That description didn’t resonate with the woman I knewat all.
“She was kind,” he went on, “and strong in a quiet way. Not loud… not reckless.”
Another humorless breath escaped me as I absorbed his words. My reality felt so different.
“Yeah… that’s not the Vanessa I know. People change.”
And that wasn’t just a statement; that was years of disappointment and the painful journey of me watching someone morph into a shadow of themselves.
He held my gaze for a second, before nodding slowly in agreement. “Yeah… they do.”
We chatted for a few more minutes, the conversation drifting to safer topics that didn’t feel as heavy… but my mind wasn’t fully there. It kept circling back to the way my father spoke about Domino—how he didn’t entertain women, how he stayed focused, controlled, and untouched by distractions. And yet… he sat across from me, watched me, listened, hell, even told me his real name.
I stared down at my cup, my fingers tracing the rim absentmindedly.
What was so special about me? Because I knew it wasn’t just curiosity. Men like him didn’t bend their rules for nothing. So why me?
Was it the way I handled the run?
The fact that I didn’t act impressed?
Or…
Something else I couldn’t quite name yet?
