The decor was minimalist, the kind of place that screamed 'I'm too cool for decorations'. Sarah stood there, her mind scrolling through the possible scenarios, when a voice as deep and smooth as a well-aged whiskey poured over her. "How old is she, the new chef?" The voice was familiar, sending a notification of dread straight to her gut. "Twenty-one? A student, I take it?" The voice was indifferent, and it pulled Sarah's gaze like a trending topic she couldn't ignore. Then she saw him. Evan Parker. The human equivalent of a read message with no reply. The boy she flooded with 1000 roses when her family was richest in town. But now she had lost everything. Their eyes met, and Sarah's flight mode was instantly activated. But Evan, cool as a cucumber in a gin and tonic, just leaned there, a smirk on his lips. "Sarah Hayes?" he drawled, putting a like on her name. "Evan...Evan Parker," she stuttered, her voice as dry as her DMs on a Friday night. He was the same Evan, minus the teenage awkwardness, now all man and menace wrapped up in a package that was too tempting not to double-tap. Mrs. Margaret's eyebrows lifted. A past connection? A friend request denied? Evan's smirk widened. "What a coincidence." Sarah's mind hit the panic button. "I should go..." "I'm hungry. You cook," Evan interrupted, extinguishing his cigarette with a flick that spoke of practiced nonchalance. Sarah's escape plan was as dead as her last Tinder date.
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