SILENT NIGHT BROKEN HEARTS

CHAPTER SEVEN

LUCIEN

It’s been a week.

A week of thinking about her.

A week of replaying that brief moment—her blank eyes, her quiet beauty, the way she looked away like I was a stranger.

Of course I’m a stranger now.

She didn’t recognize me.

Why would she?

But I can’t stop imagining the moment she finally does. The way her face might soften, the way her eyes might widen in realization.

I keep remembering the last time I saw her—fifteen and nine—laughing with me under a Christmas tent. Then the bell rang for evening prayers, and she froze. Completely still. Terrified. Her smile vanished before she ran like something was chasing her.

Back then, I promised myself I’d look for her the next day.

Then the accident happened.

And I never went back.

A familiar guilt squeezes in my chest.

My phone rings, pulling me out of my thoughts.

I pick it up immediately. “Yeah?”

A breath on the other end. Then—

“Boss… I found her.”I sent you her profile too.

My heart actually stops.

Then I’m smiling. A real smile. One I haven’t felt in years. “Where?”

He gives me the address. Downtown. A pub.

I grab my keys.

“You have the day off,” I say, passing my driver in the hallway. “I’ll drive myself.”

He blinks, startled, but nods. I don’t explain. I don’t need to.

The drive is fast, my fingers tapping on the steering wheel the whole way. I don’t know what I’ll say. What she’ll say. I only know I want—need—to see her.

I read through the file he sent me

Name: Ariella Santos

Age: 22

Current Job: Mechanic at Rafe’s Auto

Waitress at a pub

Dispatch rider

Side Activity: Underground boxing—illegal rings, high stakes, no fear.

I clicked through a footage. Ariella moving in the ring like a storm—swift, brutal, controlled. Not a beginner. Not timid. Nothing like the quiet girl she portrays.

Bullied in college. Academic records showed a sudden dropout during her second year. But the reason? I replayed the old security video: a male student cornering her near a stairwell, grabbing her waist—until Ariella’s fist connected with his jaw so hard the guy hit the floor and didn’t get up for three minutes.

The man had landed in the hospital with a fractured cheekbone.

College administrators called it “excessive force.”

Ariella called it “self-defense.”

They forced her to leave. She never returned.

I paused, rubbing my jaw. “Damn,She’s tougher than she looks.”

Family: Father deceased five years ago. No siblings. Mother unknown.

But what bothered me… what didn’t fit… was the other name that kept appearing.

A tall guy always seen near her. Same cafes. Same bus routes. Same underground events. Sometimes walking her home.

Owen Hart.

Who the hell is he to her?.

The pub is small, slightly worn, with neon lights flickering above the sign. I push the door open.

There she is.

Ariella.

She turns, and her face twists with surprise—then confusion. She looks even more beautiful up close. Stronger. Sharper. Her eyes guarded, tired, but still holding something warm beneath the layers.

She walks toward me slowly. “Um… what can I get you?”

Her tone is polite. Distant.

Like I’m nobody.

Something in me cracks.

I smile—small, but genuine. “Your special.”

She nods and turns to prepare it. I watch every movement. She’s fast. Efficient. Like she’s done this a thousand times.

When she brings the plate out, I look at the empty seat across from me.

“Sit,” I say softly.

Her brows pull together. “I’m working.”

Of course. She’s disciplined. Responsible.

So I stand, walk straight to the woman behind the counter—the owner—and lower my voice politely.

“I want to steal your employee,” I say.

She laughs like she’s been waiting for this twist in life. “Take her. Just bring her back.”

I return to my table and watch Ariella’s shock as the owner gestures her over.

“I… what?” she mutters, looking between us.

I stand and face her fully. Close. Close enough to see the faint freckles on her cheek, the shadow of exhaustion under her eyes.

“Come with me,” I say quietly.

She hesitates, walls already rising. “Why?”

I swallow the truth—that I’ve been looking for her since she walked away from me. That I’ve wondered about her for thirteen years.

Instead I say, “Please don’t say no.”

Her breath catches.

Something shifts in her expression—conflict, fear, curiosity.

Then…

“Fine,” she whispers.

And she follows me out.