Scarlett's heart thumped wildly as she watched him across the Roman Forum. Nicolas Volkov. The boy she had loved since childhood. The same boy who had disappeared ten years ago, leaving a hole in her heart she had never been able to fill.
Her chest tightened, and her breath caught. She wanted to run to him, throw herself into his arms, scream his name, let him know she had never, ever forgotten him. Excitement, happiness, and a flood of memories made her dizzy. He's here. He's really here.
Her legs moved almost on their own, carrying her across the plaza. Her notebook pressed against her chest, but she barely noticed it. Her eyes were fixed on him, every detail burning into her mind — the long fingers holding the wine glass, the black tuxedo that made him look untouchable, dangerous, and elegant all at once.
The sight of him made her childhood crush roar back into life. Every moment of longing, every secret smile, every daydream she had ever had about him — it all came crashing down on her at once. She had tried to move on. She had tried to forget him. But now, seeing him again, every feeling came back tenfold.
She drew closer, heart pounding, imagining finally saying his name, finally letting him see how much she cared. But then she saw his eyes.
Cold. Indifferent. No spark. No recognition. It was like he was looking through her, not at her. The boy she had loved with all her heart didn't even seem to know she existed.
Her stomach twisted, a sharp pang of hurt cutting through her. Did he really forget? Or… is he pretending?
Before she could think more, a new figure appeared from the entrance. Scarlett's gaze followed her automatically. Auburn hair, glowing under the sun, and a dark red gown that hugged every curve perfectly. The woman's presence was magnetic, commanding attention without a word. Heads turned, whispers spread, and even Nicolas' eyes flicked toward her.
Scarlett's chest tightened further. He walked toward the woman with ease, charm radiating from him as though he was completely in his element. She laughed softly at something he said, and he leaned closer, his hand brushing against hers. Every gesture was smooth, confident, completely deliberate.
And Scarlett felt like she had been stabbed.
A sharp twist of betrayal clawed through her. The boy she had loved for over a decade, the boy who had haunted her dreams, was smiling at someone else. He looked at her with that indifferent, unreadable gaze, and Scarlett felt her heart shatter into a thousand pieces.
But even as the sting of jealousy hit her, Scarlett straightened her shoulders. She wasn't wearing a flashy gown like the woman, but she was Scarlett Rose — strong, independent, confident in her own skin. Her beauty wasn't loud or showy, but it was there, subtle and incomparable. And more importantly, she had something no one else had: history with him. Memories, a connection that no red gown or confident smile could erase.
Scarlett clenched her fists slightly, fighting the urge to turn and run. Her chest was tight, her emotions raw, but a fire ignited inside her. No matter what, I'm not letting him slip away. Not this time. Not ever.
The crowd buzzed around her, but she barely noticed anyone else. Her world had shrunk to him — the boy she had loved since childhood, the man who had haunted her dreams for years, the man she still couldn't forget.
Taking a deep breath, Scarlett stepped forward. Her legs felt heavy, her heart racing like a drum, but she moved closer. Every step was a battle between fear and determination. Fear that he really had forgotten her. Determination that she would make him remember — or at least, she would make him see her.
Nicolas glanced up briefly, sipping his wine, his expression unreadable. Scarlett felt a strange pull, like a thread connecting them across time and distance. She didn't know if it was memory or fate, but she couldn't let go.
And then, as if sensing her presence fully for the first time, he turned slightly toward her. Just slightly. Indifferent eyes. A faint flicker of curiosity. Nothing more.
Scarlett's chest tightened. That small, indifferent look made her want to scream, to shake him, to make him remember everything — the laughter, the childhood games, the promises she had silently made to him all those years ago.
But she didn't. She swallowed hard, straightened her back, and walked closer. One step at a time. Heart in her throat. Every beat screaming her name, every memory pulling her forward.
Because she had waited ten years for this. And no woman in a red gown, no indifferent stare, no time lost could stop her now.