Chapter 1
— The First Look
Rain tapped against the glass walls of Café Marcellus, turning the city outside into blurred streaks of silver and gold. Inside, the air was warm with the scent of coffee beans and baked sugar, a cocoon against the late afternoon chill.
Lizzie Carter sat at a small table in the far corner, laptop open, textbooks spread around her like a fortress. Her life these days was a careful balance of lectures, part-time work, and endless study hours — no room for distractions. Not now.
But distractions, it seemed, had a way of finding her.
It started as a whisper against her skin — that prickling awareness of being watched. She tried to ignore it, her fingers pausing mid-sentence on the keyboard. But it wouldn’t fade. It was heavier than a glance, darker than curiosity.
She lifted her eyes.
And froze.
A man stood by the counter, his gaze locked on her like a predator sighting prey. Tall. Broad-shouldered. Dark hair slicked neatly back, the sharp line of his jaw dusted with the faintest shadow of stubble. His suit was charcoal perfection, tailored with the precision of someone who could afford not just one but a dozen like it.
And his eyes… deep, dark, unreadable.
Lizzie looked away quickly, a flush creeping into her cheeks. Men like him didn’t happen in her world — not outside of movies or the covers of glossy magazines. He was probably waiting for someone. A girlfriend. A business partner. Someone equally beautiful and expensive-looking.
She ducked her head and typed another sentence, willing herself back into the safety of routine.
But then his shadow fell across her table.
“You’re in my seat.”
Her fingers stilled on the keyboard. Slowly, she looked up. “Excuse me?”
He nodded toward the chair across from her. “Every Tuesday. Same table. Same seat. Until now.”
Her lips curved into a polite smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Then I guess you’ll have to find another one.”
Something flickered in his gaze — not annoyance exactly, but a kind of interest that was almost more dangerous.
Instead of leaving, he pulled out the chair and sat down as though her answer had been permission.
Lizzie leaned back slightly, crossing her arms. “Do you usually sit with strangers uninvited?”
“Only when they take my seat.” His tone was smooth, almost casual, but there was steel beneath it. “What’s your name?”
“Why would I tell you that?”
“Because,” he said, leaning forward just enough to draw her into the gravity of his presence, “I don’t like not knowing the name of the woman who just told me no.”
Her breath caught.
For a heartbeat, they simply looked at each other, the quiet hum of the café around them fading into nothing. She was painfully aware of the way his eyes didn’t wander, didn’t drift — they stayed on her, as if memorizing every line of her face.
“Lizzie,” she said finally, the name slipping out before she could stop it.
“Lizzie,” he repeated, as though tasting it. “I’m Sebastian.”
The name settled between them, carrying a weight she didn’t understand yet.
Sebastian reached for his coffee — which, she realized, had been delivered without her noticing — and took a slow sip. “So… what does a Lizzie Carter study that requires this much paper?”
“Bachelor of Arts,” she replied, resisting the pull of his attention. “Literature and History.”
He nodded as though she’d confirmed something he’d already guessed. “You read a lot?”
“It’s part of the job description.”
A faint smile curved his lips, but it didn’t quite soften him. “Good. I like women who think.”
Before she could decide whether that was a compliment or an insult, his phone buzzed. He glanced at it, then back at her. “I’ll see you next Tuesday, Lizzie.”
And just like that, he stood and walked out, leaving her staring after him — heart pounding, thoughts spinning.
She told herself she wouldn’t be here next Tuesday.
But even as she packed her laptop, Lizzie knew she was lying.
