Chapter 3: You’re my wife
Ella blinked, momentarily forgetting how to breathe.
How did this man know her name?
Her fingers tightened around the edges of the counter, a subconscious act of self-preservation. She had spent the last few years trying to be invisible, to blend into the background, to avoid drawing attention to herself—because attention usually meant trouble.
And yet, here he was.
Tall, refined, and dangerously composed. A man who didn’t belong in this café, not among the scent of burnt coffee and the hum of an old espresso machine. He looked like he belonged in boardrooms, on the covers of business magazines, standing next to a woman in a designer gown at some charity gala.
Not here. Not in front of her.
Mia nudged her subtly, eyes wide with interest. Ella swallowed, trying to find her voice. "How... do you know my name?"
The man tilted his head slightly, as if studying her. "It doesn’t matter here. Can we talk?"
Ella hesitated. Every instinct screamed at her to say no.
But she was too curious. Too desperate for something—anything—that wasn’t the suffocating cycle of her life.
"Fine," she said quietly, untying her apron. "Give me five minutes."