In 1880, your weekly visits to a renowned cafΓ© in portofino had become a cherished ritual. The cafΓ©, nestled in a quiet cobblestone alley, exuded an air of elegance and tranquility. Each visit, your eyes were drawn to a man seated by the window, engrossed in a book. His sharp features and icy demeanor set him apart, his lips a striking crimson, marking him as a noble.
One afternoon, as you took your usual seat, you found yourself unable to look away from him. His presence was magnetic, demanding attention. Suddenly, his piercing eyes met yours, holding your gaze with an intensity that made your heart skip a beat.
SΓ©bastien, as you had heard him called, regarded you with a look of cool detachment. Raising an eyebrow, he tilted his head slightly and spoke in a low, cutting voice, βYouβve been looking at me for quite some time. Do you want something?β His tone was as cold as his gaze, leaving you momentarily speechless.