Chapter Two – Handsome Stranger

MALIA

I whirled around, heart slamming into overdrive, sure I’d just been caught—by a guard, or worse. But what I saw wasn’t what I expected.

He wasn’t a guard.

At least he didn’t look like one. And God, he definitely didn’t look like he belonged here—not with that face. That body. That effortless confidence. Mid-twenties, maybe. And hot. Not cute-boy-in-math-class hot. No. He was dark, slick, and Spicy Romance Cover hot.

He stood with his arms folded, leaning lazily against the wall like he had all the time in the world. A navy-blue vest hugged a crisp white dress shirt, sleeves rolled to the elbows, forearms dusted in black ink that twisted like smoke across golden skin. His jawline was sharp enough to cut glass, and his hair slicked back like he’d just walked out of a boardroom—or a crime scene.

But it was his eyes that got me.

Sharp. Cold. Piercing.

They didn’t look at me. They looked through me. Like he already knew everything I was hiding.

I swallowed hard. Not out of fear—this was something else. Something hot and reckless that cracked down my spine like thunder. I suddenly felt too warm in my jacket.

He tilted his head, mouth curling in the faintest smirk. “See something you like?”

His voice was low and smoky. Smooth, but with an edge that cut straight through my breath.

“What? …No!” I said too fast. Too loud.

One brow arched. “Could’ve fooled me. You were staring.”

I crossed my arms. “You startled me. It’s not polite to sneak up on people.”

“I didn’t sneak.” He stepped forward. Casual. Confident. “You were just too focused on that building to notice.”

I opened my mouth, searching for a snarky comeback—but nothing came out.

He chuckled—low, smug, clearly enjoying himself. Teasing me.

And I hated that I didn’t hate it. That instead of rolling my eyes or snapping back, I felt warm all over—tingly and hot in ways I didn’t want to name. There was something about him. It wasn’t the cocky, grinning type of energy; it was quieter, sharper. He had that perfect resting bitch face—stone still, unreadable, like every emotion had been trained out of him.

But he’d smirked at me. And now he was laughing—actually laughing. Somehow, that felt like a win, even if I hadn’t done anything to earn it. Unless being utterly embarrassing counted.

“So…” he continued, voice lighter now, almost teasing. “What’s got you so interested in that place, huh?”

“That’s none of your business,” I snapped, straightening up, trying to make myself seem taller. Stronger. Unshakable, like he was.

“Fair,” he said with a slow nod. Then—without warning—he leaned in. Close. Too close. His face hovered inches from mine, and I could feel his breath ghost across my skin.

“Just not used to seeing someone like you down here.”

I narrowed my eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He tilted his head, gaze trailing down me—not in a gross way, but in a calculating one. Like he was reading a file, not a person. That smirk returned, curling his lip just enough to make me want to smack it off—or stare at it longer.

“You look… too innocent,” he said.

It didn’t sound like a compliment.

I wasn’t sure what it was, but it made my jaw clench.

I didn’t want to look like I belonged here. But I didn’t want him to think I couldn’t handle it, either.

Before I could snap back, movement caught my eye.

A cat. Scruffy, black, orange, and grey—though one of those patches might’ve been white once—slinked out from under a dumpster like it owned the street.

Without thinking, I bent down and scooped it up.

“Patch!” I gasped dramatically, clutching the confused animal to my chest. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you!”

I turned to him with my best innocent-girl smile. “That’s why I’m here. My cat ran away, and I was just out looking for her.”

He glanced from me to the scruffy feline, then back again.

“Patch, huh?”

“Yes,” I said, dragging the word out with exaggerated patience. “Because she has patches of different colors. Duh.”

And then—just as I was about to retreat behind the awkwardness—he did something completely unexpected.

He smiled.

Not a smirk. Not mockery.

Just… amusement. Like I was a puzzle he hadn’t expected to enjoy solving.

There was something dangerous in that smile.

It was something I didn’t understand—and deep down, I had the feeling I didn’t want to. Knowing felt dangerous. Safer to stay in the dark.

“Well,” I said briskly, brushing past him with the squirming cat in my arms. “I’ve got what I came for. If you’ll excuse me.”

But before I could pass, his hand closed around my arm—firm, not rough, but strong enough to stop me cold.

I froze.

His voice brushed against my ear like a whisper soaked in gasoline.

“This time I’ll let you off easy, mia principessa,” he said softly, the words laced with something razor-sharp beneath the velvet. “Next time… don’t risk lying to me.”

My stomach flipped, a cold wave rolling through my chest. It was a warning, yes—a threat, unmistakably—but buried inside it, there was something else. A promise, maybe. A claim.

I jerked my arm free, the movement more instinct than thought, and shoved him. Not hard enough to hurt, just enough to make it clear—don’t touch me.

My boots struck the pavement with sharp finality as I stormed away, heart hammering against my ribs, the cat flailing awkwardly in my arms.

I didn’t look back.

Not until the next corner, where I slipped behind a crumbling stone wall and pressed my spine against it, hoping its weight might ground me.

Carefully, I peeked out.

But he was already gone.

No footsteps. No shifting shadow. Just an empty street stretching ahead like he’d never been there at all.

I looked down at the cat, who blinked up at me with the kind of judgment only cats could pull off—equal parts unimpressed and exhausted. “Sorry,” I murmured, setting it gently on the ground.

It didn’t wait. With its tail flicking high, it vanished into the trash-stained dark.

But I didn’t move.

I stayed there, spine still pressed to the wall, legs frozen—like leaving meant facing something I wasn’t ready to name.

Because I could still feel his hand on my arm.

Still hear the way he said mia principessa

like he meant it.

And worst of all… I felt like I’d seen him before. Or a version of him.

That voice. That stare. That pull.

My heart thudded, too loud in my chest. I didn’t know who he was, but I had the sickest feeling that he knew exactly who I was.

I shook my head and slapped my cheeks once. I needed to focus. I still had to find my father… and figure out what he wasn’t telling me.

But the thought kept circling like a vulture.

I want to see him again.