Chapter Seven - Hannah
CHAPTER SEVEN
Hannah
The view from Nero's rooftop terrace was breathtaking. All around them, the city spread out like a carpet of lights, making Hannah feel like she was floating above reality. James had requested a table by the floor-to-ceiling windows, and she couldn't stop staring at the glittering skyline.
"Beautiful, isn't it?" James's voice was warm, attention focused on her in a way that made her cheeks flush. He looked devastating in his perfectly tailored suit, her favorite blue tie catching the soft lighting.
"It's incredible," she managed, trying not to feel overwhelmed by the crystal glasses and multiple forks that probably cost more than her weekly grocery budget. "I've never been anywhere like this."
"I thought you'd enjoy it." He smiled, reaching for his phone. "Would you mind if I...?"
He gestured toward the city lights behind her.
"You want to take my picture?" James Park wanted a picture of her?
Her heart did a little flip as he nodded. This wasn't just dinner then—he wanted to remember this moment. To capture it. Maybe he'd look at it later, think about this evening, about her...
"Oh! Of course." Hannah sat up straighter, trying to contain the warmth spreading through her chest. The city lights sparkled behind her like the hope bubbling up inside. She probably should have felt self-conscious, but James's attention made her feel almost beautiful. Special. Seen.
"Perfect," he said, typing something quickly before setting his phone aside. "You look lovely tonight."
Hannah touched her new dress self-consciously. "Thank you. I wasn't sure what to wear to a place like this."
His eyes caught on her necklace for a moment—just a flicker of attention before he turned to order wine—and Hannah resisted the urge to touch the small silver apple.
"You chose well." His eyes drifted past her briefly, scanning the restaurant before returning to her face. "Tell me about your day. How are your students?"
Her heart fluttered. He'd remembered she was a teacher. "They're wonderful. We worked on a Valentine's Day project, actually. Making cards for the senior residents in our building."
"Community service at eight years old?" James smiled. "That's... sweet."
Hannah noticed his attention shifting again, catching on something over her shoulder. James's expression changed, a subtle sharpening of his features that made him look less like her Valentine's date and more like the businessman she'd watched from afar for months.
"The children love it," Hannah continued, trying to recapture the moment. "Mrs. Chen says—"
"Would you excuse me?" James stood abruptly. "I need to make a quick call. Business never sleeps, unfortunately."
She watched him walk toward the bar, phone in hand. But his attention was on a couple seated at a prime table—a striking woman in a red dress and a man in an expensive suit. James positioned himself carefully, somehow managing to be perfectly visible to them while appearing casual. The woman glanced his way, then quickly looked away.
Something cold settled in Hannah's stomach.
When James returned, his smile was brighter but harder. "Sorry about that. Where were we? Ah yes, your students' project. Very admirable."
But he wasn't looking at her anymore. His eyes kept drifting to the couple's table, his responses to her becoming more automated. Hannah found herself talking less, watching more. The way James angled himself to be seen. The way he laughed too loudly at her mild comments. The way he kept checking his phone.
The woman in red looked their way again, this time long enough for Hannah to recognize her from the building's lobby. Vanessa. James's ex-girlfriend.
The cold feeling inside her spread like frost across glass.
"Will you be drinking with your meal?" the sommelier appeared at their table.
"Yes," James said quickly. "A bottle of your most expensive champagne. We're celebrating... connection. Community. The simple things in life." His voice carried just slightly too far.
Hannah understood now—the strategic table placement, the performance of interest, the careful positioning. Taking her photo, she thought dully.
She'd spent hours shopping for the perfect outfit. Her new dress felt like a costume now, every careful choice a joke at her own expense. He'd made her into a punchline.
All those moments—him holding doors for elderly residents, his little kindnesses—had she imagined their significance? Had she built an entire fantasy around a man who was actually this cruel?
She thought of all the times she'd defended him to Sophie. He's just focused. He's driven. He has depth that others don't see.
But others had seen exactly who he was. Mrs. Chen with her cryptic warnings. Sophie with her direct ones. Even Vanessa, who'd left him, had seen it. Only Hannah, with her schoolgirl crush and desperate hopes, had been blind.
The sound of the champagne cork popping made her jump.
"Hannah?" James looked at her—really looked at her—and for a moment, something like discomfort crossed his beautiful face. "The champagne—"
All those morning greetings she'd practiced in her head, all those little stories she'd saved up to tell him one day—they crumbled like the fancy bread she hadn't touched.
Heat pricked behind her eyes, threatening to spill over. She clenched her fists beneath the table, nails biting into her palms, focusing on that sharp, clean pain instead of the ache spreading through her chest. She wouldn't cry. Not here, surrounded by strangers who'd already seen too much. Not in front of him.
"Hannah—" James started, but his attention suddenly shifted. Vanessa and her date were getting up to leave. Without finishing his sentence, he stood. "I just need to... The check, please," he called to a passing server. "I'll be right back," he told her.
She watched him follow Vanessa and her date toward the exit.
The check arrived in its sleek leather folder, placed carefully beside her untouched drink.
Mrs. Chen's words echoed in her head: Sometimes the heart sees what it wants to see. But the eyes... the eyes must see what is.
Her eyes were certainly seeing now. She just wished she didn't hurt so much.
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The bubbles in Hannah's champagne glass traced endless paths upward, each one marking another moment James didn't return. The bottle sat in its ice bucket beside her, impossibly expensive and now impossibly heavy with meaning. Dom Pérignon Rosé. She'd never even seen a bottle up close before tonight.
Her phone read 9:47. Then 10:12. Then 10:36.
Other diners glanced her way with growing frequency, their pity becoming harder to ignore. The sommelier had poured with such flourish earlier. Now the glass sat untouched, the bubbles growing smaller, more tired. Like her hopes.
"He's not coming back," she whispered to herself, but still she sat. Because leaving meant admitting what had happened. Meant facing the reality that James Park had used her for an Instagram post and a moment of revenge, then forgotten her existence as completely as he had every morning in the lobby.
At 10:53, her server approached again, genuine regret in his expression. "I'm so sorry, miss, but we have another reservation for this table at eleven." He glanced at the leather folder that had been sitting beside her untouched glass for the past hour. "And I'm afraid we'll need to settle the check."
Hannah stared at the folder, her cheeks burning. Of course. She'd been avoiding looking at it, just as she'd been avoiding reality. With trembling fingers, she opened it. $847.92. The champagne alone cost more than her monthly rent. More than her dignity too, apparently.
Her emergency credit card felt like lead as she pulled it out, praying it wouldn't be declined.
The server returned with the credit card machine, angling his body to shield her from nearby tables as she entered her PIN. A small kindness that somehow made everything worse.
"Would you like me to call you a taxi?" he asked softly.
Hannah shook her head, already gathering her wrap. "No, thank you."
As she stood, she caught her reflection in the window. The same green dress that had felt so full of possibility hours ago. The same carefully styled hair. The same foolish girl who had spent months imagining catching James Park's eye.
But something was different now. The champagne bubbles had stopped rising in her abandoned glass, and her schoolgirl crush had finally, mercifully, gone flat.
"Happy Valentine's Day," the hostess called automatically as Hannah passed the front desk.
It wasn't happy. But it was, at least, over.
She would go back to her real life now. She would face her classroom of third-graders, help Mrs. Chen with her groceries, and straighten those lobby photographs that always tilted slightly to the left.
James Park might not have seen her, but Hannah was finally seeing herself clearly. And that, she decided, was worth every painful dollar.