Charlotte’s POV
I couldn’t believe it. Out of all the people here, one of the girls actually gave up her seat—so that he could sit down.
And now, I was, sitting across from the one person I never thought I’d face again. Jack Morigan.
My ex.
The man who once promised forever and shattered it like it was nothing.
The air between us felt suffocating, and the chatter and laughter around the table faded into a dull hum. All I could hear was the frantic pounding of my heart as his eyes t mine, those sa familiar eyes I once adored.
And then he smiled. That sa infuriatingly charming smile that used to make weak.
Before I could react, he casually extended his hand across the table. His voice was calm and smooth as if we were strangers eting for the first ti.
"Jack Morigan," he said.
I blinked, frozen for a second, unsure if I’d heard him right. But the na rang in my ears like a cruel joke.
My entire body tensed as heat rushed to my face while a chilling cold settled deep in my chest. How dare he?
The audacity of him sitting there pretending like he didn’t know , like I was just another face in the crowd as if our past didn’t exist, as if the years we spent together, the love we shared, and the heartbreak he caused ant nothing.
Anger flared in my chest, burning hot and fast.
I wanted to scream. I wanted to slap that smug smile right off his face. But instead, I sat there, clenching my fists beneath the table, swallowing down the storm rising inside .
Because the one thing I refused to do was let him see just how much he still affected .
I didn’t want to take his hand. Every bone in my body scread at to ignore him, to leave his hand hanging in the air. But before I could move, Sofia nudged playfully, her giggle breaking through the tension.
"Co on, Charlotte," she whispered, oblivious to the storm inside .
Reluctantly, I placed my hand in his, forcing a small smile as I fought to keep my voice steady. "Charlotte," I said softly, barely managing to get the word out. My throat felt tight, my heart pounding so hard I was sure he could hear it.
His fingers closed around mine, and it felt warm, firm, and far too familiar. Then, his response ca, smooth and deliberate.
"It’s nice to et you, Charlotte," he murmured, his gaze never leaving mine.
Sothing about the way he said it made my skin crawl and my chest ache all at once. It was as if he was taunting , fully aware of who I was and the history we shared, and still pretending we were strangers.
And the worst part? He didn’t let go.
For a mont too long, his hand lingered, his thumb brushing lightly against my skin.
It took every ounce of strength I had to pull my hand away. I swallowed hard as I quickly dropped my gaze to the plate in front of . I suddenly found the pattern on the tablecloth far more interesting than anything else in the room.
I stayed quiet as we ate dinner, refusing to look up and give him the satisfaction of seeing how much his presence was unraveling from the inside.
But the mont the opportunity ca, I took it.
I pushed back my chair and forced a polite smile. "Excuse ," I mumbled, barely loud enough for anyone to hear. "I just need to use the restroom."
No one questioned . Not even Sofia.
Without looking back, I walked away—my heart racing, my chest tightening—as I fought back the tears threatening to fall.
I needed space. I needed air.
And most of all, I needed to survive this night without completely falling apart.
"Oh my God, Charlotte! Jack Morigan is so into you!" Sofia’s excited squeal echoed through the restroom as she found hovering by the sink, pretending to wash my hands for the third ti.
I stiffened, forcing a neutral expression as I glanced at her reflection in the mirror. "I’m not interested in him," I mumbled, avoiding her gaze as I focused on the water running over my hands.
Sofia gasped dramatically. "Co on! You told just yesterday that you’re single. Single! anwhile, we’re all practically throwing ourselves at him... and you? You just ignore the guy everyone here is obsessed with." Her voice rose with disbelief, and a pout ford on her lips.
I sighed, grabbing a paper towel and wiping my hands slowly, stalling. "He’s... not my type, Sofia," I said carefully, keeping my voice level. "His arrogance annoys ."
Sofia’s eyes widened like I’d just insulted royalty. "Arrogant? Really?" she repeated, almost offended. "You think he’s arrogant?"
"I don’t know him personally," I added, trying to soften my words. "I’ve only t him in Paris, but it’s obvious, right? He knows he’s good-looking; he knows everyone’s watching him. That kind of confidence... it just cos off as arrogance."
But Sofia shook her head, her expression softening. "You’re wrong, Char. I’ve watched him, too... but there’s more to him. You’d see it if you’d just give him a chance."
I gave her a polite smile, the kind you give when you don’t want to argue but have no intention of agreeing. I knew Sofia. She was the type who romanticized every handso man she t, and Jack Morigan was no exception.
"Let’s just go back," I muttered, dodging the conversation before it could spiral into one of her persuasive lectures about giving n "a chance."
We walked back to the table together, and as expected, the girls were still swooning—eyes locked on Jack like he was the last man on earth. Every laugh, every flip of their hair, every not-so-subtle glance was thrown his way.
I kept my eyes low, pretending to scroll through my phone, though the screen was nothing but my blank ho screen. Social dia was a minefield I didn’t dare step into tonight, but right now, it was the only shield I had.
They talked about him openly, like he wasn’t just a few tables away. Whispering about his hands, his smile, how the way he held a knife should be illegal. I bit the inside of my cheek, forcing myself not to react.
The longer I sat there, the heavier the air around felt. I wasn’t sure if it was the suffocating perfu of desperation or my irritation bubbling beneath the surface.
Eventually—finally—the conversation died down. The check arrived, and everyone reluctantly agreed to call it a night.
Before anyone could utter another word, I grabbed my bag and stood. "I’ll head out first," I said quickly, quiet but firm. I didn’t wait for their goodbyes; I didn’t wait to see their disappointed looks.
They were too busy watching the Hot Chef anyway.
Good.
I walked away from the table, keeping my pace steady even as my heart thudded uncomfortably in my chest. I didn’t know why Jack Morigan, my ex, would make it. I still feel this way
And the worst part? Sohow, I wasn’t sure if it was annoyance or sothing else entirely.
I was walking back toward my hotel, trying to enjoy the quiet of the night. The air was cool, the streets were mostly empty, and for once, Paris felt calm—almost peaceful.
But that peace shattered the mont I heard it.
Footsteps.
Slow at first... but steady.
I froze for half a second, then forced myself to walk faster, convincing myself it was nothing. Maybe another tourist is heading back late, just like .
But the footsteps matched my pace.
My chest tightened, my heart thundering against my ribs. I quickened my steps, but so did he. The sound of shoes hitting the pavent grew louder and closer. I didn’t dare look back.
Before I could think to run, a figure stepped in front of —blocking my path.
I stumbled back, eyes darting up to et his.
Tall. Broad-shouldered. Nothing was friendly in his face—just a twisted smile and eyes too dark to read. My gut scread danger.
"What’s your na, girl?" he asked, voice low and taunting.
Instinctively, my fingers curled tighter around my purse, knuckles turning white.
"I... Patricia," I blurted out the first na that ca to mind, my voice trembling.
He laughed—loud, mocking—as he shook his head. "Patricia, huh?" he sneered. "You think I’m stupid? Even you don’t believe that’s your na."
I swallowed hard, trying not to show the fear clawing at my throat.
"I’m just... interested in getting to know you," he said, his tone shifting—sharp, irritated. "Co on... the night’s still young. Let’s have so fun."
Before I could move, his hand shot out, fingers wrapping around my wrist in a bruising grip. I gasped, instinctively trying to pull away, but he held firm, his grin widening as he yanked a step closer.
Panic surged through .
"Let go of —"
"Leave my girlfriend alone!"
The voice rang out sharp, commanding, slicing through the night like a blade.
The man flinched, his head snapping toward the sound—his grip loosening just enough for to stumble back.
Within seconds, he released entirely and took off running, disappearing down a dark alley without another word.
I stood there, breathless, my heart racing as I tried to process what just happened.
"Thank you," I mumbled, my voice barely audible as I kept my gaze down, too shaken to look up.
But I knew that voice.
I knew who stood there.
Jack Morigan.
Silent. Steady. Protective.
At that mont, I wasn’t sure if I felt relieved or sothing far more dangerous, but I was grateful he was with .
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