The soft patter of rain began to fall. Vincent hadn't even noticed when it had started, only feeling the cool droplets against his skin as one trickled down his hand.
His fingers hovered over the railing, tracing the damp surface. The rain was gentle, almost hesitant, like a memory whispering itself back into existence. His gaze softened as he reached out, letting a few droplets fall onto his open palm.
There was something oddly nostalgic about it—this rain. It was the quiet kind. The kind that carried the scent of wet earth and stirred long-buried memories.
And just like that, it all came rushing back to him. The rain. The library. The first time he had seen her.
It was raining that day, just like today. He had been sitting at the farthest desk of the high school library, the one by the large window where the soft patter of raindrops fell against the glass. It was a peaceful sort of day, the kind where time melted, and all that existed was the scent of old books and the steady beat of rain.
That's when she walked in. Eve Windsor.
She wasn't remarkable in the way most people would think. There was no grand entrance, no spotlight. Just a girl, slightly damp from the rain, her long brown hair glistening as droplets clung to the ends, and her cheeks flushed from the cold. She wore a sky-blue sweater, the color soft and comforting, almost as if she had carried the calm of the rain with her.
But it wasn't what she wore that had caught his attention—it was her presence, her innocence. Eve made her way to the bookshelf, her fingers trailing along the books. There was a softness to her, something about the way her brow furrowed in concentration as she chose a book, or how her lips parted just slightly when she found what she was looking for.
Vincent had never believed in moments like this—those fleeting, intangible feelings that seem too perfect to be real. But watching her back then, the rain casting a soft glow through the library windows, it felt like time had shifted, like the world outside was no longer important. All that mattered was her, standing there, lost in her own little world.
Eve took the seat next to him, the only one left, her book held gently in her hands. She never looked at him, never even seemed to acknowledge his presence. But to him, she was everything in that moment—the embodiment of the quiet beauty of the rain outside, the serenity that he had always craved.
Vincent quickly averted his gaze, pretending to read, but his heart was no longer in it. Nervously, he peeked at her from the corner of his eye, trying to gauge her reaction, but she was engrossed in her reading. Her delicate features framed by her long hair.
Should I say something? Introduce myself? But every time he considered it, self-doubt washed over him. What if she thinks I'm silly? What if she doesn't even want to talk to me?
He had wanted to say something, anything, to break the silence that suddenly felt overwhelming. But the words never came. Instead, he had stayed there, pretending to read, while every fiber of his being was focused on her—the way she brushed her hair behind her ear, how her fingers moved delicately across the pages, the soft sound of her turning the page.
Suddenly, the bell rang, signaling the end of the school day.
Eve stood up, gathering her belongings. He watched, helplessly, as she walked away.
The rain continued to fall outside.
~~~~~~~~~~~
Vincent blinked, pulled back to the present by the feel of the rain growing heavier against his hand. The memory had come rushing back so vividly, as if the years hadn't passed at all. And yet, so much had changed. He had changed.
But Eve… she had changed more than he could have imagined. The girl he had watched from afar, with that soft, untroubled expression, was gone. Replaced by a woman burdened by something far deeper, far more painful. The lightness that had once surrounded her seemed to have vanished, leaving her shadowed, broken in ways he hadn't expected.
He let his hand fall, fingers curling into a fist as the rain continued its soft patter. This was not how he had imagined their paths crossing again. Not after six years of silent longing, of wondering what could have been. Seeing her like this—so distant, so hurt—it stirred something in him, something that went beyond just nostalgia.
But Vincent knew now wasn't the time to say anything. She didn't remember him. She didn't even know he had existed back then. To her, he was just a stranger on a terrace in the rain.
And yet, he couldn't shake the feeling that somehow, this moment mattered. That after all these years, maybe, just maybe, the rain had brought them together for a reason.
A part of him wanted to reach out, to be the boy who had admired her quietly from a library desk, the boy whose heart had fluttered at the sight of her. But that boy was gone.
He was Vincent Marotti now.
The feared and revered heir to the Marotti empire. The man whose name was whispered in darkened alleys, whose very presence could strike fear into even the most hardened criminals. The Marotti empire didn't just rule over the business world; it controlled the shadows—the underworld, the unspeakable deals made behind closed doors, the bloodstains that couldn't be washed away.
And Vincent? He wasn't the kind to leave blood unspilled when it was needed. The darkness had wrapped itself around him long ago, molding him into something dangerous, something cold. Sinful.
His hands were no longer those of an innocent boy; they had touched things, done things, that could never be forgiven.
Vincent glanced down at his hand, the rain washing over it as if attempting to cleanse something far too deep to be removed. His lips curled into a slight, bitter smile.
Softness was a luxury he couldn't afford. Mercy? Compassion? Those were the kinds of things that got you killed in his world. He had learned early on that in his world, emotions were a weakness, and weakness was deadly.
But Eve…
Eve had always been the exception. She was the one thing, the one person, who had stirred something within him that was neither violent nor calculated.
Even as he had risen through the ranks of the Marotti empire, even as his hands became stained with sin, Vincent had never been able to forget her. The girl in the blue sweater, the girl who hadn't known he existed, had haunted him.
The Vincent she hadn't known—was dead. His world was too dark, too dangerous for someone like her. He couldn't let her see the man he had become—the sinful, blood-stained shadow of the boy she never knew.
Still, his gaze lingered on the spot where she had stood. His heart, hardened by years of cruelty, throbbed with an unfamiliar ache.
She was the one crack in his armor—the one softness he hadn't been able to erase. And that terrified him.
But if there was one thing Vincent knew for sure, it was that the past had a way of coming back, no matter how hard you tried to bury it.