is meant to be solved."
I stood in front of the mirror, tying my hair into a high puff and staring at my reflection with a sigh. "You're not obsessed," I muttered to myself. "You're just… curious."
But even curious had its limits.
Two days had passed since I bumped into that grey-eyed stranger, and I still hadn't stopped thinking about him. His face lingered in the back of my mind like a melody I couldn't stop humming. Every time I blinked, I saw the way his eyes narrowed when I said my last name. I heard the smooth, deliberate way he said "Tell him I said hello."
It was maddening.
But not anymore.
I was done thinking about him.
I had a job to do. A real life. Scripts to read, shows to attend, and a name to build for myself in the industry. I wasn't about to let some arrogant billionaire with sharp cheekbones and expensive cologne distract me.
I turned from the mirror, grabbed my handbag, and headed out the door with a newfound resolve. I was going to forget about him. No more searching, no more imagining scenarios where we'd bump into each other again like some cliché romance novel. This wasn't a storybook—it was real life.
And in real life, men like that didn't stick around. They drove off without giving their names.
---
I made it to the studio just in time for our afternoon table read. My latest project was a small, gritty drama with a lot of emotional depth—and I was grateful for it. Throwing myself into a new character always helped silence the noise in my mind.
The director gave me a warm smile when I walked in. "Hope Blackwood, right on time."
I nodded, returning his smile. "Always."
Ariah was already seated with her feet on a chair next to her, waving at me like an excited toddler. "Come sit, come sit! I saved you a spot."
I rolled my eyes but smiled. "How generous."
She leaned in close once I sat down. "Did you figure out who Mr. Tall-Dark-and-Rude is yet?"
I groaned. "Ariah, let it go."
She raised a brow. "You're the one who's been moodier than usual. Don't lie."
"I'm not moody."
"You're extra quiet. Like spooky quiet. I know you," she whispered. "This is your 'I can't stop thinking about him' phase."
"I'm not in any phase," I said, pulling out my script. "I'm moving on."
Ariah tilted her head like she didn't believe a word I said. "That's good," she finally said, leaning back in her chair. "Because men like him? Complicated. Dangerous. Better to leave them behind."
I stared at my script a little too long, trying to ignore the fact that I agreed with her.
---
By the end of the day, I was exhausted—but in a good way. I'd nailed all my scenes during the screen test, and the director had praised my delivery.
"You brought something raw to that character," he said, clapping me on the shoulder. "Keep that up."
Praise like that usually made me feel like I was floating. But tonight, it just felt like I was trying to stay grounded.
As I walked back to my car in the dark studio lot, I told myself again—one last time—that I wasn't going to think about him anymore. Whoever he was, he clearly didn't care enough to give his name or a proper goodbye. And I had too much going for me to waste time on a fleeting stranger.
I drove home with music blasting through the speakers, loud enough to drown out any creeping thoughts. I sang along, shouted lyrics, and forced my mind to focus on the rhythm and beat.
When I got home, I took a long bath, tossed on my favorite oversized hoodie, and curled up on the couch with leftover pizza and a new crime documentary. Something gritty and unsentimental.
The night passed without any mention of grey eyes or Bugattis.
And for once, it felt good.
---
The next morning, I woke up lighter.
No dreams of strangers. No recurring fantasies of mysterious billionaires. Just me, the sound of birds outside my window, and a full to-do list.
By noon, I'd already responded to emails, read through a new contract offer, and taken two important calls. I was on fire. The version of me that had spiraled into fascination with a nameless man was long gone.
This was who I needed to be—focused, driven, untouchable.
After lunch, I even managed to help ariah pick out an outfit for a last-minute photoshoot. She twirled in the living room, grinning. "Okay, okay. You've officially distracted yourself."
"Told you I would," I said smugly, tossing her a pair of hoop earrings. "I'm over it."
She narrowed her eyes. "Like… really over it? Because if he shows up again—"
"He won't," I cut her off quickly. "And if he does, I'll just treat him like any other stranger."
She grinned. "That's my girl."
We high-fived, and for the first time since the incident, I really meant it when I said I was done. Whoever he was, whatever that moment meant—it was just a blip on my path. A ripple in my still waters.
And I had oceans to swim.