Page 5

The night’s exhaustion hit me hard, a heavy weight settling in as I packed up my knives.
One by one, I slid them into their spots in my worn leather roll, the motions familiar and grounding after such a long evening.
My feet ached in my black flats, and my hands felt raw from hours of constant work. But it wasn’t the physical exhaustion that stayed with me.
No, it was the memory of him.
Christian Valen.
I’d known men like him—or at least, I thought I had. Wealthy, powerful, impossibly attractive, and fully aware of it.
Men who thought their charm and money could make the world bow at their feet. Men who barely saw the people who worked behind the scenes, who only cared about appearances.
But Christian had been different.
I shook my head as I tied the roll of knives with a practiced flick of my wrist. What was it about him that had thrown me off balance?
It wasn’t just his looks—although I’d have to be blind not to notice how devastatingly handsome he was, with that strong jawline and piercing blue eyes that seemed to see more than they should.
It wasn’t even his polished charm, the kind that could probably melt anyone he set his sights on.
No, it was something deeper. Something I couldn’t quite put into words.
The way he’d approached me, not with arrogance, but with genuine curiosity. The way he’d looked at me—really looked, like he was trying to figure me out.
And then there were his words, his tone, the low, intimate cadence of his voice when he’d called me interesting.
I hated how that word had lingered, wrapping itself around my thoughts like a vine. Interesting. Was I? To someone like him?
I let out a soft laugh, more self-deprecating than anything, as I slung my bag over my shoulder and surveyed the empty kitchen one last time.
The staff I’d hired had long since packed up and left, leaving me alone with my thoughts and the faint scent of truffle oil lingering in the air.
This was ridiculous. I’d met him for all of ten minutes, exchanged a few words, and yet here I was, replaying the encounter like it was something meaningful.
Like it was something that might lead somewhere.
But it wouldn’t.
People like Christian Valen didn’t date people like me. He was a billionaire from a family of untouchable wealth. And me?
I was a chef who barely managed to scrape by, running a restaurant that could close any day if the next quarter didn’t pick up.
I lived in a tiny, drafty apartment with a stray cat who hated me half the time, and my idea of luxury was splurging on a decent bottle of wine after a successful dinner service.
We weren’t just from different worlds; we were from different universes.
Still, as I locked up the kitchen and stepped out into the cool night air, I couldn’t help but let my mind wander back to the way he’d smiled at me.
The way his eyes had lingered a fraction too long.
Did he really mean it when he asked me to dinner? Or was it just a throwaway line, something he’d forget by the time he got into his chauffeur-driven car?
I tightened my coat around me as I walked the few blocks to the subway, my breath visible in the chill.
The city buzzed around me, its lights and sounds a constant reminder of how alive it was, even at this hour. But for once, I felt out of step with its rhythm.
I couldn’t shake the feeling that Christian had seen something in me—something I wasn’t even sure I saw in myself. And that scared me.