3: What They Called Fate

CIARA

“Why?” I muttered to myself as I stared down at my phone. The message thread with Yuri felt like a wound I kept pressing. She’d sent a short apology, nothing more, and when I told her we should meet, talk it out, she only said she wasn’t ready. That she was ashamed. That’s why she let Austin reveal everything by himself, instead of doing it together.

Now, here I was, already at the office. Still nothing from her. I’d sent another message, asking when we could talk, but the screen stayed with my unread messages, silent. It wasn’t like her at all, especially since Yuri never shied away from confrontation before.

I let out a sigh, shoulders heavy, and looked up just as the soft chime of the elevator doors opening echoed down the hall. Going to work after last night’s chaos wasn’t exactly the fresh start I’d hoped for, but there was no choice.

As soon as the doors slid open, I tucked my phone into my bag and headed straight to my desk, which sat right beside the CEO’s office. I still had a mountain of organizing to do because she was leaving soon, but it was fine. After all, when I finished all of it, I promised myself I would finally take that vacation and fly to Paris, just like I’d been planning since last month.

Thankfully, my packed schedule had been a sort of bandage, letting me forget my heartbreak for a while. But the illusion broke the moment I took my break, and there was Austin, just like that, stepping into the café where I always went to get my daily dose of caffeine.

I knew he frequented here as well because our companies were affiliated and their office was only two blocks down. It wasn’t strange to see him here, not really, but it still caught me off guard.

“I knew you’d be here.” He gave a half-smile as he pulled out the chair across from me and sat down, completely at ease. I blinked, fingers tightening around my mug, staring like he’d just said something completely unhinged.

My heart hammered as I forced myself to unclench my hand and set the mug down on the table between us. I wasn’t ready for this after what happened last night. Not yet.

Just because I’d accepted things didn’t mean I was fine. Didn’t mean I was over it.

“What? Did you come here for me?” I managed, eyes darting everywhere but his face. Seeing him hurt, honestly. Everything inside me twisted and went cold, like I’d stepped into some nightmare I couldn’t shake off.

The way he smiled at me, soft and almost gentle, made it worse. But I needed to hold myself together, so I fell back on old habits. Pretend nothing had changed. Stay normal, even if it barely worked.

“Yeah, I wanted to see you,” Austin said, casual as ever, and I felt my fingers twitch.

This. This was what made me think our feelings were mutual. The way his words and actions always gave me mixed signals.

“Why? We just saw each other last night.” I tried to laugh, picking up my mug again, but my hands were trembling so badly that it slipped. 

Just like that, coffee burned across my skin, and then the mug shattered on the floor; the crash echoed through the café.

I winced, pain shooting up my hand, but what really froze me was the way Austin’s gray eyes locked onto mine, full of concern and something else I couldn’t name.

“Shit, come here, quick!” His voice cut through the haze, and before I could react, he’d grabbed my other hand and was pulling me toward the washing station by the restroom. He immediately spun the tap open, water splattering, and held my hand under the cold stream.

It was my skin that stung, not his, so why did his face twist like that? Like my pain reverberated in him, too, as if seeing me hurt was worse than getting hurt himself.

“Should I take you to the hospital?” His words tumbled out, low and tense, but I shook my head fast, too fast.

“No, it’s fine.” I tried to sound steady, but he kept staring at me, gaze heavy, and for a second, I thought my heart might crack with the weight of it. Then his phone rang, slicing clean through the moment, and he answered without even glancing away.

The softness in his voice when he said Yuri’s name made something in me flinch, sharp and involuntary.

Then instinct took over, I slipped my wrist from his hold, mouthing that I could handle it, really. He just nodded, distracted, already letting his attention drift back to Yuri on the other end of the line, and just like that, I was alone, the noise of the water running mixing with the sound of my heart breaking, piece by piece.

“Stop letting it get to you. They’re already engaged,” I tried to reason with myself, but the words rang hollow, jealousy catching in my throat no matter how hard I tried to swallow it down.

After the sting faded, I left the café without saying anything to Austin—not that he noticed.

He was too focused on the conversation with the phone pressed to his ear.

Once outside, a shaky sigh escaped my lips before I headed back to the company. As soon as I was there, I smeared ointment over the burn, pretending it didn’t hurt as much as it actually did.

“Did you hurt yourself?” Mrs. Smith, our CEO, asked. Her words made me gaze up from the neat rows of paperwork on my desk. I nodded, feeling a flush creep up my neck.

“Yes, ma’am, but don’t worry, I can still work.” I smiled, but she shook her head; lips pressed together in a line that brooked no argument.

“That won’t do. How about you take your vacation leave tomorrow? You’ve been planning to take one for a while now, right?” Her suggestion caught me completely off guard. She then continued, unbothered by my shock, “Something actually came up, so I have to leave sooner than planned. The position will be vacant until the new CEO arrives in the last week of February. So, you have a week before you need to be back.”

Mrs. Smith smiled at me, and of course, I didn’t waste the opportunity, so as soon as she left my side, I filed my vacation leave and, without hesitation, booked a flight to Paris.

The moment I got home, I didn’t waste a single second. I threw my things into my luggage, despite the injury. After that, I dialed Yuri’s number, desperate for any sign that she’d pick up, but nothing.

Not even a text.

The silence stung more than I wanted to admit. I mean, wasn’t she the one who owed me an explanation? So why did it feel like I was the one chasing her, hoping for a reply?

With a frustrated sigh, I powered off my regular phone and swapped in my spare, the one that only my family knew the number of. After all, I told myself this was how I’d keep my vacation safe from anyone who might ruin it.

Time slipped by, as if it had somewhere better to be, and before I could even settle into the stale rhythm of the airplane, the almost eight-hour flight from New York to Paris was already over.

Everything had happened so fast: the decision to leave, the frantic booking of a hotel for the whole week, even my suitcase thrown together in the middle of the night. But did it matter? Not really.

As long as I was away from my problems, as long as the distance stretched between me and everything I wanted to forget, I could convince myself that everything would be fine.

“Should I find my boyfriend here?” I whispered to myself, stepping onto the balcony of my hotel room. The Eiffel Tower stood there, and I let myself stare, lingering for a moment longer, and caught its glow in a photo just as the lights winked on.

Then I told myself to rest, just for a bit. So, I lay down on the bed, feeling the hush of a new city, before I finally dragged myself up for a shower. I changed, determined that this vacation would be something I’d remember, something that would actually feel like a break from everything.

When I stepped out, the world outside felt different already. I started searching for a restaurant, not the fanciest, just something good. Then after eating my dinner, I wandered, wrapping my coat tighter, because the night had teeth, and the wind bit at my skin with every step. Fortunately, my hand wasn’t hurting anymore.

I walked until the world blurred a little, until I forgot to think about anything except the rhythm of my own footsteps and how cold my fingers were. And then, out of nowhere, someone slammed into my shoulders.

For a split second, I just stood there, frozen, but then I realized I wasn’t holding my bag anymore. It was gone. Panic hit me all at once. I chased the thief, my heels striking sparks off the pavement, my heart in my throat.

But just when it felt like I’d lost him, someone else intervened. A stranger stuck out his foot, deliberate as anything, and the thief crashed to the ground, face-first. I stopped, breathless, shocked by how fast it had all happened. The man didn’t even look at the thief, he just scooped up my bag from the ground and let the criminal take off.

Even so, relief washed through me knowing my bag was safe. If I’d lost that, I’d be completely screwed.

“Thank you,” I managed, approaching the man who’d helped me. I reached for my bag, expecting him to hand it over, but instead he tipped his hat back, and I just… stared. I could feel my jaw dropping.

I’d know that face.

“We meet again, Missy.” He said it softly, almost amused, reaching out to tap my chin with his finger, nudging my mouth closed. But I couldn’t move, couldn’t even breathe for a second, staring into those amber eyes, trying to make sense of it.

How could he be here? What were the odds?

“You’re not going to accuse me of stalking you, are you?” he asked, and the words made me flinch because, honestly, the thought had just started to cross my mind. But then he chuckled, low and easy, and it made me snap out of my daze. “This must be what they call fate, huh?”