Nolan POV:
Nolan had been sitting in the car for hours.
The engine was off, the night air growing colder as the city slowly shifted from evening rush to late, night calm. Still, he didn't move.
Across the street, August's restaurant glowed like a jewel in the dark.
Warm golden lights spilled through the tall glass windows. Inside, the place looked flawless, polished tables, elegant chandeliers, waiters moving smoothly between guests. Laughter drifted faintly through the glass every time the door opened.
Nolan watched everything.
Every server.
Every customer.
And most importantly… August.
He saw the way August moved through the restaurant with quiet confidence, greeting guests, checking dishes, speaking calmly to his staff.
Like he owned the world.
Nolan's jaw tightened.
His fingers tapped slowly on the steering wheel.
"So this is your life now," he muttered to himself, eyes still fixed on the restaurant. "I see why you left me."
His gaze dropped briefly to the photograph resting on the passenger seat.
Celine's smiling face stared back at him.
For a moment, the only sound inside the car was Nolan's slow breathing.
Then he reached for the door handle.
Across the street, two men leaned casually against another car, pretending to scroll through their phones. They didn't look at Nolan directly, but they were waiting.
Nolan stepped out of his car and crossed the street.
The restaurant door opened with a soft chime.
Inside, the scent of garlic, tomato sauce, and fresh bread filled the air.
Perfect.
Too perfect.
Nolan walked straight to a table and sat down without waiting to be seated, the chair scraping loudly against the floor.
A server approached cautiously.
"Good evening, sir—"
"I want spaghetti," Nolan snapped.
The server blinked. "Of course, sir."
"And make sure the oil is fresh," Nolan added sharply. "I'm a very picky eater. I don't tolerate sloppy kitchens."
Nearby diners began glancing over.
When the dish finally arrived, Nolan twirled the spaghetti slowly on his fork. He took one bite.
Then suddenly spat it out onto the plate.
"What is this?!" he shouted, slamming his hand on the table.
The entire restaurant went quiet.
"I asked for spaghetti! Is this what I pay for? This is nonsense!" Nolan barked loudly. "This tastes like vomit!"
Staff froze.
Customers stared.
August stepped forward from across the room, calm despite the tension.
"Is there a problem, sir?" he asked evenly.
Nolan stared at him.
Up close now.
Studying him.
"So you're August," Nolan said slowly.
August didn't react, but something in his eyes sharpened.
"I'm sorry about the dish," August said, placing a fresh plate in front of him. "Please, try this one. And I recommend pairing it with this wine. It's from a small vineyard in Tuscany, harvested in 2019. It complements the sauce very well."
He poured a small glass.
Then added quietly, "And if I may ask… please be a little kinder to my staff. They're doing their best."
Nolan stared at him for a moment.
Then gave a thin smile.
"I see," he muttered.
He stood up suddenly, pushing the chair back.
"I've lost my appetite."
Without another word, he walked toward the door.
Outside, the night air felt colder.
Nolan stepped onto the sidewalk and lit a cigarette, the flame briefly lighting his face.
Across the street, the two men looked up.
Nolan didn't say a word.
He simply flicked the ash from his cigarette… and gave the smallest nod.
The men immediately moved.
Moments later,
CRASH.
Glass shattered inside the restaurant.
Tables flipped.
Wine bottles smashed against the bar, deep red liquid spilling across the floor.
Customers screamed as chaos erupted.
Inside the wreckage, August stood frozen for a second, realizing what was happening.
Outside, Nolan watched calmly from the street.
The cigarette burned slowly between his fingers.
***
Celine sat behind her desk, focused on her laptop. The soft tapping of her fingers on the keyboard filled the quiet room as emails and reports flashed across her screen. A cup of coffee rested beside her, forgotten as she concentrated on work.
For once, the evening felt peaceful.
Then the office door burst open.
"Celine!"
Stacy rushed in so quickly she nearly stumbled, her heels clicking sharply against the marble floor. Her face was pale, eyes wide with urgency, her phone clutched tightly in her hand.
Celine looked up immediately, frowning.
"Stacy? What is it?"
"You… you need to see this," Stacy said breathlessly, hurrying toward the desk.
Celine's frown deepened. She pushed her laptop aside as Stacy turned the phone toward her.
At first, Celine didn't understand what she was looking at.
Then her stomach dropped.
The screen showed August's restaurant.
But it didn't look like the elegant, glowing place she knew.
The front windows were shattered, jagged glass clinging to the frames like broken teeth. Police tape stretched across the entrance. Inside, chairs were overturned, tables flipped, and the floor was littered with shattered plates and wine bottles.
Deep red wine stained the floor like spilled blood.
People crowded the sidewalk outside while police officers moved through the wreckage.
A bold headline flashed above the image.
"Luxury Restaurant Vandalized in Late-Night Rampage."
Celine stared at the screen, her breath catching in her throat.
"No…" she whispered.
Her heart began pounding so hard it felt like it was echoing in her ears.
Before she even realized what she was doing, she was already on her feet.
Her chair rolled backward with a sharp scrape as she grabbed her coat. The phone was still clutched tightly in her hand.
"Celine—" Stacy called after her, startled.
But Celine was already moving.
She rushed out of the office, heels striking the floor in frantic, uneven rhythm. The hallway blurred past her, employees turning their heads in surprise as she hurried toward the elevator.
Her mind was racing.
August.
Was he there? Was he hurt?
The elevator felt too slow. Every second stretched painfully.
The moment the doors opened, she stepped out and hurried into the street.
The city roared around her—cars honking, people moving in every direction—but Celine barely noticed any of it.
She lifted a trembling hand.
"Taxi!"
A yellow cab screeched to a stop at the curb.
Celine pulled the door open and slid inside, breath still uneven.
"Downtown," she said quickly, naming the street where the restaurant stood.
The driver nodded and pulled into traffic.Celine sat forward in her seat, fingers trembling slightly as she pulled her phone from her coat pocket.
She dialed August.
The phone rang.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Her heart pounded harder with every second.
"Come on… pick up," she whispered under her breath.
But the call went to voicemail, Celine ended it quickly and tried again.
The same thing.
Still nothing.
A knot tightened in her chest as she stared down at the phone. Her fingers clenched around the phone as the taxi turned the corner onto the street.
And then she saw it.
The restaurant.
Police cars lined the curb, their lights flashing red and blue across the buildings. A small crowd had gathered on the sidewalk, murmuring as officers moved around the damaged entrance. The shattered windows caught the light like broken ice.
"Here," the driver said, pulling to the curb.
Celine barely waited for the taxi to stop fully before pushing the door open.
She hurried toward the scene, her heart racing as she scanned the chaos, and then she saw him.
August stood a few steps away from the entrance, speaking calmly with a police officer, one hand resting on his hip as he listened.
Relief flooded through her so suddenly it almost made her dizzy.
Before she could think, she was already moving toward him.
"August!"
He turned at the sound of her voice.
For a moment, surprise crossed his face. Then he saw her properly, her hurried steps, the way her hair had fallen loose from its neat style, the panic still written across her expression.
A small smile tugged at his lips.
Celine reached him, breath slightly uneven.
"Are you hurt?" she asked quickly, eyes searching him anxiously. "Why didn't you pick up your phone?"
August blinked, clearly caught off guard, his gaze slowly traveled over her disheveled appearance, the strands of hair out of place, the worry still clouding her eyes, the way she looked like she had run straight out of her office without stopping.
And then something softened in his expression.
He lifted his hands gently and cupped her cheeks.
"You were worried for me," he said quietly, a warm smile spreading across his face.
Celine frowned slightly, still shaken. "Of course I was."
Behind them, police radios crackled and officers moved through the wreckage of the restaurant.
But for a moment, neither of them seemed to notice.
Celine stared at him for a second longer, the tight knot in her chest finally loosening now that she could see with her own eyes that he was unharmed.
"Don't scare me like that again," she murmured, her voice softer now.
Before he could respond, she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him.
August instinctively pulled her close, one arm settling firmly around her shoulders. She exhaled deeply against him, the tension of the last frantic minutes finally spilling out in that quiet breath.
For a brief moment, the chaos around them faded, the flashing police lights, the murmuring crowd, the broken glass scattered across the entrance.
Then someone cleared their throat.
Loudly.
The police officer standing nearby shifted awkwardly and coughed again.
August slowly released Celine, though his arm remained loosely around her waist as he turned back to the officer.
"Sorry about that," he said calmly.
The officer gave a polite nod and flipped open his small notebook.
"Mr. August, we're going to need to ask you a few questions," he said. "Did you notice anything unusual before the incident? Anyone suspicious around the restaurant earlier tonight?"
August shook his head slightly.
"No direct threats," he replied, his tone steady. "Just a difficult customer earlier. Caused quite a scene inside before leaving."
The officer looked up. "Did you get his name?"
August shook his head.
"No. He didn't give one."
Beside him, Celine went very still.
Her mind began racing.
The penthouse.
The shattered glass.
Furniture destroyed.
Then now,
August's restaurant.
Wine bottles smashed.
Tables overturned.
The same kind of rage.
The same kind of message.
A cold realization crept up her spine.
Her eyes widened.
"Oh my God…"
Both August and the officer turned toward her.
"I think I have a clue," she said slowly, her voice tight.
August frowned slightly, studying her face.
"What clue?"
Celine's jaw stiffened as she forced the name out.
"Nolan."
The name meant nothing to August.
But the look on Celine's face told him everything.