Chapter 4: The Man I Came Back For

The morning golden sunlight bathed the room in soft glows.

Cleopatra rummaged through her wardrobe, pulling out outfit after outfit, but none of them felt right.

“I can’t wear any of this,” she muttered, hands planted on her waist as she stared at the clothes scattered across the floor. “I’ll stop by the department store and pick up something better after I finish work.”

A slow smile spread across her lips.

“This time, I’ll come to you, Calvin.”

She whispered softly.

“Just wait for me.”

Without a second thought, she grabbed her bag and dashed out, racing toward work. As she arrived at the gates of the Atelier, she hurried past as every worker moved with eerie precision, every motion sharp and perfect, as though an unseen force were directing them.

She entered the club building and made her way toward the changing room.

The instant she pushed the door open, she froze.

A flicker of wonder passed through her chest as she scoffed quietly.

“What's all this buzz?”

Inside, voices clashed with the sharp click of heels, while the scent of perfume and hairspray thickened the already tense air. A petite girl darted past, nearly colliding with her, and the room buzzed with electric energy.

“No… no! My skirt, it’s torn,” the girl cried, her voice trembling. “Why today of all days?”

“Just wear a gown!”

Another voice snapped back, impatient.

“No!” she barked, yanking the fabric from the girl’s hands. Her cheeks burned with frustration, eyes blazing. “I wanted a skirt. It’ll be easier to seduce him that way.”

Her words crackled through the room, turning heads, but she didn’t care.

Suddenly, a piercing scream shattered the silence of the hallway.

Their hearts racing, everyone surged toward the source of the scream. When Cleopatra arrived, she came to an abrupt halt.

Tall, impeccably dressed bodyguards swept through the corridor, their perfectly tailored suits, sharp haircuts, and disciplined strides clearing a pathway with military precision. Their broad shoulders gleamed under the lights.

Completely unbothered, Cleopatra turned to leave.

“I guess other boy-band idols,” she raised a brow, “but they are too old for boyidols; they look more like men.”

But then she turned around again, and something shifted. Instantly her pulse falters.

A handsome young man walked behind them. His marble-carved jawline, styled dark hair, and russet, custom-fitted suit gave him a sculpted, commanding presence.

His black shoes gleamed in the light with each step he takes

“Cal,” she muttered under her breath, “my Cal.”

Cleopatra’s gaze locked onto him, unblinking, as if the world around her had ceased to exist before her body moved forward, cutting through the crowd.

He walked down three slowly before a young man around his early forties practically flew toward him, and Calvin stopped walking.

“Good evening, Mr. Calvin.”

“Good evening Mr. Alvin.”

Alvin's voice trembled with the kind of politeness that bordered on fear.

“This way, please.”

At the same moment, one of the workers rushed by and accidentally collided with the girls standing in the queue, sending a ripple of movement through the crowd.

Cleopatra stumbled and collided with him.

He instinctively reached out to steady her the moment their eyes met.

Recognition ignited between them like a bolt of lightning.

Both froze, caught in an invisible force that seemed to pull them together, impossible to break.

“Cleo,” Calvin whispered, his deep voice carrying a weight that could make anyone fall under its spell.

“Uh… ah… sorry,” she stammered, barely able to catch her breath. “I didn’t mean to bump into you.”

Instantly, Alvin stepped forward, gently dragging Cleopatra away.

“Go wait for me in my office.”

His gaze returned to Calvin.

“It’s an honor to have you visit Atelier Club, Mr. Ink,” Alvin said, smiling like a man who just discovered gold in his backyard. “Opportunities like this are extremely rare. We’ll take excellent care of you with our most beautiful escorts—”

Cleopatra cut Alvin off instantly.

“I will serve him, sir.”

“You have other tasks today; go wait for me.”

Alvin forced a smile, pushing her away, but Cleopatra refused to budge.

“Sir, please let me attend to him.”

Calvin’s eyes widened, stunned by her sudden interest.

“Let her serve me,” he commanded, his gaze locked firmly on her.

“Huh.” Alvin's jaw dropped, and then he nodded. “Okay, sir.”

Without delay, Alvin led him straight into one of Atelier Club’s most luxurious VIP rooms, the kind reserved for people whose names opened doors on their own. Calvin entered with the quiet dominance of a man who didn’t need to announce his power; every breath he took announced it for him.

Alvin hovered anxiously.

“How’s the air conditioner, sir? Too cold? Too warm?”

“It’s fine,” he replied, voice level and dangerously indifferent.

Alvin scanned the room again, restless.

“Should I bring in some air freshener? Something citrus? Floral? Whatever you like.”Calvin didn’t bother speaking. A simple lift of his eyes, and his secretary stepped forward.

“Mr. Alvin, please bring citrus freshener,” Smith said smoothly.

“Yes, right away!” Alvin whispered to a worker, panic sharpening his movements as the door slammed shut behind him.

The door swung open again, and Cleopatra glided in, pushing a cart adorned with glittering wine and meticulously plated gourmet dishes. With practiced, almost hypnotic precision, she arranged everything before pouring a glass of wine and presenting it to Calvin.

Calvin’s gaze remained fixed on her, unblinking.

“Here’s your wine,” she said slowly, “Mr. Calvin.”

Her eyes lingered on his face as a sweet smile curved her lips. The couch creaked under her weight as she lowered herself onto it.

“Mr. Calvin?” he murmured, his fingers grazing hers as he accepted the glass.

A faint smile curved her lips.

“Then may I call you as I always do?”

She slid close, their bodies nearly touching; she tilted her head.

‘Cal,’

The word dripped with a sultry allure, waiting for nothing in return yet daring him to respond.

“Cal,” she called again, this time her voice softer and warmer, almost impossible to resist.

Right there, she inched closer, their arms grazing in the slightest touch, and a shiver of anticipation raced between them, electric and unspoken.

Calvin’s gaze lingered on Cleopatra’s lips.

‘Cal.’

That single name was enough to draw the past back into his heart.

Her smile deepened sweetly as her voice tinged with anxiety.

“What else may I serve you, Cal?”

He let out a low scoff.

“Cal…”

Instantly memories he hadn’t dared touch in years surged forward, crashing over him like a river long buried, carrying the ache, the warmth, and the weight of a past he thought he had lost.

‘What's this sudden change?’ He muttered inwardly; his eyes stayed fixed on her. ‘This isn't the same aura she had carried six years ago before we parted.’

Simultaneously, Cleopatra picked a crimson grape and held it out to him, her fingers brushing delicately against his lips, inviting him to part his lips.

“Try this crimson grape,” she said, holding it out. “It’s healthy and will give you a boost of energy.”

Instantly, Calvin seized her hand, yanking her hand away from his mouth.

“What is this?!” he demanded, his tone so cold. “Are you merely doing your job, or messing with me?!”

“I’m merely serving you,” she replied, her calm demeanor contrasting sharply with his icy glare.

“Is this how you serve everyone else?!”

She shook her head.

“No, no. I only set the table and leave. I’m not an escort, but for you.”

A small smile formed on her lips.

“I want to serve you beyond that. Can I?”

His brows furrowed tightly.

“Serve me, but nothing more.”

He crossed one leg over the other before he leaned back, watching her carefully.

Cleopatra caught a glimpse of his coldness; she bit her lips until it almost hurt.

‘Is he still angry at me for choosing Anthony over him, or has he moved on from me?’

She forced a smile, leaning forward.

“Okay, if you insist, your glass is empty; I will pour you some wine.”

She poured the wine into the glass and gave it to him intentionally, letting her hand brush against his. Their eyes met like a magnetic force, not wanting to pull away from each other.

Calvin looked away, but her gaze remained on him.

“How is work going?” She pouted her lips as she spoke. “I know it's coming late to congratulate you for being the CEO of INK Model.”

His eyes collided with hers as he turned towards her. Every word igniting something fierce within him, he swallowed hard.

In one gulp he finished his wine, struggling to choke back the storm of desire and frustration swirling through his chest.

“So now I’m finally getting congratulations,” he smirked, tossing his head aside with playful exasperation, “four years after becoming CEO.”

Instantly, she caught his arm with both of hers, pouting like a child as if silently pleading.

“I apologize for hurting you back then,” her eyes drooped, heavy with sorrow. “I know there’s no excuse for how I behaved, but I apologize for everything.”