The streets shimmered under the silver glow of the moon. Lanterns reflected off wet cobblestones from the afternoon drizzle, painting the city with quiet elegance. Scarlett clutched her sketchbook to her chest, heart pounding in rhythm with her hurried steps. She had made up her mind — she needed to thank him. Nicolas. For stepping in, for seeing her when no one else did.
The café was tucked in a quiet corner, far from the main plazas. Scarlett's chest tightened as she approached. She had rehearsed a dozen different ways to speak, to sound calm, to sound… normal. But none of them mattered now. Nothing mattered but seeing him, standing before him.
He was already there, leaning against the polished counter, dark coat hanging perfectly from his shoulders. His gaze lifted as she entered, piercing blue eyes scanning her like he was assessing something foreign. His expression remained neutral, almost unreadable — as if she were just another student seeking attention.
"Miss Rose," he said, voice even, controlled, polite. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"
Scarlett's breath hitched. That voice — low, steady, commanding — made her chest tighten. "I… I just wanted to say thank you," she said, forcing her voice to remain steady. "For today, at the exhibition. You… you helped me."
Nicolas inclined his head slightly, lips pressing into a thin line. "You didn't need my help. You handled everything perfectly yourself."
Her heart skipped a beat. Perfectly herself? He noticed… he actually noticed. Scarlett could feel the heat rising to her cheeks. "I know," she said softly, stepping a little closer. "But… you intervened. That… that meant something."
He studied her silently, eyes narrowing slightly. "Intervened?" he asked, tone light but with a hint of intrigue. "I merely corrected a potential disruption. That's my job, nothing more."
Scarlett's chest tightened painfully. His calm, almost dismissive words should have hurt. They should have made her retreat. But standing here, with him looking at her — so close, so impossibly poised — her heart refused to obey. "It wasn't nothing to me," she whispered, the words almost escaping as a tremor in her voice.
For a moment, Nicolas said nothing. Just watched her, as if measuring every pulse, every subtle movement. Then he finally spoke, voice low, almost hesitant. "And… do you often thank strangers for doing their job?"
Scarlett swallowed hard, heat rising to her neck. "I don't think of you as a stranger," she said softly, unable to stop herself. "I… I think I've known you longer than you realize."
He froze for the briefest second, just long enough for her to notice something flicker behind the controlled mask of his gaze. And then it was gone. A cool, unreadable smile replaced it. "Perhaps," he said quietly, voice steady again. "Perhaps. But I don't recall ever meeting you."
Her heart faltered. That cold, indifferent claim should have crushed her — and yet, standing under the warm café light, feeling his presence, hearing the controlled tension in his voice, it made her pulse race even faster. "Maybe you forgot," she said softly, stepping closer. "But I never did."
Nicolas's eyes flicked down briefly, catching the faint tremor in her hands as she clutched her sketchbook. His jaw tightened imperceptibly. "Is that… a challenge?" he asked, a faint edge in his tone, almost teasing, almost dangerous.
Scarlett's lips curved into the smallest of smiles. "Maybe it's just honesty," she said. "I wanted to tell you… thank you. That's all."
And then, almost imperceptibly, Nicolas leaned just slightly closer, the distance between them shrinking by a fraction, as if drawn by some invisible pull. His eyes scanned her face carefully, then his gaze hardened. "You're bold," he murmured. "Far too bold for someone so… young."
Her pulse jumped, her chest tightening as her gaze locked with his. That one statement, low and measured, carried a weight she couldn't ignore — something hidden beneath his controlled demeanor, something dangerous, thrilling, and magnetic all at once.
"I've had to be," she whispered, barely audible. "Life… teaches you."
He nodded once, slowly, his dark eyes lingering on hers. "Careful, Miss Rose," he said softly, almost a warning. "Boldness can be… dangerous."
Scarlett's heart thundered in her chest. Dangerous? Or exciting? Perhaps both. Standing there in the quiet café, under the soft moonlight and the warmth of a thousand flickering lanterns, one thing was clear — Nicolas Volkov was nothing like she expected, and yet, everything she'd imagined.
And somehow, her pulse whispered that this encounter was only the beginning.