Isabella:Love And Vengeance

The next morning started like any other. My alarm blared, I got ready, and I walked to the café. But there was an energy buzzing under my skin, a faint hum of anticipation I couldn't quite shake. I told myself it was ridiculous—why would someone like him come back? He was clearly out of my league, a visitor in my world by chance, not design. And yet, I couldn't help but hope.

When I arrived, Sarah was already at the counter, her usual bright chatter filling the air. "You're glowing this morning," she teased, her grin mischievous.

"Am I?" I replied, busying myself with tying my apron.

"You are. Did something happen?"

I shook my head, avoiding her gaze. "Nothing at all."

The morning was busy, as usual. Orders came and went, and I moved through the motions with practiced ease. By midday, the café was quieter, and I allowed myself to relax, leaning against the counter as I caught my breath.

And then the bell jingled.

I looked up instinctively, and there he was again.

Of course, I didn't know his name yet, but the sight of him made my pulse quicken. He wore another perfectly tailored suit, this time a dark gray, and his polished shoes gleamed under the café's soft lights. His dark hair was neatly combed, and those piercing blue eyes swept the room before landing on me.

Our gazes met, and for a moment, the world seemed to still. He smiled—just a small curve of his lips, but it sent a jolt through me.

"Good afternoon," he said, his voice like velvet as he approached the counter.

"Good afternoon," I managed, my voice steady despite the fluttering in my chest.

"The same as yesterday," he said, handing over a crisp bill.

"Black coffee, coming right up," I replied, slipping the money into the till.

As I prepared his drink, I could feel his eyes on me. It wasn't obvious—he wasn't staring outright—but there was a weight to his gaze, subtle but unmistakable. My hands trembled slightly as I poured the coffee, and I prayed he wouldn't notice.

When I placed the cup on the counter, his fingers brushed mine again as he took it. "Thank you," he said, his voice low.

"You're welcome," I replied, forcing a small smile.

This time, he didn't head straight for the window seat. Instead, he lingered at the counter, as though deciding something. Finally, he moved to a corner table, settling in with his coffee and a leather-bound notebook.

I tried to focus on my work, but I couldn't stop myself from glancing his way. He was writing something, his pen moving smoothly across the page. Occasionally, he would pause, lifting his gaze to the room—and each time, his eyes seemed to find me.

At first, I thought I was imagining it. But as the minutes stretched into hours, it became clear: he was watching me. Not in a way that felt uncomfortable or intrusive, but with a quiet curiosity that made my heart race.

By the time he left, the sun was starting to dip toward the horizon. He paused by the counter on his way out, his expression unreadable. "Have a good evening," he said, his voice soft.

"You too," I replied, my cheeks warm.

As soon as he was gone, Sarah pounced. "Okay, what's going on?" she demanded, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

"Nothing," I said quickly, turning away to wipe down the counter.

"Don't lie to me, Bella. I saw the way he was looking at you."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," I insisted, though my voice wavered.

Sarah just laughed, shaking her head. "You're terrible at lying, you know that?"

I didn't respond, too flustered to argue.

The next day, I couldn't stop thinking about him. His smile, the way his eyes lingered, the low timbre of his voice—it was all etched into my mind. By the time my shift ended, I was a bundle of nerves. I had half-expected him to come back, but he hadn't.

As I stepped out of the café, the cool evening air washed over me. I wrapped my coat tighter around myself and started walking, but I only made it a few steps before I saw him.

He was leaning casually against a sleek black car parked just outside the café, his hands in his pockets. My heart leaped into my throat at the sight of him.

"Miss," he said, straightening as I approached.

I stopped, unsure of what to say. "Good evening," I said finally, my voice barely above a whisper.

"Good evening," he replied, his lips curving into that familiar, disarming smile. "I hope I'm not intruding."

"No, not at all," I said quickly, shaking my head.

He took a step closer, his movements deliberate but unthreatening. "I realize this might seem... unusual, but I wanted to ask if you'd like to have dinner with me."

The words hung in the air between us, and for a moment, I couldn't breathe. Dinner? With him? My mind raced, torn between disbelief and excitement.

"I—" I hesitated, glancing at the ground. "Are you sure?"

His smile widened slightly. "I wouldn't have asked if I wasn't."

I met his gaze, searching for any sign of insincerity, but there was none. He seemed genuine, his blue eyes steady and unwavering.

"Okay," I said finally, my voice soft.

"Wonderful," he said, his smile warm. "Does tomorrow evening work for you?"

"Yes," I replied, my heart pounding.

He nodded, pulling a sleek business card from his pocket and handing it to me. "Here's my number. Let me know where to pick you up, and I'll handle the rest."

I took the card, my fingers brushing his. "Thank you," I said, my voice trembling slightly.

"Until tomorrow, then," he said, his tone gentle.

I watched as he climbed into his car, the engine purring softly as he drove away. For a long moment, I stood there, clutching the card like a lifeline.

This wasn't real. It couldn't be real.

But the sleek card in my hand told me otherwise, the embossed lettering spelling out his name: Alexander Harrington.

Tomorrow. Dinner. With him.

As I walked home, my mind buzzed with a thousand thoughts, each one louder than the last. Who was he, really? Why was he interested in someone like me? And what would tomorrow bring?

One thing was certain: my life, ordinary and predictable as it had always been, was about to change.