2. Scarlett
2
SCARLETT
The last champagne flute was gone, the final canapé devoured, and the ballroom stood empty, stripped of all its earlier sparkle.
Where laughter and clinking glasses had filled the space, now there was just silence, broken only by the faint hum of the cleaning staff wiping down the polished marble floors.
The night’s exhaustion hit me hard, a heavy weight settling in as I packed up my knives.
One by one, I slid them into their spots in my worn leather roll, the motions familiar and grounding after such a long evening.
My feet ached in my black flats, and my hands felt raw from hours of constant work. But it wasn’t the physical exhaustion that stayed with me.
No, it was the memory of him .
Christian Valen.
I’d known men like him—or at least, I thought I had. Wealthy, powerful, impossibly attractive, and fully aware of it.
Men who thought their charm and money could make the world bow at their feet. Men who barely saw the people who worked behind the scenes, who only cared about appearances.
But Christian had been different.
I shook my head as I tied the roll of knives with a practiced flick of my wrist. What was it about him that had thrown me off balance?
It wasn’t just his looks—although I’d have to be blind not to notice how devastatingly handsome he was, with that strong jawline and piercing blue eyes that seemed to see more than they should.
It wasn’t even his polished charm, the kind that could probably melt anyone he set his sights on.
No, it was something deeper. Something I couldn’t quite put into words.
The way he’d approached me, not with arrogance, but with genuine curiosity. The way he’d looked at me—really looked, like he was trying to figure me out.
And then there were his words, his tone, the low, intimate cadence of his voice when he’d called me interesting .
I hated how that word had lingered, wrapping itself around my thoughts like a vine. Interesting. Was I? To someone like him?
I let out a soft laugh, more self-deprecating than anything, as I slung my bag over my shoulder and surveyed the empty kitchen one last time.
The staff I’d hired had long since packed up and left, leaving me alone with my thoughts and the faint scent of truffle oil lingering in the air.
This was ridiculous. I’d met him for all of ten minutes, exchanged a few words, and yet here I was, replaying the encounter like it was something meaningful.
Like it was something that might lead somewhere.
But it wouldn’t.
People like Christian Valen didn’t date people like me. He was a billionaire from a family of untouchable wealth. And me?
I was a chef who barely managed to scrape by, running a restaurant that could close any day if the next quarter didn’t pick up.
I lived in a tiny, drafty apartment with a stray cat who hated me half the time, and my idea of luxury was splurging on a decent bottle of wine after a successful dinner service.
We weren’t just from different worlds; we were from different universes.
Still, as I locked up the kitchen and stepped out into the cool night air, I couldn’t help but let my mind wander back to the way he’d smiled at me.
The way his eyes had lingered a fraction too long.
Did he really mean it when he asked me to dinner? Or was it just a throwaway line, something he’d forget by the time he got into his chauffeur-driven car?
I tightened my coat around me as I walked the few blocks to the subway, my breath visible in the chill.
The city buzzed around me, its lights and sounds a constant reminder of how alive it was, even at this hour. But for once, I felt out of step with its rhythm.
I couldn’t shake the feeling that Christian had seen something in me—something I wasn’t even sure I saw in myself. And that scared me.
Because what if he hadn’t? What if I’d just imagined the whole thing?
What if I was nothing more than a fleeting curiosity for him, someone he’d remember only as the woman who catered an event he’d barely wanted to attend?
By the time I reached my apartment, a three-story walk-up with peeling paint and a perpetually broken front light, I was ready to collapse.
My cat, Milo, greeted me with his usual indifference, flicking his tail before leaping onto the couch to curl up in his favorite spot.
“Nice to see you, too,” I muttered, setting my bag down and kicking off my shoes.
The relief was instant, but it did little to quell the restless energy still buzzing under my skin.
I poured myself a glass of wine—not the good kind, but it would do—and sank onto the couch next to Milo, who let out a disgruntled meow before shifting slightly.
I tried to focus on anything other than Christian. I thought about the gala, the food, the minor crisis with the oven that I’d managed to fix just in time.
But no matter where my mind wandered, it always circled back to him.
What was he doing right now?
Probably sipping whiskey in some penthouse suite, surrounded by luxury I couldn’t even fathom.
Maybe he was already moving on to the next thing, the next person, the next fleeting interest.
And yet…
I couldn’t shake the way he’d looked at me, like I was the only person in that crowded room. Like he was genuinely curious, genuinely intrigued.
I sighed, leaning my head back against the couch. This was ridiculous. I didn’t have time for distractions like this.
I had a restaurant to run, bills to pay, and a team that depended on me.
My life was a carefully balanced set of spinning plates, and if I stopped moving, even for a moment, everything could come crashing down.
There wasn’t much room for distractions—not even ones that wore tailored suits and smoldered like Christian Valen.
Besides, I’d been down the relationship road before, and it hadn’t exactly ended in fireworks.
The memory of my last relationship was like an old scar—faded but still there if I pressed on it too hard.
Aaron had been…well, at first, he’d been everything I thought I wanted.
Charming, supportive, someone who didn’t mind that I spent my days in a hot kitchen and my nights buried in invoices.
For a while, he’d seemed proud of me, even impressed by my ambition.
But then the cracks started to show.
It started small, with comments that felt like jokes but weren’t.
“You know, not everything has to revolve around Amélie,” he’d say with a lopsided grin, leaning against the doorway of our shared apartment. “You could take a night off, Scarlett. The restaurant won’t fall apart without you.”
At first, I brushed it off.
He didn’t understand what it took to build something from the ground up, the blood, sweat, and tears that went into creating a dream and keeping it alive.
And maybe that was my fault—I didn’t make enough time to explain it to him.
But over time, his jokes turned into something sharper.
“ It’s like you’re married to that damn restaurant,” he snapped one night when I came home late after a health inspection ran over. “I don’t even know why I bother making plans anymore. You’re just going to cancel.”
I’d stood there in the kitchen, exhausted and still smelling faintly of garlic, staring at the man I thought I’d spend my life with and realizing that he resented me.
Things didn’t improve after that. We tried, or at least I did.
I took the occasional night off, tried to focus more on our relationship, but it was never enough for him.
The problem wasn’t just that I was busy—it was that he needed to be the center of my world, and I couldn’t give him that.
Eventually, the distance between us grew too wide to bridge.
He started staying out later, making excuses for why he couldn’t come to my events or support me when I needed him most.
And then came the night I found out why.
I’ll never forget the moment I walked into that bar and saw him, arms wrapped around someone else like I hadn’t even existed.
She was younger, carefree, probably someone who didn’t have a thousand responsibilities weighing her down.
He didn’t even try to deny it when I confronted him. “Maybe if you’d paid more attention to me, I wouldn’t have had to look somewhere else,” he said, his voice cold and cutting.
It was like a punch to the gut.
I’d built my life on the idea that hard work and passion could overcome anything, but in that moment, I realized that love wasn’t immune to resentment and neglect.
After that, I swore I’d never let someone make me feel small again. I threw myself into my work with a vengeance, pouring every ounce of my energy into Amélie.
If I was going to be alone, at least I’d have something to show for it.
And that’s why I couldn’t let myself get distracted by someone like Christian.
Sure, he was gorgeous, and there was something undeniably magnetic about him. But I knew how these things went.
Men like him—rich, powerful, used to getting what they wanted—didn’t stick around for women like me.
They wanted someone who could drop everything for them, someone who didn’t have a life of her own. And I wasn’t that woman. I couldn’t be.
The memory of Aaron still lingered, a quiet reminder of what could happen when I let myself get too close to someone.
I couldn’t afford to make the same mistake twice.
So, no matter how tempting Christian Valen was, I had to keep my focus.
My restaurant needed me, my staff counted on me, and I wasn’t about to let anyone—not even him—derail the life I’d built.
When I finally dragged myself to bed, exhausted and hoping for the kind of deep, dreamless sleep that only came after days like today, Christian invaded my thoughts one last time.
The dream was vivid, almost painfully so.
I was back at the gala, but it was different. The room was empty, the lights dim, the air heavy with anticipation.
Christian stood across from me, his eyes locked on mine, his expression unreadable.
“You’re not like anyone I’ve ever met,” he said, his voice low, almost a whisper.
I wanted to respond, to say something clever or dismissive, but the words caught in my throat.
He took a step closer, then another, until the space between us was almost nonexistent.
I could feel the heat of him, the way his presence seemed to fill the air around me.
“I don’t think you realize how rare you are, Scarlett,” he murmured, his hand brushing against mine.
My heart raced, a mix of desire and disbelief. This wasn’t real. It couldn’t be. And yet, it felt more real than anything I’d ever experienced.
When his lips finally met mine, it wasn’t tentative. It was consuming, like he’d been holding back all night and couldn’t anymore.
His hands slid to my waist, pulling me closer, and I melted into him, every rational thought slipping away.
But just as quickly as it started, it ended. The room dissolved, fading into darkness, and I woke with a start, my heart pounding.
The faint light of dawn crept through the curtains, and Milo was curled at my feet, oblivious to my restless night.
I let out a shaky breath, running a hand through my hair. It was just a dream. Just a stupid, ridiculous dream.
But as I lay there, staring at the ceiling, I couldn’t help but wonder: what if it wasn’t? What if Christian Valen was more than just a fleeting encounter?
And what if, just maybe, he’d been dreaming of me, too?