The terms

Chapter5

Anita's POV

The spoon slipped from my fingers and clattered against the saucer just as the door swung open. I looked up and froze. It couldn’t be.

He stepped in, sunlight spilling behind him like a spotlight, casting his sharp frame in a glow I’d never forgotten. That walk. That face. My heart stumbled over itself. Three years, and yet my body remembered how he moved, how he touched, how he made me feel things I’d spent years trying to bury.

He hadn’t seen me. Not yet. But I saw him clear as day. The man who had given me the most unforgettable night of my life had just walked into the same café I was sitting in.

He didn’t look around, didn’t glance my way. Just strolled to a table by the window and sank into the chair like it was meant for him. No menu. No order. He just... waited. Eyes on the door, fingers tapping the table like a silent clock. My stomach twisted. He looked like he was waiting for someone. Just then, the bell above the door gave a soft chime. A woman stepped in, confident strides, lips painted in a shade too bold. She didn’t pause. Didn’t scan the room. Her heels clicked straight toward him.

I watched her pull out the chair across from him like she belonged there. He looked up, smiled small, my heart gave a dull thud.

So, she was the one.

They began to talk or rather, she did. Her hands moved a lot, like she was trying to animate the silence between them. He nodded occasionally, eyes drifting past her shoulder, then to his watch, then to the door.

His smile was polite, but distant. Like someone ticking off minutes in his head, waiting for a way out. The way he leaned back, arms crossed, said more than words ever could he didn’t want to be there.

I caught myself holding my breath.

He wasn’t into her.

As I watched them, something in me shifted.

It wasn’t just about the past anymore, or how his touch haunted me in ways I couldn’t name. It was the way his wristwatch glinted beneath the café light. The tailored cut of his jacket. The calm confidence in how he carried himself like a man who didn’t have to check his account balance before buying lunch.

I saw an opportunity.

Not for love. Not even for a second chance.

But maybe, just maybe… for a way out.

For me. For Junior.

So, I waited until he left. And when he did, I followed slowly, carefully, making sure he never looked back.

He stepped out of the café first, hands buried in his pockets, that same slow, effortless walk. I counted to ten before slipping out behind him, my sandals quiet against the pavement.

He stopped near a black SUV parked across the street, pulled out his phone. I slowed my pace, kept a safe distance.

Then it happened.

He turned maybe to check for traffic, maybe by instinct and our eyes locked.

My breath caught.

For a second, he just stared, brows slightly furrowed, like his brain was struggling to place me. Then something shifted in his gaze recognition? Confusion?

I looked away too quickly, heart pounding like a drum in my ears. s**t.

Did he remember?

Or was I just another face in the crowd?

The next morning, fate gave me a window and I yanked it open.

His car was pulled to the side of the road, hood slightly up, hazard lights blinking. He was crouched beside the front tire, sleeves rolled up, brows pinched in mild frustration. Even broken down, he looked too damn composed.

I crossed the street, phone pressed to my ear in pretend conversation, walking deliberately close.

As I passed, I let my bag swing just enough to brush against him harder than necessary.

He flinched. "Whoa"

“Sorry,” I said, barely glancing over my shoulder, voice sweet but distant. Then I kept walking, hips swaying like I didn’t just bump into him.

But I felt it.

That pause.

That shift.

I didn’t need to turn to know his eyes were on me.

Watching.

The city lights glittered below like scattered stars, soft jazz melting into the air. I hadn’t planned to be here. Well, not really. But I’d heard whispers he frequented this place on Thursdays.

I wore confidence like perfume that night. Black silk dress. Red lips. Hair curled just enough to look like I didn’t try too hard.

I was sipping on something expensive I didn’t pay for, watching the door like I wasn’t. And then he walked in.

Same broad shoulders, same quiet power. He greeted someone with a nod, eyes scanning the room… until they landed on me.

He froze.

I looked away.

Then back.

Then smiled just a little. Not enough to invite him, but enough to haunt him.

And like a moth to a flame, he moved.

He came to me, slowly, like he wasn’t sure yet if he was imagining things.

“Do I… know you?” he asked, voice smooth, a hint of disbelief laced in curiosity.

I tilted my glass, meeting his gaze with every bit of the woman I’d become.

“You tell me.”

His eyes narrowed slightly, trying to place me.

“You look... familiar.”

I leaned in just enough for my perfume to reach him.

“Three years is a long time,” I whispered. “But I haven’t forgotten either.”

He stared at me like I was a memory just out of reach close enough to feel, too distant to name.

His brow furrowed slightly. “Have we met before?”

I gave a soft chuckle, swirling the drink in my glass. “Does it matter?”

That threw him off. He leaned on the edge of the table now, clearly intrigued. “It might, if you’re someone I should remember.”

I met his eyes, slowly. “Let’s just say… we’ve crossed paths.”

Something flickered across his face. Still not sure, but trying to connect the dots. I could see the questions forming Was it at an event? A meeting?

“Are you going to give me a name?” he asked.

I tilted my head, smiled small, deliberate.

“When the time is right.”

He laughed under his breath, clearly amused, clearly frustrated. “You’re not going to make this easy, are you?”

I leaned in slightly. “Was it easy the last time?”

His expression shifted half curiosity, half challenge.

But he still didn’t know.

And I wasn’t going to give it to him.

Not yet.