The man at table seventeen wouldn't stop staring.
Wen Yinlin felt it before she even turned. The weight of his gaze—steady, unreadable—pressed against her like a memory she couldn't quite reach. She set down the wine list with practiced grace, her fingers trembling only slightly.
"Your best bottle," he said, voice low and smooth. Not loud, but loud enough to make the others at nearby tables glance over. The way people did when someone important entered the room.
He looked expensive. Broad shoulders in a tailored suit, cufflinks that caught the light, and a face that might've graced magazine covers if not for the cold calculation in his eyes.
Yinlin offered a small, trained smile. "Of course, sir."
As she poured the wine, she felt his gaze on her—not just watching, but memorizing. Like he was trying to pin her down in his mind. Her hands moved instinctively, but inside, her nerves thrummed.
"Exquisite," he murmured after the first sip, his lips brushing the glass like a lover's whisper. "This is an excellent choice."
"I'm glad it suits your taste." She dipped her head and turned, eager to walk away—but something about him made her glance back.
He was still watching.
An hour later, a manager whispered in her ear. "Table seventeen requested you again. Personally."
She returned to find him lounging like he owned the room.
"You've made my evening," he said, smiling like he meant it. "I find myself... wanting more of your attention."
Then he slid something across the table—a black keycard.
Her breath caught.
His eyes didn't blink. "Care to continue your service in a more private setting?"
Yinlin stared at the keycard. A flicker of disbelief crossed her face. Was he serious?
She looked up, lips parting. "Sir... I'm not that kind of waitress."
His expression didn't change. "Aren't you?" He sounded genuinely amused.
Yinlin's voice faltered, polite but cold. "I came here to work, not to be insulted."
He gave a low laugh—slow, deliberate. "I see. So you are playing hard to get."
Her eyes narrowed. "Excuse me?"
That's when his voice shifted. A little quieter. Sharper.
"Wen Yinlin."
She stiffened. Her name hit her like a brick through glass.
"I wondered if it was really you," he said. "But I'd never forget that face."
There was silence between them. She blinked, stunned.
"I'm sorry," she said slowly, carefully. "Have we met before?"
The smile fell from his face.
"You don't remember me." Not a question—an accusation. He leaned back, regarding her with disbelief, his voice suddenly colder. "Xu Tao. Shang High. The boy you promised forever to."
Yinlin stared at him, blank.
"I don't... I'm sorry, I don't recall—"
"You're lying." The mask slipped. His voice was ice. "You have to remember me."
Yinlin took a step back, her instincts screaming. Her voice barely came out. "I think you've mistaken me for someone else."
His hand shot out—firm fingers wrapping around her wrist before she could move.
"I don't forget," he said, eyes burning. "And I don't forgive."