Strangers Made Perfect

Episode 3: French Vanilla

Paris hurried back into the building, desperate to avoid the presence of Orly—no, Liam O’Reilly, as George had explained.

O’Reilly. Orly. The names overlapped in her mind like a cruel joke.

Of course. I was drunk that night… but still. Damn it. I wasn’t wrong. Orly is Liam.

She quickened her pace, texting George that they needed to talk after her shift. If not, she’d go straight to his and Tom’s flat that evening. When she glanced back, Liam was still outside, phone pressed to his ear, his brow furrowed in concentration.

“Did he notice me?” Panic prickled at her nerves. “Maybe not… it’s been two years.”

But deep down, she knew. There was no mistaking him. She remembered every detail—his smile over coffee, the playful selfie they’d taken, the reckless decision to post it on her My Day, then later on her profile. At the time, it had felt like defiance. If her ex-fiancé could move on, then so could she—loudly, proudly, with someone gorgeous on her arm. He had chosen her half-sister, of all people; she had chosen herself. And this time, she was determined to let the world see it.

Her friends had teased her in the comments.

‘Uy, Jamie Dornan ?’ one had written.

‘Moving on ! Fight !’ another had added.

The next morning, reality had struck hard. In a rush of panic, she deactivated her f*******: account—and never made another. Since then, she kept to quieter corners of the digital world: Viber, w******p, nothing too public, nothing too loud. i********: lingered in the background, a neglected account with barely twenty-five followers, updated only once in a blue moon.

She pressed the elevator button. “Why does it take forever?” she muttered, stabbing it again. Just then, fate decided to play cruel games.

The doors slid open, and she stepped inside—only for Liam to slip in beside her.

Her grip tightened on the plastic lunch bag. She caught his cologne—clean, sharp, expensive. The kind of scent that lingered, wrapping around her like smoke. No wonder nurses and carers buzzed around him like bees, she thought bitterly.

She fixed her eyes on the elevator panel, refusing to turn his way. Ignore him. Breathe. You’re stronger now.

But then he cleared his throat. That deep voice rumbled through her, pulling memories she didn’t want.

“Uhm… I suppose I should say something. You must be new here.”

Her chest tightened. Against her better judgment, Paris glanced at him.

Liam. Orly. The same man.

Their eyes met. Those storm-grey eyes—once warm, playful, brimming with desire—now seemed cold. Hard. As though all passion had been erased, replaced by something closer to disdain.

She almost asked how he had been, but the words died on her tongue. George had been right—he was different now. The beard, the sharp edge in his gaze, the dangerous aura that clung to him. This wasn’t the man she’d once laughed with in a Manila café. This was Liam O’Reilly—commanding, untouchable, a man who could silence a room without saying a word.

And yes—he recognized her. She could feel it.

“And for the record,” Liam’s voice sharpened, his tone slipping into command, “I don’t care how long you were… socializing or flirting in the car park. But inside this facility, your priority is your patients. Nurses cannot be off the floor for more than thirty minutes without authorization. That’s considered out of post, Nurse.” He hit the word Nurse with deliberate force.

Paris’s cheeks burned. All the nerves and attraction she had been fighting drained away, leaving only heat—anger, humiliation.

She straightened, her voice calm but edged. “With respect, I’m not paid for my break, Mr. O’Reilly. I endorsed my patients properly before I stepped away. I have the right to take my break without assumptions. So perhaps you should mind your own business.”

His eyes narrowed, but he said nothing more.

Without waiting for the elevator to stop, she stepped out at the next floor, choosing the stairs over his company. Her heart pounded with fury. Flirting with George? My brother? Well… brother-s***h-sister! The nerve of him.

By the time she reached the fourth floor, she was breathless, her appetite gone. She dragged herself into the staff pantry, deciding coffee would have to do.

Inside the pantry, Raphael was already by the kettle. He looked up, for once offering a simple, “Hi.”

Paris managed a small smile. “Hi.” She lifted her mug sheepishly. “Is there enough hot water for another coffee?”

“Of course,” He reached for the kettle, tilting it toward her. “Plenty left. You’re in luck.”

“Thanks,” she said, relieved. Finally, he smiles. Maybe a diversion is exactly what I need.

As the steam rose, Raphael glanced sideways. “You frowned just now,” he noted, pointing toward her forehead. “Rough day already?”

Paris forced a laugh. “Nothing major. Just… remembered something I forgot to do.”

“Relax,” he said easily, tearing open a sugar packet and sliding it toward her. “It’s still your break. You’ll burn out if you don’t give yourself a breather.”

She stirred her coffee. “Coffee is basically my survival kit in this job. Without it, I’d be dead on my feet.”

Raphael chuckled. “You and me both. Though,” he added with a slight grin, “you should try German Eiskaffee sometime. There’s a café near Europa Station. Best in Belfast.”

Paris raised a brow. “Eiskaffee?”

“Coffee with ice cream. Like a dessert and caffeine fix in one. Perfect after a long shift.”

“Oh wow,” she laughed softly. “That does sound like heaven.”

Raphael hesitated, then offered, almost casually, “I can show you. If you like. I’m off this weekend.”

Paris blinked. Was he asking her out? Her heart skipped. Is this a date? Or just… friendly? A part of her wanted to laugh at the timing, but she nodded anyway. “That would be… nice.”

His smile widened, genuine this time. “Good. Then it’s a plan.”

They left the pantry together, their conversation flowing more easily now. Paris joked about her terrible sense of direction; Raphael teased that he’d draw her a map if needed. He even admitted he’d gotten lost his first month in Belfast and ended up two miles away from the hospital trying to find the bus stop.

She laughed—really laughed—for the first time that day. “See? That’s why I need a guide.”

Raphael’s gaze lingered on her a moment longer than necessary. “Then I’ll take the role. Tour guide, coffee expert, occasional rescuer.”

Paris felt her cheeks warm. Maybe she did need a distraction. And Raphael seemed… safe.

But the moment they reached the nurses’ station, her fragile peace shattered.

Liam was standing across the hall, arms folded.

Raphael gave him a polite nod before slipping away.

Ranjit, scribbling in a chart, looked up with forced cheer, though unease flickered across his face. Sweat clung to his brow despite the crisp autumn air, betraying nerves he couldn’t quite hide. “Here she is—the new named nurse for Letty.”

Liam’s gaze shifted to Paris. Cold. Assessing.

Paris muttered under her breath, “What now?”

“I think,” Liam said, his tone clipped, “she’s still not done enjoying her break.” He stressed the word enjoying.

Paris’s spine stiffened. She forced a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “I’m done. Just coffee. How can I help you?”

“I wanted to check whether the referral to the gastroenterologist was completed for my mother,” he said. “I requested it last week.”

“Yes,” Paris replied crisply. “I phoned Queen Victoria’s Gastro Unit this morning. Leticia is already on the waiting list. We should receive her scan appointment letter by next week.”

Liam’s expression stayed cool.

“Good. For future reference, Nurse, referrals of that nature are expected to be recorded in the care notes within twenty-four hours. Any delay creates safeguarding risks. I trust you’re familiar with RQIA requirements and the home’s escalation procedures.”

Paris’s jaw tightened. He wasn’t just speaking as a relative—he was lecturing her, testing her. And he used her title like a weapon.

She held her ground.

“I’m aware of the procedure. And I followed it. Leticia’s progress notes and care plan have been updated on the system, and the safeguarding log is complete. You’re welcome to review it with the unit manager if you have concerns.”

“I’m sorry, Liam,” Ranjit cut in gently. “Nurse Paris did make the entry—I must have overlooked it.” He turned the computer monitor towards Liam, the screen confirming her update.

For a beat, silence hung heavy. His eyes locked on hers—steady, sharp. Too steady.

And then she saw it. A flicker. Recognition.

Her breath caught. Those storm-grey eyes weren’t just professional. They remembered. Manila. The bar. The coffee. The night she ran.

His gaze dropped to her mug—I LOVE FRENCH. His lips curved, a sharp, knowing smirk.

“Well then,” he said softly, “enjoy your French Vanilla… Nurse. Still your favorite, isn’t it?”

The words sliced through her. No one here could know that. No one but him.

He turned crisply, striding away as if nothing had happened.

Paris stood frozen, her mug trembling in her hands.

Ranjit chuckled, oblivious. “Maybe he could smell it.”

Paris swallowed, her throat dry. No. He wasn’t guessing. He remembers everything.

Her heart slammed against her ribs. This time… there’s no running away.