CHAPTER 61
ARIA
"Oh, look-Professor Lean is here," Mark said, surprise lacing his voice.
I froze, my brows knitting together.
Professor Lean?
The name alone made my chest tighten, a ripple of unease crawling down my spine.
For a moment, I didn't even want to look-I was afraid of what I might see.
But curiosity clawed at me, refusing to let go.
Slowly, almost against my will, I turned in my chair to follow Mark's gaze.
The instant my eyes landed on him, the air caught in my throat.
A soft, startled gasp slipped free before I could stop it.
It was him.
Or it looked like him.
The same man from yesterday.
The same sharp lines of his face, the same piercing presence that had unsettled me.
And now, impossibly, he carried the same name.
My pulse stumbled.
My mind scattered, tripping over itself, searching for logic.
No.
That was impossible.
It couldn't be.
But still... it was.
My fingers tightened around my water glass, the cool surface pressing hard against my palm as though it could steady me. But it didn't.
The harder I gripped, the more unsteady I felt, as if the glass was the only thing anchoring me to this moment.
Heat rushed to my face, not from embarrassment but from the sheer, dizzying shock of it.
My throat felt dry, my lips parting in disbelief as my pulse hammered in my ears.
What is happening?
Why does he look the same?
Why is his name the same?
I couldn't look away.
Mark pushed his chair back and stood, running a hand over his shirt as if to straighten himself, then strode a few steps across the restaurant with that easy confidence he always carried.
"Professor Lean!" he called out, his voice warm and open, the kind that made strangers feel instantly at ease. A grin tugged at his lips.
“What a surprise! I didn’t expect to see you here.”
Lean turned, posture impeccable, expression schooled into something unreadable.
“Are you alone?” Mark asked, closing the gap with another step, his voice light, inviting.
“You should join us—it’d be a great honour.”
For a moment, Lean didn’t answer.
His eyes studied Mark in silence, steady and unblinking, as if weighing him with some private calculation.
There was no hostility in his gaze, but neither was there warmth—just a quiet, measured assessment, like a man deciding whether the company was worth his time.
For a brief second, Lean’s gaze slipped past Mark and found me.
My chest constricted at once, breath catching before I could steady it.
His eyes met mine—cool, sharp, impossible to read. There was no spark of familiarity, no hint that he remembered me at all.
Just a measured glance, detached and deliberate, before he gave the slightest nod, as though I were nothing more than a formality to acknowledge.
It knocked the air from my chest. My pulse stumbled.
I forced myself to breathe, my fingers curling tighter around the glass, knuckles straining white.
A stupid part of me had hoped for… something.
A flicker.
The ghost of recognition.
But there was nothing—just that polite, cutting acknowledgement, as if I were no one.
As if I had been no one.
Then he turned back to Mark, the motion smooth and final, shutting me out without a second thought.
The dismissal was worse than a blow.
It left me hovering in the periphery of his presence, invisible, forgotten.
Mark, blissfully oblivious to the weight pressing on me, clapped him on the shoulder with easy warmth.
"Great, come on, this way."
I swallowed hard, the tightness in my throat making the cool sip of my drink burn sharper than it should.
My fingers twitched against the glass, a nervous little tremor I couldn’t quite control. I tried to steady it, wrapping both hands around the stem as though that might hide the shake.
With every step they took closer to the table, the air seemed to thin. My chest tightened, like I was bracing for something only I knew was coming—an impact no one else could see.
“Professor Lean, this is my colleague, Aria,” Mark said cheerfully, oblivious to the tension coiling in my chest. He gestured toward me with that same easy smile, bridging the introduction.
I set my glass down carefully, pushing to my feet with a practised politeness.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” I managed, extending my hand.
For a breath, I thought he might take it—but he didn’t.
His eyes flicked to my hand, then back to my face, cool and detached, before sliding away entirely as though I wasn't worth the courtesy.
The rejection was subtle, but it landed like ice water in my veins.
I lowered my hand slowly, forcing a polite smile as Mark chuckled lightly, trying to smooth over the moment.
“Come, sit with us,” Mark urged, already pulling out a chair beside him with an easy grin.
Lean’s mouth curved, but not at me—it was for Mark alone. “Of course,” he said evenly, his tone polite but distant.
He took the seat Mark had offered, his movements smooth, deliberate. And though I sat just across from him, it was as if I wasn’t even there—his attention fixed solely on my colleague.
Professor Lean sat across from us, though even seated, his body angled toward Mark, as if he’d been pulled into his orbit. His voice was steady, refined, every word measured—but every single one of them was for Mark. Not me.
With me, there was nothing. Not even the polite small talk that strangers usually exchange. Just a wall of indifference so deliberate it almost felt personal.
But then—his eyes.
When they flicked toward me, only for a breath, something shifted. The smooth, composed mask faltered, and for the smallest fraction of a second, I saw something else—something sharper. A flicker, gone as quickly as it appeared, but it left a chill in its wake.
I pretended not to notice, leaning a little closer toward Mark so I could hear him better.
But that small movement seemed to set something off. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw it: his gaze tightening, the slight narrowing at the corners, the unspoken tension in the way he held himself.
It wasn’t hostility exactly—not open anger—but it was there. A subtle claim, a warning: he didn’t like the closeness, and I knew it instantly. His expression didn’t change, but the flicker in his eyes made my chest tighten.
I forced myself to look away, pretending to sip my drink, though my pulse still raced. Something about him unsettled me in a way I couldn’t quite name.
Why?
Why would he care?
Why did the tiniest shift of my body toward Mark draw that reaction from him?
The question lodged deep in my chest, heavy and unsettling, refused to leave me in peace.
Mark, blissfully unaware, kept the conversation moving.
“So, Professor Lean—how long are you staying in the city? Maybe we could compare schedules, catch one of the conferences together.”
“Perhaps,” Lean replied smoothly. His voice carried the faintest lilt of an accent—British, polished, precise.
Mark leaned back with an easy grin.
“You know, Aria, Professor Lean’s from one of those old British families. Nobility, right? Medical lineage, if I’m not mistaken?”
I blinked, caught off guard, my head snapping toward Lean.
“Nobility?” The word slipped out before I could stop it.
For the first time, his eyes locked with mine—direct, steady, impossible to look away from. A shiver ran straight through me.
“Yes,” he said, his voice clipped but calm.
“The name is an inheritance. Our family has long been tied to medicine—particularly neurosurgery.”
He didn’t say it with arrogance.
There was no boast in his tone, only fact. But beneath it, something heavier lingered, as if the name he carried wasn’t just a title, but a weight pressing down on him.
I tightened my grip around my glass, trying to steady myself.
He was everything Mark said: brilliant, noble, untouchable. And yet the way he looked at me—cool, guarded, almost displeased—didn’t match the picture.
It was like he was deliberately erecting walls brick by brick, higher and higher, the longer my gaze lingered.
“Impressive,” I managed, though my voice came out thinner than I meant, more to fill the silence than anything else.
He gave a curt nod, polite but dismissive, and turned back to Mark as though I hadn’t spoken at all.
British nobility?
My stomach churned.
No... that wasn't my Lean.
My Lean was something else entirely. Something unexplainable.
A man who had appeared and disappeared like a shadow, who carried a darkness and mystery I could never quite define. A man whose very presence bent the world around him.
Nobility?
That wasn't him. It couldn't be.
And yet... the eyes.
The way they cut through me, cold and detached, as if seeing straight through the skin I wore. The sharp angles of his face, the subtle curl of his mouth when Mark made some careless joke.
Every detail was too close.
Too exact.
My pulse stuttered, my hands tightening in my lap until my nails dug into my palms.
The coincidence of his name clawed at me too, scraping at the edges of my sanity.
Lean.
Of all names, it had to be his.
And his face-God, his face.
I sat there, staring at my plate, but I couldn’t taste a thing.
Mark’s voice came and went like muffled background noise, drowned out by the wild, uneven thud of my heartbeat.
My fingers clenched around my glass so tightly the condensation made it slip, and for one awful second, I thought it would shatter in my hand.
The air felt too heavy, too thick. Each breath scraped down my throat.
The walls, the laughter, the clinking of cutlery—it all pressed in until I thought I might suffocate.
“I… I need to go,” I blurted, louder than I meant, the words cutting the air like glass.
My chair screeched against the floor as I shoved back, making people turn their heads.
My napkin slipped from my lap, forgotten.
Mark frowned, startled.
“Aria? Already? We haven’t even—”
“I’m sorry,” I interrupted, my voice shaking, betraying me.
“It’s just—late. I need to get back.”
And then I felt it.
His gaze.
Lean’s eyes on me—steady, cold, unreadable. One fleeting second and it gutted me.
That detached indifference, as if I were nothing at all, sliced deeper than anger ever could.
My chest pulled tight, each inhale sharp and shallow as I forced myself to move.
I couldn’t look back.
I didn’t dare.
Because if I did—if I let myself see him sitting there, alive, so close, so real—everything I had built to survive these years would collapse in an instant.
The doors swung open under my trembling hands, and the night air hit me hard, sharp and merciless against my skin. I stood there, dragging breath after breath into my lungs, but it wasn’t enough.
My thoughts spun out of control, colliding into one impossible truth I couldn’t chase away:
What if it wasn’t just a coincidence?