Stacy POV:
Stacy didn't expect to see him again.
Not here.
Not in August's apartment.
The file slipped slightly in her hand when she stepped out of Celine room and nearly collided with a solid chest.
"Careful."
That voice.
She looked up.
And her stomach dropped.
Him.
The infuriating, arrogant, too-calm stranger from her grandmother's birthday breakfast weeks ago.
The one who corrected her every single time. The one who told her she was "impatient." The one who had smiled like he knew something she didn't.
"You?" she said flatly.
Julian blinked once, then recognition hit.
"…You've got to be kidding me."
The silence that followed wasn't polite.
It was thick.
Because the last time they'd seen each other, it had not ended well.
Flashback, Weeks ago.
Her grandmother had insisted she attend.
"Come early," the old woman had said. "There's someone I want you to meet."
Stacy arrived ten minutes late.
Already irritated.
Already juggling work calls.
She walked into the private breakfast hall expecting quiet.
Instead, she found a tall man sitting comfortably at her grandmother's reserved table, sipping tea like he belonged there.
"Excuse me," she had said sharply. "This table is reserved."
He looked up calmly. "I know."
"And yet you're sitting in it."
"Yes."
The audacity.
"I'm waiting for someone," he added.
"So am I."
They stared at each other.
Neither moving.
Neither backing down.
He finally stood, slowly.
"You must be Stacy."
Her brows snapped together. "And you must be confused."
That's when her grandmother walked in.
And her entire expression changed.
"Julian!" the old woman beamed, arms open wide.
Stacy had never seen her grandmother move that fast.
She hugged him like he was blood.
Like he was hers.
"My good boy," her grandmother had said proudly. "The one I told you about."
Told you about.
It clicked.
The boy her grandmother used to praise. The one who studied hard. The one who never complained. The one who "carried himself like a man despite losing everything."
The orphan she had quietly supported while Stacy was studying abroad.
Stacy remembered the feeling in her chest then.
Displacement.
Confusion.
A strange flicker of jealousy she hated admitting.
And Julian?
He had looked at her that day with something between amusement and challenge.
And they had argued through half of breakfast.
About punctuality. About attitude. About "city arrogance," as he'd called it.
It ended with her leaving early.
Badly.
Back to present.
Now he stood inside August's apartment.
Watching her.
"You know August?" she asked slowly.
Julian folded his arms.
"You know August?"
Her mind was racing.
Her grandmother's golden boy.
Here.
In her Augusts apartment.
The world suddenly felt smaller.
"I didn't know you two were connected," she said carefully.
A muscle ticked in Julian's jaw.
"Yeah," he replied evenly. "We are."
That tone.
Not friendly.
Not hostile.
Just… complicated.
She clutched the file tighter.
"Small world," she muttered.
"Not small enough, apparently."
Her eyes narrowed. "Excuse me?"
He stepped aside slightly, but not before adding:
"You still don't listen before reacting, do you?"
There it was.
That same spark.
That same irritation.
And beneath it?
Recognition.
History.
Unfinished tension.
She walked past him stiffly.
But just before she reached the door, she turned.
"Next time you're waiting for someone," she said coolly, "try not to sit like you own the place."
Julian's lips curved faintly.
"Next time," he replied, "try not to assume you do."
She left.
But this time, her heart wasn't racing from anger alone.
And Julian stood there longer than necessary.
With a smile on his face.
***
Celine perched on the kitchen counter, her chin resting on her hand, eyes half-lidded in thought. The soft hum of the refrigerator was the only sound… until August stepped into the doorway, that familiar mischievous grin tugging at his lips.
He didn't say a word. Instead, he moved closer, brushing a hand along her cheek, tilting her face toward his. His lips captured hers in a soft, teasing kiss, and she let out a small, breathy laugh.
Before she could protest, August scooped her up, cradling her in his arms as he carried her to the living room. "Careful," she murmured, a flutter in her chest, "Liam's asleep upstairs."
"I know," he whispered, his voice low, "which means the night is ours."
Once on the couch, he leaned back, still holding her, and with a playful smirk, he tugged off his shirt. The glow of the lamp caught the sculpted lines of his chest and arms, and Celine couldn't hide the impressed smile tugging at her lips.
"You're impossible," she whispered, tracing a finger along his shoulder.
"I know," he said, grinning, pressing a soft kiss to her cheek, then the curve of her jaw, and finally the tip of her lips. Then, almost deliberately, he kissed the hollow of her neck, nipping lightly, making her gasp. Her breaths grew shallow, mingling with his, hearts racing in a shared rhythm.Hands tangled in his hair, Celine tilted her head, letting him explore with kisses along her cheeks, neck, and jaw. August's lips were relentless, each touch leaving her breathless, each kiss a silent promise.
"August…" she whispered between hard breaths, laughter and desire mingling.
He grinned against her skin as her hands traced the lines of his shoulders as August whispered little teasing words against her skin, a mix of affection and desire. Every glance, every touch, every playful kiss felt electric, like the world had shrunk down to just the two of them
By the first hints of dawn, they were still wrapped around each other, limbs entwined, breaths mingling, smiles soft but knowing. The world outside no longer existed; there was only them, engulfed in their desire, lost in their connection, and completely absorbed in the love and longing.