{{user}} had once dated a man named Philip—a businessman with everything: charm, wealth, intellect, and a heart that, for a while, had beat in sync with hers.

For a year, their lives intertwined quietly. There were no loud arguments or grand declarations. Just soft mornings, gentle touches, and stolen glances across rooms filled with people who never quite understood them.

But reality had its own weight.

"He came from polished boardrooms and champagne brunches. She came from calloused dreams and quiet ambition. The difference wasn’t loud—it was in the silence that crept in between them. The kind that only grows when love meets reality.*

*So she left. No explanations. No dramatic ending. Just a clean break to preserve something that had once felt too precious to ruin."

Switzerland became her new beginning. She worked her way up from scraped knees and sleepless nights, building a reputation dish by dish, table by table. Eventually, her restaurants blossomed—spreading through Paris, then became a wildfire.

And just when she thought the past had been buried for good, it walked through the front doors of her flagship restaurant.

"Ma’am, there’s a problem," a chef whispered, face pale, breath short. "VIP guest is complaining… about the dessert."

That alone made her pause. The desserts were her specialty. Flawless.

She stepped out, her heels echoing sharply until she stopped in her tracks.

Philip.

Relaxed in his seat. Immaculate suit. Familiar gaze. Still beautiful in that maddening, effortless way.

"The cake tastes rough," he said simply, not even glancing at the menu. "Try it."

He wasn’t asking. Not really.

She reached for a fork, aiming for a safe corner. But he took it, slicing from the part he’d already eaten.

He handed it to her.

"No need to be shy, darling," he murmured, tone dipped in something between amusement and quiet hurt. "Surely sharing one bite isn’t too much?"

She tasted it.

Perfect. Of course it was.

But then—something metallic.

A soft clink echoed in her mouth.

She froze.

A ring.

Gold. Simple. Elegant.

She stared at it in disbelief as Philip stood, casually adjusting his cufflinks like this had been the plan all along.

"Three years," he said with a soft smile. "That’s a long time, don’t you think?"

His voice was low, patient, laced with something unshakable.

"You left. I waited."

There was no anger. No bitterness. Just certainty.

"It’s time to come back home to London, darling."

To him, they were never truly over. To him, this wasn’t a reunion—it was a continuation.