Chapter 19
(This is a Third POV)
I'll use a Third POV occasionally.
Third POV
The ice in his glass had long melted.
He hadn't noticed.
Across from him, Chris looked exactly the same as he always did—composed, measured, untouched by time or consequence.
It had always been that way.
Patrick leaned back slightly, studying him.
He had known Chris for years. Long enough to know what he was—and what he wasn't.
"You've been busy," Patrick said casually.
Chris gave a small hum, lifting his glass.
"Something like that."
A pause.
Then Patrick spoke again.
"How's Grace?."
Chris's lips curved faintly, as if amused by the obvious.
"She's fine."
Patrick's gaze didn't shift.
"I still don't understand why you married her," he continued. "A woman with a past… and a son."
Chris said nothing.
That silence—too deliberate—was familiar.
Patrick's fingers tightened slightly around his glass.
He's choosing his words, he thought.
Or rather—
he's choosing what not to say.
Patrick exhaled quietly.
"I've known you a long time, Chris."
A beat.
"I saw how you treated your late wife."
There was no accusation in his tone. Just fact.
Still—
something flickered, almost imperceptibly, in Chris's eyes.
Then it was gone.
Patrick tilted his head slightly.
"You weren't the type," he continued, "to act on impulse."
Chris let out a soft chuckle, leaning back in his chair.
"And now I am?"
Patrick didn't smile.
"Grace is beautiful," he said evenly. "But you've always had options. Better ones. Younger ones. Easier ones."
Chris swirled the drink in his glass, watching the liquid move.
"I didn't want younger, easier, I wanted love. Which I found in Grace."
Patrick's gaze sharpened slightly.
A quiet silence settled between them.
Heavy.
Measured.
Patrick's thoughts drifted, unbidden, to the past.
To a different house.
A different woman.
Kieran's mother.
He remembered the way she used to smile.
And the way that smile slowly disappeared.
Chris hadn't changed.
Men like him didn't.
They refined.
They calculated.
They adapted.
But they didn't change.
"So," Patrick said slowly, "this is love?"
Chris looked at him then.
Really looked.
And for a brief moment—
something colder surfaced beneath the ease.
"Are you jealous," Chris said lightly, a hint of laughter in his voice, "that your old friend is in love?"
The laugh came after.
Smooth.
But Patrick didn't return it.
He simply watched him.
Listened to the silence beneath the words.
Measured the distance between what was said—
and what was hidden.
Then he shook his head once, slow.
"No," he said quietly.
Because he knew.
He knew men like Chris.
Knew the way they moved, the way they chose, the way they built things piece by piece until there was no way out.
And this—
this wasn't love.
He knows Christopher Leo too well, to believe otherwise.
Patrick lifted his glass, finishing what remained.
His eyes never left Chris.
There's more to this.
There always was.
----
Few days later
Nathan's POV
I was on my way to a date with Melissa.
The truth is, I'm not interested.
I don't think I've ever been interested in any woman growing up.
Maybe something is wrong with me.
Maybe I'm not normal… and I need fixing.
If I have to do this to please mum, then I will.
Maybe it's even better this way.
She had picked the place—some café known for baked goods and soft music. The kind of place people went when things were simple.
Mine weren't.
I slowed when I got there, stopping just outside the glass door.
As I entered, the doorbell sounded.
I looked around until I saw her.
Golden hair.
She sat by the window, the light glowing softly on her face.
She was reading a book, her legs crossed. She wore a short white gown, her hair tied in a ponytail, red lipstick.
She looked every bit of elegance.
She raised her head.
She waved.
I smiled awkwardly and walked toward her.
I cleared my throat.
"Hi, my name's Nathan," I said.
She smiled.
"Hi, I'm Melissa," she said, pointing to the seat in front of her.
I sat down.
She looked at me.
"Would you like anything? They make the best cheesecake here."
"No, I'm fine," I said.
"Okay," she said.
"So…" she started.
I didn't know what to say.
I looked around.
She smiled again.
"Let's start with getting to know each other," she said.
I looked at her.
She placed her hand on her chest.
"I'm Melissa Harrow, the second child of the Harrow family. I'm twenty. I'm in my last year of law school."
I looked at her.
Last year?
"I know people look at me like that—I'm young," she said, laughing lightly. "Not to brag, but I'm a genius. I got into law school at fifteen."
I looked at her.
"Plus, it's easier when you have rich parents," she added.
I smiled.
She looked at me.
"And you?"
"Oh… I'm Nathan… Leo," I said.
"I'm nineteen. I'll be twenty in two months. I study art—painting."
"Wow," she said. "That sounds cool."
I smiled.
"And I'm an only child of my mum," I added.
She smiled.
I glanced at the book she was reading.
She noticed.
"Do you read fantasy novels?" she asked.
I looked at her.
"I used to… but not anymore," I said, shaking my head slightly.
Then she signaled a staff.
"A slice of cheesecake, please—for this fine gentleman," she said.
I looked at her.
I wanted to say I didn't want it…
But for some reason, I didn't say anything.
She passed me the book.
"You should read it. Stories like this… they let you escape. It's like stepping into another world."
I smiled.
The cheesecake was brought.
She looked at me.
"Go on."
I took a bite.
It was good.
Really good.
"See? It's good, right?" she said. "I had that same expression the first time I tried it."
I looked at her.
She noticed.
"Are you falling in love with me already?" she teased.
I laughed and took another bite.
"Listen, I don't—"
She suddenly stopped.
She was looking past me.
I turned.
The door had opened.
Two people walked in.
Zane.
Kieran.
My heart dropped.
What the hell are they doing here?