The Stranger Meant For Me

Encounter With The Boy Who Trust No One

3 years later.

I sat near the beach as the evening sun cast soft shadows around me. Suddenly, an arm wrapped around me from behind, pinning me to the chair. My heart jumped. Panic shot through me as I twisted sharply, trying to break free.

Then I saw him—the man I feared most. Caleb.

“Let go of me, you bastard!” I snapped.

He gave a slow, wicked smile. “I can’t believe I found you… after all these years of hide and seek," he said, with a wicked grin, spreading his arms wide. “You’ve grown… even more beautiful, my wife.”

My blood boiled. “Don’t you dare call me that!” I said coldly, yet he slowly moved closer, step by step. I shoved him back, but he didn’t move. I slowly stepped back, my heart pounding against my ribs.

“I bet you missed me, darling,” he said, that same twisted smile on his face.

.

“Never. Even a dog’s filth is better than you.” Anger burned through me. I just wanted to get away from him. I turned to leave, but he grabbed me and pulled me tight against him. His grip tightened. I could feel his breath against my neck.

I struggled, trying to break free, but he was too strong. Then my instinct kicked in. I lunged to bite his hand. But he pulled back quickly, dodging it with ease.

“Oh… the same old trick?” he said coldly. “I won’t fall for it twice.”

I punched him hard, only to jolt awake at a scream.

"What the f**k are you doing? I was trying to wake you, and you punched me." My flatmate snapped. Without looking back, she yanked the door open and slammed it behind her as she marched out.

Only then did I realize it had all been a dream. I quickly stood up and got ready for work as usual. I searched through my wardrobe for my latest sewn gown but couldn’t find it. Then my eyes landed on something familiar—the hoodie.

The one Austin had given me the night I escaped. My chest tightened. Tears filled my eyes as memories rushed back. I pulled it out and saw the note he left inside, along with the little money I had never spent, the same money I used to start my life here.

I had run from Rotterdam, Netherlands, to Bristol, UK. From nothing, I built my design firm—LYRA CREATIVE LAB. Small, but growing. Just twenty-two people on the team, but full of potential.

I finished getting ready and stepped outside. I got into my car, the one I bought after landing my first big contract, and drove to a high-end restaurant in town. I found a quiet corner and sat down, picking up the menu.

My mind was elsewhere—on a design deadline and an upcoming collaboration with a new company.

I exhaled softly, just as I was about to place an order; a sudden thud sounded beneath my table, my heart jumped, and then I froze. I slowly lowered the menu, and a pair of wide, curious eyes stared back at me from under the tablecloth.

A little boy, around six years old, blinked at me once. I was about to ask him why he was hiding when he placed a finger over his lips. "Shhh."

I raised a brow in confusion. "Are you hiding from the police or something?"

The boy shook his head seriously. "Worse than the police!"

"Seriously?" I asked, widening my eyes.

"Yes, my tutor. She smells like math and Grandpa," he replied.

A soft genuine laugh escaped my lips unexpectedly, something I hadn't done in a while. "Well, boy, you picked a terrible hiding spot."

"Why?" he asked curiously, raising an eyebrow.

"Because I am part of the game," I replied in a deep, dramatic voice, and then looked up, pretending to call out for his tutor.

He panicked, about to rush out of his hiding place; his back hit the table hard, splashing orange liquid straight onto my sketch folder resting beside me.

Everything froze; my head snapped in anger. I clenched my jaw, staring at the design, hours of work. I exhaled slowly, forcing the anger away; after all, he was just a child.

The boy looked at the mess, then slowly back at me, his shoulders tightening as he prepared to be scolded, but instead I picked up a napkin and sighed.

"Well, I think we are both in trouble now." I said calmly, "This is worse than your tutor who smells like math, this." I said, raising a sheet affected by the splash, "Now it smells like orange juice." I added with a bright smile.

"You aren't angry." He blinked.

I glanced at him then back at the ruined sketch. "I should, but accidents happen at times."

"I am really sorry." He said with guilt evident in his voice, but I waved it off with a smile.

"Can I see your drawing?" he asked, picking up the design affected by the drink.

"Wow... you drew this?" His eyes widened in amazement. "Can you draw me?" He added excitedly.

I hesitated for a moment, then pulled out a dry sheet from my folder. "Alright. Sit still."

"Yes," he nodded confidently. My pencil moved quickly across the paper, capturing his bright eyes, messy hair, and the stubborn little tilt of his chin.

He watched in fascination, his earlier tension completely gone.

“Is that me? I look cool," he whispered as his face lit up.

“Can I keep it?”

I looked at him; something about the way he asked—careful, almost unfamiliar with kindness—made my chest tighten slightly.

“Of course,” I said, handing it to him.

He held it like it was something precious. “Thank you… beautiful angel.” He said with a grin, and I froze for a second. His compliment slipped out naturally.

'Did he just call me beautiful, Angel?' I thought something about him warmed a part of me I thought had long gone cold.

I couldn't just keep blushing at his words but masked it with a small smile. “You’re welcome.”

From across the restaurant, unseen by both of us, an elderly man lowered his teacup slowly.

His sharp eyes had not missed a single moment, not the accident, not the patience, and not the way the child—who trusted no one easily—had warmed up to me within minutes.

I felt the figure approaching; his gaze lingered on me thoughtfully, unaware that this small, unexpected encounter was about to change my life completely.

The boy was still admiring the sketch when a deep voice called his name from a few tables away from us.

"Ethan."

He startled and ran beside me, curling his arm into mine.

An elderly man stood before me, dressed impeccably, his presence quiet yet commanding.

"Grandpa." he replied; his earlier confidence shrank just a little.

I straightened slightly in my seat, then the old man's eyes shifted briefly to the spilled juice and damp papers.

"Oh goodness, my grandson must have caused some trouble; I'm so sorry..."

"It was just an accident..." I cut in, noticing the tension building.

Glancing at my damp sketch, I then looked at Ethan. "You just ruined someone's work! Ethan..."

"It was really an accident, sir. And I was partly responsible; I left my thing too close to the edge."

Silence stretched for a moment; he let out a faint sigh, studying me, not just my words but the way I carried them. Most people would have complained or caused a scene, but I did neither.

"It's time we go home." He reached out to Ethan, but he hesitated, clinging onto me.

"I want to draw with Auntie Angel," he replied in a worried tone.

Knowing the boy wouldn't leave easily, I quickly came up with an idea. I held Ethan's hand tenderly.

"You know what? Have this." I handed him a pencil. "I'm coming to your house to teach you how to draw, hmm!!" He nodded, and I gave him a sketch of him.

"Thank you, Auntie Angel." He replied, his lips curved into a genuine smile. I didn't know when a heartfelt smile tugged on my lips as I watched him go.

The grandpa looked at me tenderly, his eyes softening and glistening. "If only a girl like her were my granddaughter-in-law." He whispered, his voice betraying a thought he hadn’t meant to say aloud.

I nearly choked at the old man's words, "I'm actually not prepared for that anytime soon." I responded with a smile, trying to clear the man's misunderstanding.

He coughed hard almost immediately, and I rushed to his side to comfort him. "Are you okay, sir?"

"Just a slight illness, you know, old-age things." He replied with a pitiful smile, and then his eyes lit up at the design on the table. "I love your designs. They're stunning... just like you." He nodded his head, staring at the design. "Which company do you work for?" he asked.

"Just building my designing team; we collaborate with different companies." I explained, and his eyes fixed on me, studying and assessing my words.

"This is very brilliant of you, dear. My grandson will be here soon. Would you like me to introduce him to you? He's a single father and could be useful to your business too," he said casually, though I could tell he meant more than he said.

Before I could reply to him, my phone vibrated in my palm. I glanced at it and excused myself.

"Stella, there is trouble on our contract with the Keystone company; please be fast." My assistant's voice rushed through the line before I could even say hello, sending a chill down my spine.

There was something about the old man that spoke of unexpected possibilities. Acting on that instinct, I wrote my number on the back of one of my design sheets—a golden imprint of my work—and handed it to him.

.............

The moment I got to the office, a strange number called in. I picked immediately, thinking it was a client.

"Hello, am I talking to Stella, please?" The moment I heard the voice, my stomach tightened, but I didn't want to believe it was my past catching up with me.

"Yes, how may I be of help, please?" I replied calmly.

"Well, you can help by returning home and getting your father's debt paid or continuing the marriage you left behind." The voice responded almost immediately, cold and firm.

My body trembled; the walls seemed to close in around me. My chest pounded wildly, and a creeping sense of unease overwhelmed me.