Summer's POV
I sat in class, looking more radiant than I ever had in my life. The red dress Frances picked turned out to be a brilliant choice. It hugged my figure just right—not too revealing, but bold enough to command attention. I had touched up my makeup just enough to look fresh, polished. The comments and stares confirmed it. I wasn't just beautiful today—I was noticeable.
Still, my mind wasn't in the lecture. I kept zoning out, replaying the thought over and over: Why does Peter Greek want to meet me?
He must be scouting. That's the only logical reason. He had watched the play last night, seen my performance. Maybe he saw something in me. Talent. Potential. A future.
The lecture ended without me realizing. Students packed up, chatting in clusters, and I quickly grabbed my bag and rushed out.
"She's a goddess."
"Lucky guy, whoever's with her."
I heard whispers as I passed, my cheeks heating despite myself. Compliments had never made me shy—until today. Because beneath the excitement was a flicker of guilt. I hadn't told Fred yet.
I pulled out my phone in the cab. Should I text him now? No… I'll talk to him after. He'll understand. He has to. I convinced myself again and again, even though my heart knew better.
"We're here, miss," the cab driver said, pulling me out of my spiral.
I paid him, adjusted my dress, took a deep breath, and stepped out. Jefferson Restaurant towered before me—one of the most elegant places in town, and definitely the most expensive. Everything about it screamed wealth, exclusivity, power.
The cool mint-scented air from inside hit me as I opened the glass door. Conversations softened when I walked in. I could feel the weight of stares, the quiet buzz of curiosity. My heels clicked against the marble floor as I navigated past tables.
Peter had texted me last night—table 25, VIP section.
The VIP lounge felt like a different world entirely. Dim lights, velvety chairs, and sparkling chandeliers. That's when I saw him—Peter Greek. Dressed in a crisp white shirt, designer watch glinting under the light, sunglasses perched lazily on his collar. He looked exactly like he did on-screen: tall, magnetic, effortless.
"Hi," I said softly, giving a little wave. I clutched my mini handbag like a shield. For some reason, I was suddenly shy.
Peter stood up and pulled out a chair for me. "Nice to see you again," he said with a charming smile.
I blushed. A celebrity just pulled my chair out. This is real.
Before I could sit, a familiar voice cut through the air.
"Summer?"
I froze.
My heart stopped. That voice—I knew it better than my own thoughts.
I turned and saw Fred standing just a few feet away, his eyes wide, hurt, confused. His waiter apron hung loosely from his waist. His tray trembled slightly in his hand.
"Fred..." I whispered.
His jaw tightened. He didn't say another word. He turned and walked away.
I sat down slowly, feeling my stomach twist. I wanted to run after him. I wanted to explain. But this—this moment—meant something for my future. Didn't it?
****
Peter's POV
"Do you know him?" I asked, raising a brow as I watched the waiter storm off like a betrayed lover.
Summer's beauty hit differently in person. That smooth skin, those wide, honest eyes. The kind of girl you don't just look at—you study her. The kind of girl people write songs about.
She nodded, her voice low. "He's my boyfriend."
I leaned back. Boyfriend. That was going to make things interesting.
"Oh," I said casually. "Didn't think a girl like you would date a waiter."
Her expression tightened, and I knew I had struck a nerve.
"So," she asked, shifting the tension, "why did you want to meet with me?"
I smiled. Time to play the game. "I have an offer," I said, keeping my tone light but intriguing.
She leaned forward, interest returning to her eyes. "What kind of offer?"
"Let me ask you something first," I said. "Do you want to be a star? A real actress? Recognized, booked, living the dream?"
"Yes," she said without hesitation. "I'd do anything to achieve that."
I let the moment stretch, made sure I had her full attention.
"Then marry me."
Her smile fell.
"What?"
"Be my wife. I'll make you a star overnight. I can open doors for you, Summer—doors your boyfriend could never even knock on."
Silence.
"No," she said firmly, her voice steady now. "I have a boyfriend. And I love him."
I arched a brow. "The same guy serving tables while you dine here?"
"That's enough," she said, pushing her chair back.
She turned to leave, and I reached out to stop her. Her arm tensed beneath my hand.
"Wait—please," I said quickly. "That's not all I brought you here for."
****
Summer's POV
I should've walked away. I wanted to. But something about the desperation in Peter's voice made me pause. He was still holding my wrist, not forcefully, but just enough to make me feel caught.
"Sit down, Summer. Please."
I sat, reluctantly.
"I wasn't lying about the opportunity," he said. "There's a major production coming up. I'm co-starring in it. The director is looking for a fresh face for the female lead. I think you'd be perfect. You've got the fire, the emotion. I'll personally recommend you."
He pulled out a card and slid it across the table.
I stared at it. On it was the address of the audition venue, the date—barely a month from now. It looked official.
"I meant it. I see talent in you," he said, leaning back. "And I'm sorry for how I started this. I just got carried away."
I stood slowly, picking up the card. My heart was still pounding, but I managed to whisper, "Thank you."
He nodded.
Without another word, I walked away, the card trembling slightly in my hand.
As I reached the exit, my eyes scanned the restaurant—and landed on Fred.
He was back at work, wiping down a nearby table. Our eyes met for a split second. His face was blank, unreadable.
I looked away first.
Clutching my purse, I walked faster, the weight of guilt dragging behind every step.
I should've told him.
But now... it might already be too late.
To be continued. .....