"Victor! Where have you gone?" A woman's voice rang through the grand hall, sharp with frustration as she frantically searched for a boy.

Unknowingly, Victor hid under the table–full of food and pastries for their guests. The white tablecloth made it hard for Victor to be seen. 

Then the darkness surrounding Victor brightened up, causing him to look over with wide eyes. 

"Victor! Get out from under there. People are starting to arrive," his mother spoke firmly. 

Victor obeyed his mother and slowly emerged from under the table. He stood up, his face flushed with embarrassment, unwilling to meet his mother's gaze. 

"Look at me when I speak to you," she snapped, her cold gaze, disappointed. "You should be greeting the guests. This is an important event for the family. You're making a fool of us." 

He nodded quietly, his throat tight with the weight of her words. He had no choice. He had never had a choice. 

The party was loud, filled with clinking glasses and the hum of conversation. Victor stood off to the side, feeling detached from it all. His parents had always emphasized that perfection was the only acceptable standard. 

But that evening, amidst all the foreign faces and fake smiles, Victor noticed a child standing alone, nervously eyeing the extravagant display of wealth around him. Unlike the other children running around playing games and laughing, the boy stood apart, his dark eyes wide with uncertainty. 

Victor hesitated for a moment, then approached him. 

"Why aren't you playing?" he asked, his voice unusually quiet for a child his age—almost too polite. 

The boy blinked, unsure of how to respond. He was unfamiliar with the grandiosity of the event. 

"I don't know anyone," he mumbled, shifting his gaze to his shoes.

 "Don't worry," Victor said, offering a small smile "Just pretend to have fun. People like it when you pretend." 

The boy's gaze flickered with uncertainty but nodded silently. Before long, they were both swept up in the larger crowd of children. 

—

I slammed my locker shut, irritation still simmering from my morning. Another test score that wasn't good enough. Another silent, disappointed glance from my parents. 

I pulled my apron over my head, trying to push the weight of it off my shoulders. The flower shop was supposed to be my escape. Here, I wasn't Victor Castillo, heir to a legacy. I was just another worker, hands deep in soil and stems. 

"Victor, the flowers need arranging," Mrs. Yoon called from the front, pulling me out of my thoughts. 

"On it," I said, rolling up my sleeves.

From the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of movement outside. A guy stood just beyond the window, leaning lazily against the brick wall, cigarette in hand. He exhaled a slow stream of smoke into the cold air. 

I narrowed my eyes. 

Seriously? Right outside a flower shop?

I wiped my hands on my apron and pushed open the door. 

"Excuse me," I called out. "You can't smoke here." 

The guy didn't even glance my way. He took another drag and exhaled like I was part of the background noise. 

I stepped forward, crossing my arms. "It's a non-smoking area." 

Nothing. Just another slow inhale, another puff of smoke clouding the air between us. 

Okay. Now he was pissing me off. 

"I'm serious," I said, irritation creeping into my tone. "You can't just stand here treating the shop 

like it's some—some random street corner. Have some respect for the business." 

Finally, he turned his head. Dark eyes met mine, cool and unreadable. He studied me, dragging out the silence before responding. 

"And?" 

My eyebrows twitched. "And you need to stop." 

He took another slow drag, his gaze flickering over me like he was sizing me up, deciding if I was even worth a response. Then, without breaking eye contact, he exhaled, blowing a thick cloud of smoke directly into my face. 

With one last flick of his wrist, he dropped the cigarette, grinded it into the pavement with the toe of his shoe. 

I froze. The warm, bitter scent of tobacco curled around me, and my jaw clenched so hard I thought my teeth might crack. 

"Happy now?" he asked, voice laced with amusement.

I coughed, waving the smoke away, glaring at him. "Are you serious?" 

He smirked, letting out a giggle before turning away like I wasn't even worth another second of his time. 

I stood there, speechless. 

I wasn't used to being ignored. I wasn't used to people looking at me like I was the insignificant one. 

As he walked off, hands stuffed in his pockets, I exhaled sharply, pushing down the ridiculous urge to yell something after him. Instead, I went back inside, grabbing a bucket to refill the vases. 

I needed to let it go. 

But the scent of smoke still lingered in my hair, in my clothes. 

The shop was quiet again, save for the occasional soft jingle of the door when a customer walked in. I kept myself busy, arranging flowers, wiping down shelves, and checking the inventory. Anything to distract me. 

By the time my shift ended, the irritation had mostly faded. 

When I stepped out of the shop, the cool evening air hit me, and I immediately felt a sense of relief. The day was over, and I could go home, lock myself in my room, and forget about everything. 

As I got into the back of the car waiting for me, I stared out the window, watching the city pass by. The ride home was quiet. The city lights blurred past the tinted car windows, glowing against the dark like distant stars. 

As soon as we pulled up, the butler was already waiting. 

"Good evening, sir," he said, bowing slightly. 

I nodded as I stepped out of the car, the cool marble floors greeting my shoes. The maids were already inside, preparing dinner or cleaning, their footsteps a constant hum in the background. I went straight to my room, not bothering with dinner. I wasn't hungry. 

I threw myself onto my bed, staring up at the ceiling.

My mind immediately wandered back to the guy from earlier. 

I was supposed to forget about him, to shake off the annoyance, but it kept coming back, like some annoying fly I couldn't swat away.

Why did it bother me so much?

I never let people get to me. 

He wasn't like anyone I'd ever met. He didn't care about appearances, didn't seem to care about anything. Maybe that was what annoyed me the most. 

I rolled over onto my side, staring at the blank wall. I tried to push the thoughts out of my head, but they just kept swirling around. 

His face, the way he shrugged me off, the smirk on his lips like I was nothing. 

"Get it together," I muttered under my breath, closing my eyes. 

He's nothing. It doesn't matter.

I sighed, turning off the light and pulling the covers over myself. Maybe tomorrow will be different. 

But as sleep started to pull me under, his face lingered in the back of my mind. 

What the fuck..