The restaurant was officially closed, and as I stood on the sidewalk outside, I watched the doors I'd walked through every day for months, now locked for good. It felt like I was leaving a part of myself behind. The weight of failure still hung heavy on my shoulders, but I knew I couldn't stay here forever, staring at an empty building.
Just as I was about to turn and walk away, the sound of a roaring engine cut through the quiet street. I looked up and saw Vanessa's red Ferrari pulling up to the curb. It was impossible to miss—sleek, shiny, and as bold as the woman who owned it. Vanessa's driver, a tall, serious-looking guy in a suit, stepped out and opened the back door for me. I couldn't help but feel a little out of place, standing there in my worn-out sneakers and hoodie, about to get into a luxury sports car.
I climbed in and saw Vanessa sitting inside, wearing a black designer dress that hugged her body perfectly. Her long, wavy black hair was styled elegantly, falling over one shoulder, and she looked like she belonged on the cover of a magazine. As always, she was calm, composed—like nothing in the world could rattle her.
"Hey," I said, trying to smile but feeling the weight of everything still pressing down on me.
She gave me that sweet, understanding smile that I had come to rely on. "Hey, darling," she said in that smooth Italian accent. "Come here, sit. You look like you've had a long day."
I sighed, sinking into the plush leather seat next to her. "Yeah... long doesn't even begin to cover it."
Vanessa tilted her head, studying me for a moment with those dark, piercing eyes. "I heard about the restaurant. I'm so sorry, Tristan."
I shook my head, leaning back against the seat. "It's not your fault. I just couldn't make it work. No matter what I did, it was like... the harder I tried, the worse it got."
She reached over and placed a hand on my knee, her touch gentle but firm. "You did your best. You gave it everything you had. That's all anyone can ask for."
I nodded, though her words didn't really make me feel any better. Failure still felt like failure, no matter how many times people told you it was okay. "Yeah, well... it still sucks."
Vanessa let out a small sigh, her fingers tracing light circles on my knee. "Of course it sucks. No one likes to fail. But you'll bounce back. You're not the type to give up."
I gave her a small, half-hearted smile. "I don't feel like that right now."
The Ferrari started moving, the engine purring softly as her driver took us away from the restaurant, away from the failure I'd left behind. I glanced out the window, watching the streets of LA blur by, feeling like I was floating through a world that didn't belong to me anymore.
Vanessa leaned back in her seat, crossing one leg over the other. "So... what's next for you?"
I shrugged, not really having an answer. "I don't know. I'm still trying to process everything. Feels like I need a break from... everything."
She smiled softly, nodding. "That makes sense. It's been a lot. You've been carrying all of this on your shoulders for months."
The driver navigated through the city streets with ease, the smooth ride doing little to soothe the tension in my chest. I knew Vanessa meant well, but the last thing I wanted was to be coddled. I felt like a kid who'd fallen off his bike, and everyone was telling me it was okay to cry—but I didn't want to cry. I wanted to scream.
"I just can't believe it's over," I said quietly, staring out the window. "I thought this was it, you know? My chance to finally make something of myself."
Vanessa's eyes softened, and she leaned closer to me, her voice low and comforting. "Tristan, you've already made something of yourself. The restaurant... it's just one chapter in your story. There will be others."
I turned to her, feeling a lump form in my throat. "What if there aren't? What if this was my shot, and I blew it?"
She reached up, cupping my face in her hand. "You didn't blow it. You took a risk, and that's more than most people ever do. And you'll take another one when you're ready. You're stronger than you think, darling."
Her words were comforting, but the doubt was still there, gnawing at the back of my mind. I wanted to believe her, wanted to believe that I could bounce back from this. But right now, all I could see was the wreckage of everything I'd worked for.
The car slowed to a stop in front of her penthouse, and the driver stepped out to open the door. I hadn't even realized we'd been driving for so long. Time felt strange when I was with Vanessa, like the world outside didn't matter as much when she was around.
"Come upstairs," she said softly, her hand still resting on my leg. "You need to relax. Get your mind off things."
I nodded, though I wasn't sure if I could really relax. My mind was racing, stuck in a loop of regrets and what-ifs. But Vanessa had a way of making everything feel just a little bit better, even if it was only temporary.
We got out of the car, and her driver gave me a polite nod as he closed the door behind us. Vanessa led the way into the building, her heels clicking softly against the marble floors as we made our way up to her penthouse.
As we stepped inside, the familiar scent of her perfume filled the air, and I felt a strange sense of calm wash over me. Her place was immaculate, as always—modern, sleek, and expensive. It was a world away from the chaos of the restaurant and the mess of my life.
Vanessa walked over to the bar and poured two glasses of wine, handing one to me as she settled onto the couch. "Come. Sit with me," she said, patting the spot next to her.
I joined her, taking a long sip of the wine, the rich flavor doing little to soothe the ache in my chest.
Vanessa rested her head on my shoulder, her voice soft as she spoke. "You know, Tristan... I'm proud of you."
I raised an eyebrow, glancing down at her. "Proud of me? For what? Failing?"
She smiled, shaking her head. "No. For trying. For putting yourself out there, for risking everything to chase your dream. That takes courage. And I'm proud of you for that."
Her words hit me harder than I expected, and for the first time in a long time, I felt a flicker of something like hope. Maybe she was right. Maybe failing didn't mean the end—it just meant that I'd taken a shot. And maybe, just maybe, there was another shot waiting for me down the line.
I let out a long breath, leaning my head back against the couch. "Thanks, Vanessa. I needed to hear that."
She smiled, resting her hand on my chest. "You'll be okay, darling. I know you will."
And for the first time in weeks, I started to believe her.
Q: Do you know how to speak Italian?