Chapter 2
1117 Words
“Some silences are louder than confessions.”
Liana had never dropped a glass in all her six months working at Le Mirage, the high-end restaurant that sat like a jewel on the city’s coastline. But today, as her eyes locked onto the tall figure walking through the glass doors in an expensive black suit, her grip betrayed her.
The glass slipped, shattered on the floor, and startled gasps rose from nearby tables.
“Liana!” barked Mrs. Robert, the restaurant manager, arms crossed and eyes narrow. “That’s coming out of your pay.”
Liana mumbled an apology, crouching to gather the pieces. Her hands trembled, not from the broken glass—but from the man who stood now near the entrance, his gaze calmly fixed on her like she was the only person in the room.
Dominic Ricci.
She hadn’t imagined it yesterday. He was here, in the flesh, in her world.
He looked completely out of place, yet totally in control—tall and lean with a face carved from sharp lines and years of quiet power. His dark hair was slicked back, and his jaw held the faint shadow of stubble that made him look older but still as handsome like he was moulded by a greek God. There was no security with him. Just presence. Heavy, magnetic, undeniable.
As she stood up and turned toward the back of the restaurant, she told herself he wasn’t here for her.
He couldn’t be.
Could he?
But minutes later, she was proven wrong. Again.
“Bellaro,” Mrs. Robert called, her voice unusually sweet. “Table seven. Special guest. You’re attending to him.”
Liana blinked. “Ma?”
“You heard me. Move.”
Liana swallowed the lump in her throat, grabbed a notepad, and approached table seven with cautious steps. It felt like walking into a memory soaked in danger.
He sat with one arm slung casually over the back of the velvet chair, his long fingers drumming the mahogany table. When she reached him, he tilted his head, and those piercing grey eyes searched her face with a slow, deliberate gaze.
“Liana,” he said softly, like tasting her name on his tongue.
She straightened her spine. “Good afternoon, Mr. Ricci. What can I get for you?”
A flicker of amusement touched his lips. “Formal, are we?”
“I’m working,” she replied coolly, not giving him the satisfaction of a smile.
Dominic tapped a finger against the table. “I’ll have whatever you recommend.”
She didn’t write anything down. “Our chef recommends the grilled sea bass with citrus glaze.”
“Then that,” he said. “And a glass of your driest red.”
She gave a short nod and turned, heart hammering in her chest. Behind her back, she could feel his eyes still on her. Like a weight. Like a question.
Back in the kitchen, Chef Fredo raised an eyebrow when she shouted the order.
“Big spender, huh?” he said.
“Big something,” she muttered under her breath.
When she returned to the table ten minutes later with his wine, Dominic was still alone, swirling water in his glass like he had all the time in the world.
She set the wine in front of him. “Would you like anything else while you wait?”
“Yes,” he said. “A conversation.”
She blinked, caught off guard.
“I don’t talk to customers,” she said, feigning professionalism.
“Even ones who used to throw mangoes at you when you beat them in races?” he asked with a grin.
She stared at him. “That was a lifetime ago.”
“Not that long,” he said. “I still remember the sound of your laugh.”
Liana looked away. She hated that her cheeks flushed. She hated that part of her wanted to sit across from him and ask where he’d been all these years. Why he'd disappeared. Why he was suddenly here, in her space, looking at her like she still mattered.
“I’m working, Dominic.”
He leaned forward. “Then give me good service, Bellaro.”
She rolled her eyes, lips twitching despite herself. “You haven’t changed. Still cocky.”
“I’ve changed,” he said, quieter now. “A lot.”
His tone surprised her. It held something almost... tired. Maybe even regretful. She didn’t like it. Vulnerability didn’t suit him. She preferred him smug and distant—easier to hate that way. But she could never hate him, he had always had her heart even if he never knew.
She stepped back. “I’ll bring your food.”
When she returned with the steaming plate of grilled sea bass, he thanked her, then dug in with slow elegance. For a while, they said nothing. But just before she turned to leave again, he spoke.
“How’s your mother?”
The question hit like a bruise.
“She’s... sick,” Liana said. “But we manage.”
His eyes darkened. “I heard about your father. I’m sorry.”
Her grip on the tray tightened. “You heard about him, but you didn’t show up at the funeral.”
A pause. Heavy. Full of unspoken things.
“I wanted to,” he said. “But things came up.”
“My childhood friend couldn't make it but his father the most busy man did” she whispered bitterly. "you changed. All of a sudden, you stopped caring,"
Dominic looked up, guilt flickering across his face.
Their eyes locked—hers burning, his shadowed by something unreadable.
Before she could say more, her manager cleared her throat from behind. Liana quickly stepped back into the rhythm of her job, moving to other tables, avoiding the way Dominic watched her every move.
An hour later, he stood near the bar as she wiped down a table.
“I’ll walk you home,” he said.
She scoffed. “No, you won’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because this”—she waved between them—“is not happening.”
His mouth curved into a half-smile. “You haven’t changed either.”
“No,” she said, gathering the tray. “But I’m smarter now.”
He stepped closer, and for a brief second, the old scent of his cologne—earthy, smoky, expensive—wrapped around her like a memory.
“I’ll see you again, Liana.”
She stared up at him. “Why?”
He didn’t answer.
Just turned and walked out.
And this time
, she was the one left behind, her heart thudding, her mind racing.
- Writer
