Noah tried to focus on his work, but the moment Seraphine walked in, the air around him changed—thicker, sharper. His hands trembled slightly as he carried a tray of glasses toward her table, trying not to meet her piercing green eyes.
She watched him like a cat stalking a mouse.
As he reached the table, she smiled—slow, deliberate, and cold.
"Careful, Noah," she said, voice dripping with amusement as her fingers brushed lightly against his wrist.
He swallowed hard.
The touch was electric, but it sent a wave of panic through him. He pulled back slightly, heart pounding.
Every time Noah came to serve her table, she found new ways to touch him—an accidental brush on his shoulder, a playful grip on his arm, fingers tracing the line of his jaw. It was like she was marking him, reminding him that she was in control.
Noah wanted to run, to hide beneath his hoodie, but he couldn't. Not when she looked at him with those eyes—eyes that seemed to say, you belong to me.
The other customers watched, whispering behind their menus, but Noah was trapped in her game.
He didn't know if he hated it or craved it.