Chapter 9 #2
I cursed under my breath and headed for the subway station. The hour-long ride to Manhattan stretched ahead of me like a sentence I hadn’t agreed to serve. And I knew I’d spend every minute of it regretting this decision.
By the time I reached the city, it felt like someone had dropped an anvil on my chest. The weight doubled the moment I stepped off the train. Still, I straightened my spine. Shoulders back, chin up. I tried to look unbothered, like someone who belonged here.
In my black stilettos and pencil skirt, paired with a forest green chiffon blouse, I walked into Elvis Chan’s Cafe with what little dignity I could muster.
Luca was already there. Sitting in our old booth, in the far corner, like he owned the damn place. His eyes were already on me, meaning he’d watched me cross the street. Which meant he’d seen every frown, every tight-lipped curse, every flash of bitterness. Good.
I forced a mask over my face as I slid into the seat across from him, aiming for polite professionalism.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Vaughn,” I said.
He flinched, the corner of his mouth tightening.
Oh? Did he expect me to call him Luca? Like we were on a first-name basis?
I was probably reading too much into it.
This was Luca Vaughn after all —an arrogant Alpha who never let his emotions show, not anymore.
Especially not after what happened between us.
“It’s unfortunate your fiancée couldn’t make it,” I continued, “but I hope you’ll be able to relay the details of our discussion to her.”
His frown deepened.
I began pulling out my laptop, keeping my eyes anywhere but on him.
“Leila.”
His voice landed like a brick—heavy, familiar. It hit pause on everything. My hand froze mid-motion. I didn’t look up. I just stared into my bag, every nerve in my body suddenly hyperaware.
I closed my eyes, just for a second. Don’t let him see it.
Don’t give him the satisfaction. This booth, this table, this city—it all tried to drag me back to a version of myself I’d buried years ago.
The girl who thought Luca Vaughn was her future.
The girl who gave him her heart. The girl he shattered.
I forced my hands to move again, pulling out my tablet and stylus like I was simply here for work. Because I was.
“Where shall we begin?” I asked, finally meeting his gaze.
And damn it—up close, he still looked devastating. His black hair was slightly tousled, and his piercing steel gray eyes were locked on me like he could see straight through to my soul.
“How did your appointment with your sleep specialist go?” Luca asked quietly.
I was shocked that he remembered. A part of me felt warmth that Luca recalled the little lie I’d told to get out of being in the same space with just him. He’d always been attentive to details about the things I said. And it was one of the things I used to love about him, but nope.
I slapped myself mentally.
I’m not taking that trip down memory lane.
I mustered a bright smile. “It was good. All is well now. Thanks for your concern, Mr. Vaughn.”
“There’s no point pretending, Leila,” he said, voice low. “It’s just us here. We can speak freely.”
“Of course we can,” I said coolly, “as long as the conversation pertains to your wedding.”
There it was again—that flicker. Like the word wedding physically bothered him.
“Leila,” he leaned forward, eyes hard. “Drop the act.”
“Drop—”
“You don’t get to sit there playing pretend. You don’t get to be angry with me when you’re the one who lied, cheated, and stole from me.”
And just like that, something inside me snapped.
My face didn’t change. My smile didn’t falter. But every word that followed could have drawn blood.
“I didn’t come here to rehash our past, Luca,” I said, leaning forward to match his tone. “If that’s why you dragged me here—especially to this place—then we’re done. Meeting over.”
He sat back. Silent.
I took that as permission to continue.
“Over the weekend, I created a timeline for your wedding day,” I said, my voice calm.
“Elena mentioned you want an evening ceremony, so I’ve scheduled guest arrival for four p.m., ceremony at five—Reverend Gittens is confirmed.
Cocktail hour from six to seven, reception from seven to nine-thirty, and the after party kicks off at ten.
” I scrolled through my tablet and held it out to him, showing draft layouts.
When I looked back up, his expression was unreadable. His brows were drawn. Eyes searching. Like he had a dozen questions he couldn’t quite ask.
I sighed. “What?”
“I don’t understand this, Leila,” he said finally, softer now.
“The timeline? Would you like me to repeat it?”
“I don’t care about the timeline.”
His voice had changed. It was softer, but not gentler. Just more dangerous. Like he was circling around something he hadn’t figured out how to touch.
“Last time we talked, you said you wanted to start your own interior design firm. How did you end up…here?”
There it was. That familiar sting of superiority. That Vaughn family brand of judgment masked as curiosity.
And I lost it.
“No, Luca,” I said, my voice sharp enough to cut through concrete. “The last time we spoke, you rejected and humiliated me. That dream died five years ago. Along with that girl.”
I took a breath. A small, shaky one.
“So, I’d appreciate it if you could focus on the reason we’re here. You’re my client. I’m here to meet your needs for this wedding. Nothing more.”
Luca’s eyes locked onto mine in a full-on stare down, the kind that dared me to flinch, to take it all back. But I didn’t. I wouldn’t.
I wasn’t sure what game he was playing by dragging me back here, to this booth. But whatever it was, I wanted no part of it. In four weeks, his wedding would be over. He’d be married. And I’d be free.
“You really feel nothing, do you?” Luca broke the silence.
I blinked. “What am I supposed to feel?”
His jaw flexed. “Guilt? Remorse?”
I laughed, the sound quiet and bitter. “For what—existing in the same room as you?”
He leaned in slightly, his eyes narrowed to slits. “For what you did, Leila.”
The accusation cut through me like a blade. I hated that it still landed. Hated that some part of me still cared that he didn’t believe me—didn’t trust me.
I sat up straighter, meeting his gaze. “You really think I’m the villain in this story.”
“You made yourself the villain,” he said coldly. “I just believed what was right in front of me, what I’d been too blind to see for months.”
His words hung there between us—sharp, deliberate, unforgiving. The air was heavy with it, both of us locked in a silent standoff.
The moment was broken by the shrill ring of his phone. I seized the excuse like a lifeline.
“I’ll be right back,” I muttered, already on my feet.
I could feel his stare burning between my shoulder blades as I walked away.
Only when I locked myself in the bathroom did I let myself breathe.
God, this was harder than I thought it’d be. Being here, in this place…it stirred up emotions I thought I’d buried in concrete.
What was this? Some twisted power play? Was he trying to torment me? Watch me squirm under the weight of everything he’d done? Was that why he chose this booth? This café? Did he hate me that much?
A tear slipped down my cheek before I could stop it. I wiped it away fast, like it burned me.
Crying? Seriously, Leila? No. Not for him. Not again.
Getting over Luca had nearly destroyed me.
During the eight months I carried Ollie, I’d slept with tears and woken to nausea—both kinds.
I’d lost weight. Lost myself. Nearly lost the baby when I collapsed at eight months and was rushed into the ER.
That night, in the cold, sterile quiet of the NICU, holding my premature son’s hand through plastic, I made a vow.
Never again.
Luca Vaughn had broken me once. Nearly killed us both. He would not get that chance again.
I stared into the mirror until my spine straightened. My resolve hardened like cement. I splashed cold water on my face and turned to leave.
And crashed right into a man I never expected to see—someone from my past. Of course. I should’ve known. You can only hold your breath in Manhattan for so long before bumping into someone from your past. Still, it could’ve been worse. At least Victor had always been kind when we worked together.
Then again…that was five years ago. Before everything blew up.
“Leila,” he said, not sounding the least bit surprised. Maybe Luca had told him we were here.
I offered a polite smile. “It’s been a while, Victor.”
To my shock, he pulled me into a hug. Not a stiff, one-armed, how have you been hug. A real one. Long. Too long.
“Wow, what are you doing here? Where have you been? What have you been up to? God, Leila, you look—” Victor stopped himself. Then grinned. “Beautiful. As ever.”
He pulled me into another hug before I could respond. Okay. Now this was veering into weird.
When he let go, I glanced over his shoulder and met Luca’s stare. Stone-faced. Granite hard. Watching us like a predator who’d just smelled blood.
I gently stepped back. “Victor—”
“Sorry,” he said quickly. “Was that inappropriate? Are you—uh—married?” His eyebrows lifted like a hopeful teenager.
Despite everything, I let out a laugh. “No, I’m not.”
I hadn’t thought about marriage once in the last five years. I’d closed that door completely. It was just me and my son—and that was enough.
“Great.” His smile stretched wider.
Before he could speak any further, I cut in. “I can’t chat right now. I’m in the middle of a meeting.”
I gestured behind him toward the booth. Victor turned…and froze. His jaw clenched.
“You’re meeting with him?” His voice sharpened like a blade.
I blinked. “Yes. I’m planning his wedding. To Elena Moreau.”
Victor’s mouth literally fell open. Yeah. It sounded worse out loud. Every. Single. Time.
“I really have to go,” I added.
As I moved past him, he caught my wrist gently. When I turned back, his expression had softened.
“For what it’s worth,” he said quietly, “I never believed what they said about you. Not for a second.”
The knot in my throat swelled. He was the first person—the only person—who’d ever said that to my face.
I smiled. It wobbled, but I smiled. “Thank you, Victor. That…means more than you know.”
I walked back to the booth feeling marginally steadier. Briefly.
Then Luca opened his mouth. “Why the hell were you talking to him?”
I froze.
If I didn’t know Luca, I might have mistaken the tone for irritation. Maybe professional impatience. But I did know him. That voice—low, clipped, guttural—was something else entirely.
It was jealousy. And that confused the hell out of me.
“Excuse me?”
“So, you can chat and laugh with Victor, but you sit here acting like you don’t even know me?”
Before I got a chance to respond, the doorbell in the café jingled, signaling the entrance of new customers. Their whispers hit me before I even saw their faces.
“Wow, it really is her.”
“I can’t believe she had the guts to show her face.”
“What is Mr. Vaughn still doing with that fraud?”
Heat rushed to my face, crawling down my spine like fire beneath my skin. My grip on the table tightened until my knuckles turned white. I didn’t need to turn around to know who they were talking about—or why.
Then it clicked. This was why Luca brought me here. Not for a meeting. Not to talk about the wedding.
To punish me. To humiliate me. To make me a spectacle—something for the city to whisper about.
If any small part of me had still believed that Luca cared, even a little, this had shattered it. Now I knew exactly where I stood.
I shot up, the tremor in my limbs now fueled by rage.
But before I could move, Luca did. He turned toward the voices, slow and deliberate. The look he gave them was cold enough to silence them. It was a death glare so sharp it sliced through the noise. The whispers died instantly, like someone had cut the cord.
“I have to go, Mr. Vaughn,” I said through gritted teeth. “We’ll reschedule this meeting, preferably with your fiancée present.”
I began packing up my things.
That’s when he made the mistake. He touched my wrist. And I flinched like I’d been electrocuted.
I stumbled back, the heat of his skin still burning my flesh like fire. Tears hit my cheeks before I even realized I was crying.
“Don’t,” I whispered, voice broken. “Don’t you ever touch me again, Luca.”
I shoved everything into my bag. He didn’t stop me this time. He just stood there, watching, silent, as I turned and walked out of that cafe—fleeing the wreckage of a love that still had the power to ruin me.