Bianca's POV
I purposely turned around another corner, even though I knew it led me far from home. My gut twisted and I couldn't stop the crawling feeling growing in my spine. So I took another corner again. Just to be sure.
And I was right.
Even in the crowded cold New York night, the honking sounds of cars and hurried footsteps, I knew I was being followed.
The steady movement of someone moving just a second behind me had been there for blocks. Every time I sped up, so did they. Every time I turned the corner, they matched my movements.
My heart beat harder against my ribs, almost hearing it in my ears as I increased my pace. No one being followed at night, especially not in this part of the city, was expecting a good thing.
My eyes scanned around. Too many people. Too many shadows. My breath has become faster now.
I turned again, this time faster, only to bump straight into someone.
"Sorry!" I gasped, trying to quickly get away.
Before I could find balance, another shoulder met mine harshly.
I was bumping into everyone now, my steps trying to become faster, moving through strangers like I was going through a maze. I didn't even care who I hit or how loud they shouted at me. I just needed to move.
To escape.
I scanned around the area again, my heart still pounding so loud it felt like it was sounding out of my chest. My eyes went past the full faces, the honking cars and then I saw it.
A bright golden light.
It was the entrance of a restaurant. An exclusive one by the way it was decorated. It's lights shone through the glass doors, and the few people stood in a line outside, dressed far better than I was.
I didn't care.
Without any hesitation, I walked forward, cutting straight through the line, desperately looking for safety.
But just as I reached the door, a dressed hand stretched out and stopped me.
"Ma'am," the man said, dressed neatly in a black suit, an earpiece plugged into one ear. "Do you have a reservation?"
"I…I don't…" I stammered, out of breath. My words fumble in my mouth, my eyes still looking behind me to the street.
I couldn't focus on the man. Not with the knowing feeling of someone following me.
"I'm going to have to ask you to step back," he said, his tone now more firm and sharp, one arm blocking the entrance like a firm wall. "Please, ma'am. There are guests waiting."
"You don't understand," I tried again, my voice still breaking, my chest heaving. "I'm…"
"Please," he interrupted, his brows furrowed, as if threatening. "Step aside."
I stepped back, away from the entrance, my chest feeling tight as a couple took my place.
And then, I saw them.
Still hidden in the shadows, but now a bit clearer under the soft light of the restaurant. The men who had been following me. They had slowed down, but they were still coming. Steadily. With purpose. Like they knew I had nowhere else I could go.
My body began to shake, the night cold, pressing throughout my body.
I could barely breathe.
And just then, like the universe decided to give me one more opportunity,
A sleek, black car pulled up behind me.
The door opened, and a man stepped out.
He was tall, had broad shoulders and was dressed in a perfectly tailored black suit.
But I didn't have time to admire anything.
I didn't think.
I couldn't.
I just acted.
Without any hesitation, I walked towards him, grabbing his arm and tucking myself under it like I belonged there.
"Honey!" I said, loud enough for the men to hear, and even forcing a smile I didn't feel like. "You kept me waiting."
The man stared at me, his brows furrowed in confusion.
He didn't pull his hand away, but he didn't seem to accept either.
I looked up at him, my eyes locking with his, silently begging him to just play along. My grip around his arm and in that split second, I hoped, prayed, that he'd just understand.
And then he did.
His expression changed, ever so lightly, from confusion to calmness.
"Sure thing," he said, his voice smooth and confident. "I'm sorry about that, sweetheart. Got caught up with a client."
He spoke just loud enough for the men hanging nearby to hear.
Then, like it was all part of our daily routine, he placed his hand over mine and led us both toward the restaurant entrance.
The man at the door, the same man who had just blocked me seconds ago, stepped aside without any question.
Nothing.
He looked at the man beside me once, just once and simply nodded.
And just like that…..we were let through.
As we stepped inside the restaurant, the warm feeling of the restaurant went around me, filled with light music and expensive perfumes. But my mind wasn't here, it was still out there.
The man beside me led us further into the restaurant. He didn't say anything to me. Didn't ask me who I was or why I still held onto him.
Instead, he pulled out a chair for me.
I blinked at him for a moment, clearly unsure, but I sat down. And he did the same, straightening his jacket, before picking up the menu calmly.
I stared at him for a second, really looked at him.
He was….striking, with sharp features, dark hair. With calm and unreadable eyes. The kind of man who turned ladies heads without even trying.
"I'm sorry," I blurted out, the words slipping from my mouth.
He looked up from the menu, blinked once, then looked around.
"I was being followed," I added, lower now, more honest.
He exhaled, a sound of relief as he leaned back into his chair, his arms resting on the table. "That's the reason," he muttered, almost to himself.
"Yeah," I said quickly, rising from my seat, grabbing my bag. "I should get going"
"No, no," he interrupted me, lifting his hand, his voice firm but calm. "Stay. We're already in. Let's have dinner."
I hesitated a bit.
I didn't know him and yet….
I sat back down. Quietly.
We ended up enjoying ourselves more than I ever expected we would.
There were a few laughs, a few stories we told ourselves, more from me, but nothing too deep, just enough to take the tension from my body. He didn't ask me too many questions, and I didn't give him too many answers. It was just comfortable.
His name was Kenneth.
Just Kenneth.
No last name. I didn't ask for more and that was enough for me.
By the time the plates were empty, it didn't feel like he was a stranger I just met and crashed his dinner. It felt like maybe, just maybe, it was supposed to happen this way.
When we stepped outside, he turned to me casually and asked, "Want me to take you home?"
And even though I wasn't the type to say yes to anyone on that question, I did to him.
The drive back home was quiet, but not awkward. We smiled despite the silence, we shared little glances but never long.
When we reached my apartment, Kenneth stepped out and rested on his car, watching me as I walked to the door. I turned back once, and he was still there, his arms folded and with that calm look on his face.
I wave him a goodbye and as I stepped inside, closing the door gently behind me, I couldn't help but think.
That's probably the last time I'll ever see him.