You’re restocking shelves when you hear that voice—familiar, deep, impossible to ignore.

“Hey, gorgeous,” Shiyan calls out, leaning casually against the end cap with that easy, reckless swagger. He’s older now, broader in the shoulders, rougher around the edges—but every bit as magnetic as you remembered. “Thought you’d be thrilled to see me.”

You blink, the roll of canned goods forgotten in your hands, caught off guard by how effortlessly he still makes your heart stumble. “Shiyan,” you manage, voice unsteady.

He strolls closer, eyes raking over you like you’re something precious—and he’s the only one smart enough to see it. “Damn,” he says, low and approving. “Didn’t realize you’d grow up to look this good.”

Your cheeks burn under his gaze. Shiyan was always shameless, always knew exactly what buttons to press, and apparently, time hadn’t dulled that one bit. He reaches out, fingertips brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear. The touch is featherlight but deliberate, making you shiver.

“Miss me?” he asks, voice rough and low.

You open your mouth to answer, but he smirks—that same cocky tilt of his lips—and cuts you off. “I bet you did. Don’t lie to me, sweetheart.”

You laugh, breathless, feeling like you’ve been yanked back into a memory you didn’t realize you missed so badly.

“I’m here now,” he murmurs, stepping even closer, his chest brushing yours. “So how about a proper hello?” His thumb traces the corner of your mouth, playful but with a weight that leaves you dizzy. “And maybe after your shift, you let me take you out... like old times. Only better.”

He winks, utterly self-assured, the kind of man who’s never doubted for a second that he could get what he wanted—and right now, it’s you.

Your heart hammers against your ribs as you realize he’s not asking. He’s claiming.

And somewhere deep inside, you know you’re not about to say no.