Semua Bab My Teenage Sweetheart : Bab 11 - Bab 18

{Vanessa’s POV}The silver tray rattled in my grip, the sound matching the rhythm of my heart.“Take this to Vincent’s room,” Lady Sinclair had ordered, her tone leaving no space for protest. “Now.”Every part of me wanted to beg her to send someone else. Anyone else. But her eyes were sharp, her patience thin, and I knew the consequences of disobedience.So I walked. Step by step, the weight of the tray grew heavier, though it wasn’t the glass of wine or the plate of fruit that burdened me. It was his name. Vincent. The man I had spent ten years trying to forget and ten seconds falling apart in front of at the boutique.The hallway stretched endlessly, my footsteps muffled against the thick rug. The air was heavy, filled with the faint scent of polished wood and roses from the vases that lined the corridor. The walls were covered in oil paintings of grim ancestors whose eyes seemed to follow me as I moved. Diana had whispered earlier that he was in the bathroom, and I clung to that f

{Vanessa’s POV}The first time I saw her, I almost dropped the grocery bag in my hands.A sleek black Mercedes purred to a stop in front of the mansion gates, its tinted windows flashing against the afternoon sun like polished obsidian. The driver—tall, crisp in a tailored suit—was out in a heartbeat, circling the car with trained precision. He moved with the quiet obedience of someone who had practiced this routine a hundred times before.Then the back door opened.And out she stepped—like she had walked straight off the glossy pages of a fashion magazine and into my world.Lisa.Her presence hit like a slap. Her heels struck the marble driveway in sharp, precise clicks, each one echoing power and privilege. She didn’t just walk—she owned the ground beneath her. Her black dress clung to her figure as though it had been molded around her body, every seam sculpting confidence and entitlement. Around her wrist, a diamond bracelet caught the sunlight in cruel flashes, scattering pieces o

{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.

{Vanessa’s POV} The studio buzzed with chaos—producers waving clipboards, assistants dragging cables across the floor, cameras being adjusted for the perfect angle. My apron was tied neatly, my script in hand, but my heart raced faster than the lights flickering overhead. “All right, Chef Vanessa ,” the director said, voice brisk. “We’ll start simple. Just focus on the dish, speak naturally, look up when we cue you. Don’t worry about the cameras. Ready?” I nodded, even though my palms were damp. This wasn’t my world. I wasn’t trained for flashing lights and booming commands. But I reminded myself why I was here—I earned this. I moved behind the counter, inhaled deeply, and began. “Food isn’t just what we eat,” I said, dicing vegetables with steady hands. “It’s who we are. At Marshall Foods International, we believe every meal tells a story—one that begins at home.” The crew nodded approvingly. The camera panned closer. Then suddenly— “The CEO is on his way!” a stage man