Xavier didn't plan to stop by again.
Not really.
He told himself he'd forgotten the cufflink—told himself it was a simple excuse to retrace his steps, to linger in a place that somehow… didn't feel like the rest of his life.
His driver had offered to go back for it.
He'd refused.
There was no real reason he had to go in person.
But there he was anyway, standing in front of the little shop again.
Maybe he just wanted to see the progress on the dress. That was reasonable, wasn't it? Lilian would want to know.
Yeah I'm here because of "Lilian" he convinced himself.
Except when he stepped inside and met Amara's steady gaze, he realized he hadn't thought about the Lilian dress at all.
He'd just thought about her.
"How easy she was to talk to, how he feels relaxed and comfortable when he's in a conversation with her.
It was strange.
It wasn't that she was beautiful', not that he has given any thought to her beauty —though she was, in a sharp, no-nonsense kind of way. It wasn't her appearance that pulled him back. It was… something else.
Something about the way she looked at him like she wasn't impressed. Like he wasn't important. Like his wealth, his status, his entire name didn't move her in the slightest.
People didn't look at him that way. Not anymore.
Lilian didn't. His friends didn't. His employees certainly didn't.
But Amara… Amara had eyes like she could see right through the polished surface of him.
And she didn't like what she saw.
It unsettled him.
It intrigued him.
He didn't know why he wanted to talk to her. He didn't know why he let the conversation linger longer than necessary. He didn't even know why it slightly annoyed him that she hadn't bothered to ask his name the first time they met.
Most people wanted to know his name.
They wanted to connect it to something. To money. To power. To access.
But not her.
She made him say it aloud like it didn't carry weight. Like he was just… some man.
Xavier, she'd repeated, like the name didn't mean anything to her.
And it didn't.
He left the shop that day still unsure of why he'd gone there in the first place.
He told himself it was just about the cufflink.
He told himself he was only being polite.
He told himself he wasn't thinking about her.
He reminded himself—firmly—that he was getting married. That Lilian was waiting. That this was a temporary distraction.
And yet…
The more he replayed their conversation in his head, the more he noticed the little things. The way her voice never softened. The way she didn't try to make him stay, but she also didn't rush him out.
The way she challenged his words without blinking.
The way she said she didn't care how people saw her—and the way he almost believed her.
Most people pretended.
She didn't.
And maybe that's what stuck with him.
By the time he got back into his car, the cufflink felt too small to justify the visit.
But when his driver asked, "Did you find what you were looking for, sir?"
Xavier only answered, "Something like that."
He sat quietly as the car pulled away, tapping the fixed cufflink against his palm.
Something like that...