Ten Years, One Glance

{Vanessa’s POV}

Ten years.

That’s how long it had been since I last saw him. Ten years since his family packed up and left, their house swallowed by silence. Ten years since Vincent — the boy down the street who once sat broken on his porch — vanished without a goodbye.

In those years, life dragged me along. Graduations came and went. I worked small jobs, nursed heartbreaks I pretended were bigger than they really were. And now, at twenty-eight, I was just another boutique attendant in the city, folding dresses I couldn’t afford, smiling at customers whose lives looked shinier than mine.

I told myself I’d forgotten him. That I’d buried him in the past. That even if I remembered his face, it no longer had power over me.

But then the bell above the boutique door rang, and I looked up.

Vincent.

My chest tightened, every inch of me going still.

Not the boy I remembered — no. This man was different. Taller. Broader. A black suit fit him like it had been sewn onto his body. A watch gleamed on his wrist, catching the light as if announcing he belonged to a world far above mine. His hair was darker, neater, sharper. His very presence filled the boutique, pulling the air out of the room.

But he wasn’t alone.

She was on his arm. Perfect. Polished. Perfume strong enough to announce her before she spoke. She leaned into him with the kind of confidence that screamed he’s mine. Her laughter tinkled like glass, and even that felt rehearsed, like she knew she was being watched.

For one second, his eyes met mine. Recognition flickered. I felt it. The jolt of it lit up every nerve in my body.

And then — nothing. His face smoothed into something cold, something practiced, and he looked at me like I was nobody.

“I need a dress for her,” he said. His voice was deeper now. Steady. Detached.

The woman’s manicured nails grazed his arm. “Something red,” she purred. “Something unforgettable.”

My throat was dry, but my voice came out steady enough. “Of course. This way.”

I walked them down the aisle, pretending my hands weren’t trembling as I moved hangers aside. The silk brushed against my fingers, cool and slippery, grounding me while my heart raced. I could feel his eyes on me, heavy and quiet. But his arm stayed wrapped around her waist. He even bent down once and pressed a kiss to her hairline, like he wanted me to see. Like he wanted to remind me he had moved on.

Every smile, every touch between them felt like knives against my ribs.

But he never said my name.

By the time the purchase was made, my palms were damp and my chest hurt from holding my breath. I handed over the package with a smile that felt nothing like me. My cheeks ached from forcing it. Then the door closed behind them with a cruel little chime, and I stood there staring at the empty space they left behind.

Ten years.

And just like that, I lost him all over again.

{Vincent’s POV}

The penthouse was all glass and silence, the city spread out beneath me like it belonged to me. Floor-to-ceiling windows glowed with lights from streets that never slept. She — the model on my arm, whatever her name was — kicked off her heels at the door, laughing like she owned the place.

I poured myself whiskey. Neat. Strong. Pointless. The burn did nothing to quiet my chest.

“You’re quiet tonight,” she teased, tugging at my tie, her lips already curling into a smile she’d practiced a hundred times before.

I didn’t answer. I kissed her instead. Not because I wanted her. Because I needed to stop thinking.

Clothes fell. Skin pressed against skin. She moaned my name like she meant it. But I wasn’t really there.

All I saw was Vanessa.

Her hands trembling as she sorted dresses. The way her eyes burned into mine when our gazes locked, just for that single moment. The way she bit her lip — she always did that when she was nervous. I remembered that detail like no time had passed at all.

I thrust harder, desperate to drown her out. The girl beneath me called me “baby,” but it was hollow. Empty. Wrong.

And when I finally came undone, the only name in my head was hers.

Vanessa.

After, I rolled away, disgust burning in my chest. Not at the girl. At myself. At the way ten years hadn’t been enough to erase her.

The model propped herself up, pouting. “That was quick,” she teased. “Want to go again?”

“Get out.”

Her smile froze. “What?”

I stood, tossed her dress onto the bed. “I said get out.”

Her face twisted in anger. She snatched her clothes and stormed barefoot out of the room, slamming the door hard enough to rattle the glass.

Silence again.

I downed the rest of the whiskey, but it didn’t help. I could still see Vanessa’s eyes. Hazel, soft, trembling — exactly the same after ten years. Exactly the same as the night she told me no.

She said no to me once. One word, and she shattered me. When I left, I promised myself I’d never beg for love again. I built walls. I built wealth. I built a life where women lined up, and I let them. It was easier than remembering the one girl who wouldn’t have me.

But tonight… one glance and the walls cracked.

I hated her for it.

I hated her, because I still loved her.