Chapter 8: Just Richard?

CHLOE The stranger I had spent my day trying to forget about… walked back into my life as if my thoughts had summoned him. My breath caught. I scrambled up from the bench, my pulse hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs before my brain could process his stride. "You…" I stammered, my fingers curling into fists inside my pockets pulling my coat across my chest like a shield. "What…are you doing here?" He took an unhurried step closer stopping at a respectful distance. "This is a free road… I take a walk through this park most evenings." His deep voice carried a calm that slowed the racing noise in my head. "I didn't expect to find the woman who nearly banged me over yesterday." A hot blush crept up my neck. "I didn't mean to knock you over. I just stumbled." "And a brilliant introduction " he murmured, a trace of a dry smile touching his lips. He extended a hand. "Hi… I'm Richard." I stared at his hand, my chest tightening before I cautiously reached out. His grip was warm, dry and surprisingly firm. "Chloe," I offered softly, my voice trembling. "That's my name.” "Nice to meet you properly, Miss Chloe, " Richard said. Nothing more. He didn't say his surname or hint at a title. To me, he was simply Richard. "Do you mind if I sit with you?" he asked, gesturing to the bench space. "Or are you planning on running again?" My internal alarms chimed. "I wasn't running away." "You walked very fast yesterday, as if you're running from a ghost, " he countered quietly, taking a seat and giving me enough space. "And you left your card holder behind." I sat back down my spine. "I thanked you for returning it." "You did, " Richard acknowledged, resting his hands loosely on his knee. He turned his blue eyes toward me with an intensity that made my skin prickle. "You still look distracted Chloe… Is everything okay? " The way he said my name sent a low vibration straight down my spine. As if I was just hearing my name for the time. "Its just been a couple of days,” I admitted, my gaze dropping to the dark water of the pond. "Moving to a new city usually is, " he noted quietly. "You're gonna get used to it ” I blinked, snapping my head toward him. "How did you know I just moved here?" "Your card holder had an out-of-state license,” Richard answered smoothly. "You have the look of someone who is still trying to figure out where the pieces fit." A breath of a laugh escaped my lips laced with self-mockery. "Is … Is that so obvious?" There was silence that felt like eternity. "Only if someone is paying attention,” he finally replied. The words hung in the air. He wasn't dropping compliments or pushing boundaries. He was just noticing. *Only if someone is paying attention.* The phrase alone scraped against raw tissue. Brandon had stopped paying attention to me for years. God I didn't want to think about that brat now. "I… I moved here to start afresh " I found myself saying, the confession slipping past my guard. "I needed... A slate." "Did something happen at home?" Richard asked gently. "Is there something you need help with?” For a second the urge to bleed out my history burned in my throat. I wanted to tell him about the hotel suite, Sienna and the mashing humiliation. I clamped my jaw shut, swallowing the confession down like a drink. I refused to let him look at me with pity. "It…just a personal matter, " I said carefully. "A mistake I had to walk away from." Richard didn't push. He didn't demand missing pieces. He just nodded, accepting the boundary.. I respected him for that. "Some mistakes are worth walking away from, " he said quietly. "No matter how much time you invested in them." That absolute lack of pressure made him dangerously compelling. Every man in Brandon's globe operated like a transaction… And Richard? He sat in the silence like a fortress. "You seem very certain about that,” I murmured, my defenses warring with a sudden aching curiosity. "I've lived enough to learn... That holding onto a broken foundation only makes the collapse worse,” he answered, his gray-blue eyes on mine. I pulled my coat tighter, my fingernails biting into my palms. Is he genuinely interested in me? I questioned myself. Or am I just so hollowed out so starved for human decency, that I'm projecting my own desperation onto a polite stranger? "Are you usually this observant with strangers?" I asked, my voice sharpening. "Only when the stranger catches my attention,”Richard replied immediately. My pulse spiked for a moment. "I don't think I'm very interesting now " I whispered, looking down at my trembling hands. "I'm mostly just trying to survive my choices." "Leaving a bad situation takes courage, Chloe " Richard said, leaning an inch closer. "It means you finally realized you deserved better." A bitter laugh hitched in my throat. "It means I stayed four years too long because I convinced myself that being chosen was the same thing as being valued." The raw truth slipped out, unfiltered and bleeding. Richard didn't offer a platitude. He sat with the words. "Sometimes…" Richard said carefully, his voice dropping into a register that made my skin flush. "The person who makes you feel chosen isn't the person who truly sees you." I froze. The sentence struck me like a blow driving the air from my lungs. Brandon had chosen me, put a ring on my finger and called me his wife-to-be…But he had never seen me. How could a man I barely knew articulate the unbearable disaster of my relationship in a single breath? A thick tension hummed between us. "Mr…Richard..." I began my voice trembling. "What do you…” Bzzzz. Bzzzz. A sharp vibration tore through the air. He pulled his phone from his coat pocket, glanced at the screen and exhaled a controlled breath. His expression straightened up. The attentive warmth in his eyes vanished entirely. His entire body went rigid locking into a wall of chilling authority. "I have to take this, " he said, his voice dropping into a flat register. He stood up. Walked several paces down the gravel path, his back turning squarely toward me. “Speak up " Richard demanded into the phone the word ringing with cold dominion. His free hand dropped into his trouser pocket, his broad shoulders squaring off. His posture radiated an unyielding power. "No " Richard said into the receiver, his tone dropping to a prohibition. "The board will have to wait until I return. Handle the press. Make sure Brandon stays in line. I won't repeat myself." Brandon? The name shredded through the evening air like a blade whacking my chest with a suffocating effect. My breathing stopped. My fingers locked onto the bench so hard that my knuckles turned white. A sickening surge of adrenaline flooded my veins making my head vibrate. Was it just a coincidence? It has to be, my brain screamed. Thousands of men are named Brandon. Yet every instinct screamed in protest. Richard's behavior... The mention of "the board"... "Handle the press"... The authority in his command. It sounded like the boardrooms Brandon had navigated. It sounded like the high-stakes world of Parker Industries. My gaze stayed glued to Richard’s broad back, under the amber streetlight. Could the "Brandon" he was commanding with ruthless authority be the same Brandon who had discarded me like trash? Could this older composed man be connected to the coward who shattered my life? A cold sweat broke out across my back. Richard wasn't a man. He didn't just have power; he was power. As I watched him step further into the shadows, the most horrifying question of all settled over my chest heavy enough to drown me: Who was the man standing in front of me—and had my nightmare followed me across state lines?