Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Fall in Paris has arrived. The trees burned with colour. gold, amber, red, but the wind was sharp, biting at her skin like a warning. Annette stepped out of the university’s grand stone facade, suitcase in one hand, a sports bag on the other, the weight of a life left behind pressing into her chest. She had left Haiti, her home, for this. For knowledge. For opportunity. But each gust of wind carried whispers of the mother she had lost, the soil she had abandoned.

The air was thinner here. It lacked the weight of salt and humidity, the thick embrace of heat that had shaped her bones. She was already missing the tropical climate, feeling the sun on her skin, wearing loose dresses and skirts, walking around the beach with people she was familiar with.

Due to the chilly weather, she wore heavier clothes than she was normally used to. Black cargo pants hugged her legs, paired with a mustard yellow crochet V-neck sweater layered over a crisp white shirt. Gold hair rings glimmered throughout her shoulder length locs, and oval shaped gold earrings dangled delicately, catching the light with every step. She felt cute. Beautiful, as she adjusted her sweater and took a moment to appreciate her reflection in a nearby window.

She ignored the tightness in her chest, adjusted her grip on her bag, and kept moving.

The campus stretched before her, ancient buildings clawing at the sky, monuments to a history that was never hers. It was a beautiful campus though, very large, filled with a bunch of students, architecture so stunning she made a quick few paces to admire them. She had seen photos before, spent hours researching, but nothing compared to standing here, to the sheer weight of it. A whole new world.

Despite the nerves, she had earned her place here, fought for it with scholarships, essays, interviews. The work of tearing herself out of Port-au-Prince and landing here had nearly broken her. But she had done it. She had made it. And now, she had no choice but to make it worth something. She was never one known to back away from a challenge, and she wasn’t going to start now.

Cécile had cried when she got the letter. Her godmother, the closest thing she had to a mother, after her own had passed away from when she was a child, had always believed in her. Flaunt your wings to the world, Nettie. You were meant for more.

And Cécile never lied. Annette was special. She was the smartest in her school, the girl who picked up everything too fast, who never let herself fall behind.

Cècile had not been the only one to believe in her intelligence, her teachers had been the one to encourage her to apply to places outside of the country. They had set her down, and explained all the benefits that would come with, she already knew that of course, as she wasn’t stupid. She hadn’t just expected it to be so far from home, continents away at that.

She had assumed she would go to some USA college, but this university in Paris had been the one that offered her the best, and so she took it, after all she was meant for more.
But being special meant nothing here. Here, she was just another foreign student with too much to prove.

As she continued her stroll through the campus, there were a whole bunch of students, some scrolling around with suitcases like her, nerves in their faces, excitement, fear. While others were chill and seemingly happily walking and sitting around the school, older students she assumed.
She passed couples sprawled on the grass, limbs tangled, fingers laced, foreheads pressed together in quiet conversation.

It reminded her of high school.

Of the boy she had once loved, or thought she had loved. He had been kind enough. Thoughtful enough. A good boyfriend, by all accountss. Reliable. Safe.

But he and the relationship had never made her heart race. Never sent sparks down her spine. There had been no butterflies, no wild, breathless anticipation. Just…Calm. Comfort.

And for a while, she had convinced herself that comfortable was enough.

When they broke up in their final year, he was devastated. Gutted. He had begged for another chance, asked if there was someone else, asked if he had done something wrong.
There hadn’t been. And he hadn’t.

She had just felt it. That slow, creeping certainty in her gut that ‘love’, even when it was ‘good’, even when it was kind, was never enough to make her stay.

And when she walked away, she had not felt grief, nor guilt, nor doubt.
She had only felt relief.

Love was nice. In theory.

But she had no time for that. No time for anything but survival. She was here to work, to grind herself down for a law degree, to make Cécile proud. To make it worth it.

Romance was not part of the plan.

That is, until she met him, and realised that she had never truly known what wanting felt like.

She had been on her way to her dorm, stopping at a vending machine to check the campus map on her phone, making sure she was heading in the right direction. That’s when she saw him.

Tall. Broad shoulders. A sleeveless blue shirt clinging to his back, white pants. He was kneeling, arms halfway inside the vending machine’s dispensing slot, fingers grasping for a stubborn energy drink.

She watches for a moment, torn between amusement and curiosity. He shifts, and she catches the sharp cut of his jaw, the furrow in his brow.

Then, without thinking, she says, “You know that’s how people lose fingers, right?”

He tenses for a moment, then his head jerks up.

Blue eyes, sharp and clear, locked onto hers. Tousled dark hair clung to his forehead, a white headband keeping it from his face. It should have looked ridiculous, but somehow, he made it work.
And he was attractive. Annoyingly so.

For a second, he just stared, like he hadn’t expected to see her, like she was something unexpected. She could have sworn she heard him inhale sharply.

Then he laughed, rubbing the back of his head, his very muscular arm flexing with the motion. “Yeah? Do you have a better idea?”

Annette stepped closer. He was taller than her, but not by much. She was a tall girl. The vending machine was old, buttons stiff, the glass panel smudged. The drink was wedged between the coil and the edge of the shelf, barely out of reach.

She tilted her head. “Did you already pay for it?”

“Obviously,” he deadpanned.

She rolled her eyes. Considered. Then, without thinking twice, she lifted her leg and kicked the machine. Hard.

The impact rattles up her calf. The glass shudders. And the drink, by some miracle , tumbles free.

He blinks.

Annette crouches, picks up the soda, and presses it into his hands. “There.” Satisfied grin on her lips.

He looks at her like she’s just performed a miracle.

Then he grins. Wide, genuine, like she’s just made his whole day. “You’re dangerous.”

She shrugs. “You’re welcome.”

His fingers brush hers as he takes the drink. She pretends not to notice.

“I’m Richter,” he says, still watching her.

“Annette.”

A beat of silence. Staring into each other's eyes. Blue to brown.

Then she turned to leave. Didn’t wait to see if he had anything else to say.

She had a dorm room to find.

—

Her dorm is tucked into one of the older buildings on campus. The ceilings are too high, the windows too crafty, but at least she wouldn’t have to share a room with a stranger.

Except she would.

Maria Renard. French. That much was obvious. That was the name in the email she received a week ago, courtesy of some student volunteer who probably copy-pasted and kept things short, just a list of logistical details. No personality notes, no warning .

Annette only hoped she was tolerable. The last thing she wanted after leaving home, after flying across an ocean, was to be trapped in a room with someone insufferable for the next three years.

The halls are chaotic. Students dragging suitcases, wide eyed and frantic. Parents smothering their children with last minute advice and tearful goodbyes. Others, already reunited with their friends, laughing, shouting, filling every corner with noise. Annette pulls her suitcase closer. She keeps walking.

Her room is on the third floor. She takes the elevator. It’s surprisingly empty, which feels like a good omen. The doors close with a groan, and for a few seconds, she breathes. She’s not the type to get nervous, but moving here, being here, in a place like this…

The elevator dings. Third floor.

More students, more movement, but she tunes it all out. She passes the communal kitchen—spacious, sleek, clean. The shared TV room, door propped open, voices already floating from inside. She doubts she’ll spend much time there.

Finally, she finds her room. Takes a steadying breath and turns the key.

Inside, the room is already lived-in. Surprisingly spacious. Clothes draped over a chair, pink sneakers kicked off beside one of the beds. Two mini-fridges. A desk cluttered with pens and an open notebook, next to a framed photo of a girl and a guy—her roommate, presumably, with long blonde hair and sharp green eyes, smiling beside a tall young man.

Annette lingers on him for half a second.

“I was wondering when you’d get here,” a light cheeky voice called.

Annette gasped and turned sharply.

The blonde girl sat cross legged on the other bed, a book in her lap. She was small, nearly hidden behind a mess of suitcases and blankets. She studied Annette, scanning her from head to toe, before breaking into a wide, self-assured grin.

“You must be Annette.”

“Maria?”

Maria snapped her book shut and hopped off the bed. She wore a long strappy pink dress with a white long sleeve top. She moved to the desk, grabbing a small basket Annette hadn’t noticed before, fresh bread and fruit.

“You must be starving,” Maria said, lifting the basket toward her. “Long journey and all.”

Annette hesitated. The offer was kind, but she didn’t want to seem too eager.

Then she caught the scent of the bread.

She took a piece, tearing off a corner. Warm. Soft. The kind of fresh that came from a real bakery, not some vacuum-sealed grocery store package.

She hadn’t realised how hungry she was until now.

“Thank you,” she said, meaning it.

Maria flopped back onto her bed, popping a chip into her mouth. “I figured I should wait before stealing all the good drawers,” she said, grinning.

Annette set her bags down and sat on the empty bed. The mattress had just the right amount of firmness, not great, but not terrible either. Manageable.

“You’re very kind.”

Maria shrugged. “No worries. Must be exhausting, moving to a whole new country. Most people would be terrified.”

Annette raised an eyebrow. “And you wouldn’t be?”

Maria grinned. “Please. I love adventure. It’s a chance to meet new people. New places. New Animals.”

“Animals?”

Maria nodded seriously. “I love animals. They like me. I connect with them better than most people, honestly.” She said this as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “I’m studying veterinary science. Going to be a vet one day.”

Annette watched her, the way her voice lifted slightly with certainty. She liked that. Ambition. Passion. People who knew what they wanted.

“I think that’s great,” Annette said. “I’m studying law.”

Maria perked up. “Ooh. Serious.”

Annette shrugged. “I’ve always been opinionated. Too opinionated. Always challenging things, always arguing, until my teachers got so sick of me that they threw me onto the debate team just to shut me up.” She smirked. “Turns out, I was good at it.”

Good was an understatement. She had dominated every competition, dismantling arguments with ruthless precision, learning to predict an opponent’s line of reasoning before they even opened their mouth.

At first, she’d joined just to see what the fuss was about, but then she won. Again. And again. The adrenaline, the rush of knowing she was right and proving it so convincingly that no one could deny it, that was addictive.

She had an entire shelf of trophies in her living room back home, courtesy of Cècile, who insisted they be displayed for every visitor to see. “People should know what you’re capable of,” she’d said.
But it wasn’t just about winning. Law was about power, who had it, who wielded it, who got left behind because they didn’t know the rules. She wanted to understand the rules so well that she could bend them to help the people who needed it most.

“I love the politics of it,” she admitted. “The challenges, the strategy. The way it forces you to think ten steps ahead. It’s perfect for someone like me.”

Someone who refused to lose.

Maria listens, nodding along, asking all the right questions. The conversation is easy. Comfortable.
Annette learns that Maria comes from a small countryside town, the kind where everyone knows everyone. Her mother owns a bakery. The fresh bread suddenly makes sense.

She has a cat, a dog, a bird, and, inexplicably, a lizard and a turtle back home. When she talks about them, her entire face softens, her voice bright with unfiltered affection. She isn’t just fond of them. She adores them, the way someone adores family.

Annette listens, watching the way Maria’s hands move animatedly as she describes her dog’s endless energy, her cat’s selective love, her bird’s habit of screaming at the sunrise. It’s endearing, the way she lights up, completely unguarded.

She wasn’t exaggerating about her love for animals. Not even a little.

So it’s just her, her mother, her brother and the animals. Peaceful, Annette thinks. Simple.

And then—

“Oh,” Maria says, like she’s just remembered something. “If my brother shows up, don’t freak out. He doesn’t know how to knock.”

Before Annette can ask what that means, the door slams open.

A guy strode in, tall, athletic, a duffel bag slung over one shoulder and boxing gloves tucked under his arm. The same guy from Maria’s photo. The same guy from the vending machine.

“Maria, have you seen my—” He stopped short the moment his eyes landed on Annette.
For a second, neither of them moved.

Annette recognised him instantly.

One, because his annoyingly handsome face was impossible to forget. Sharp jawline, tousled brown hair, ocean blue eyes so unnaturally bright. And two, because he was staring at her like he’d just found something he hadn’t even realised he was searching for.

She was used to men who looked like him. She saw them all the time back home, vacationers with deep pockets and sunburns, trying too hard to charm her with lazy Creole phrases, asking her out with the expectation that she’d be flattered.

They always wanted an ‘island girl’ to sweeten their trip, a fleeting fantasy, a story to bring back to their cold, distant homes. Never mind that Haiti wasn’t an island. Never mind that her life wasn’t some temporary escape for them to indulge in.

She was used to brushing men like him off.

But with him… she didn’t feel the usual irritation for some reason.

“Uh—” He blinked, then grinned. “It’s you again. Annette, right?”

She narrowed her eyes, thrown off by the sheer enthusiasm in his voice. “Yes. Richter, is it?”

“Belmont. Richter Belmont” he said, stated it like the name should mean something. And maybe it did. He said it with that kind of weight , pride, expectation, like it was supposed to carry history. Legacy.

She picked up on it—the different surnames. Renard and Belmont. Maybe they had different fathers. Maybe there was some complicated family history there. But that wasn’t her business. She wasn’t here to dissect their lineage.

So instead Annette smirked. “I see. Hope the drink was good.”

Richter grinned. “It was, actually. Best I’ve had in a long time.” Then, with a teasing lilt, he added, “Freeish things do taste better.”

Then, he glanced down, almost shyly, like he hadn’t meant to say that last part out loud.

Annette raised a brow. Cute.

“Is that so?” she mused. “So if I bought you another one, would it taste even better?”

Richter looked up, startled. Then, as if catching onto the game, his lips curled into a slow, boyish smile. “I don’t know,” he said, tilting his head. “I might need to test that theory.”

Annette snorted, shaking her head. “You really think I’m going to buy you a drink?”

“Well, you did offer,” he pointed out, eyes glinting with mischief.

“I was being hypothetical.”

“And I’m being opportunistic.”

She rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t stop the amused grin tugging at her lips. He’s ridiculous. But he was also charming in a way that didn’t annoy her. Which was rare.

Another beat of silence. A moment of staring, both of them unsure what to do with the tension settling between them.

Then, clearing his throat, he turned to Maria. “I didn’t know you had company.”

“This is my new roommate,” Maria said, clearly entertained. “Annette, meet Richter. Richter meet Annette.” Then smirking, “But you two already know that.”

Richter shifted his duffel higher on his shoulder, laughing under his breath. “Yep.”

Annette hadn’t really expected to run into him again, let alone in her own dorm room. She wasn’t sure what to make of him yet. He had the look of every cocky athlete she’d ever seen. The broad shoulders, easy charm, the kind of face that made people trip over themselves to talk to him.

But instead of arrogance, Richter was blushing. Fidgeting. Looking anywhere but directly at her while adjusting the strap of his bag, as if she had thrown him off his rhythm.

Then, as if on cue, his duffel slipped from his shoulder, the zipper bursting open. Clothes, notebooks, and a crumpled energy drink tumbled onto the floor.

“Shit,” he muttered.

Annette raised an eyebrow. “Smooth.”

Maria snorted. “Nice one, Belmont.”

Richter groaned, rubbing the back of his neck as he crouched to gather his things. “I swear, I’m usually more put together than this.”

Annette watched him, amused. He really wasn’t what she had expected. Maybe that was a good thing. Maybe it wasn’t.

She chuckled, then crouched down, and started gathering his things.

“You don’t have to—”

She shoved a pair of notes into his hands. “We’ve danced this dance before. Just take them.”

Richter’s laughter, deep and genuine, echoed through the air, igniting a thrill that coursed through her skin. Strange. She thought. “Alright, alright,” he said, his tone teasing. “Thanks, again. Let’s hope this doesn’t become a habit of me embarrassing myself in front of you.”

There was a playful edge to his words, but beneath it lay something deeper, a tension that hung in the air like the promise of a storm.

Maria snorted. She got up, nudging Richter with her elbow. “Yeah, I wouldn’t count on that. You’re already an ungrateful wanker.”

Richter turned beet red. “Maria!” He looked mortified, not offended, making him fidget even more. Which only made Annette smirk.

She didn’t have siblings, but watching these two squabble like overgrown children was unexpectedly amusing.

Maria finally stopped laughing long enough to ask, “So, why are you here again?”

“Oh, right.” Richter straightened, as if only now remembering his purpose. “I’m supposed to take you to the city. “We need to go get you some more supplies for your stay and studies.”

“Shit, that’s right,” Maria groaned, dragging a hand down her face. Then she turned to Annette, suddenly guilty. “I’m so sorry, I wanted to properly welcome you, but I have to go. Will you be okay?”

Annette waved her off. “Don’t worry, I’m a big girl. I’ll be fine.”

Maria pulled her into a quick, warm hug, squeezing just tight enough to make Annette smile. “I’ll make it up to you later,” she promised before dashing out the door, her departure a whirlwind of movement and half-formed apologies.

Silence settled in her absence.

Richter lingered by the doorway, shifting his weight like he wanted to say something but couldn’t quite find the words. He ran a hand through his hair, a nervous habit, she noted. Then finally settled on, “See you around.”

But he didn’t leave.

“Annette?”

She looked up.

His gaze was steady, unexpectedly sincere, nothing like the flustered boy from earlier. “If you ever need anything, don’t hesitate to ask, okay? I’m just a few floors up.”

Something fluttered in her chest, light and uninvited.

“Thanks, Richter.”

He nodded, lingering just a second too long, like he wanted to say more, like he didn’t actually want to leave, before finally stepping out.

The door clicked shut behind him.

Annette exhaled, turning back to the bags and suitcases that still needed unpacking.

Byy meeting Maria, and Richter. Maybe she wouldn’t have to navigate it alone, she thought. Maybe she’d have good people in her corner. Maybe she wouldn’t feel so untethered.

It was going to be a long three years. The kind that stretched endlessly ahead, filled with unfamiliar streets and foreign expectations, the kind that could swallow her whole if she let it. But she wouldn’t. She refused to let this city, this place, shake her. She had come too far, fought too hard, to let herself be undone by doubt.

She was here for her education, nothing more. That was the plan. And she was going to keep it that way.

Chapter Text

Classes started the following week, and Annette was already exhausted. The past few days had been a blur of adjusting to the city, the language, the people, the sheer weight of being somewhere new.

She knew some French, and had taken classes back home when she started applying to schools here, just in case. You never knew when it might come in handy. Still, knowing a language and living in it were two different things.

She wandered across the chilly campus, searching for her lecture hall, coffee in hand. Her body ached with fatigue. She swore to herself that no there would be no more late night talks with Maria when she had an 8 am. class.

But honestly? She had no regrets.

Maria was warm, easy to be around, and had made her feel welcome in a way Annette hadn’t expected. She’d even volunteered to take her around the city, helping her find grocery stores, cafés, and shortcuts to campus.

Not many people would do that. Annette appreciated it more than she could put into words.
Maria wasn’t from Paris either, but she’d visited often. She talked about going to animal parks and petting zoos, which made Annette laugh. It suited her.

There was something oddly soothing about the though, before the inevitable crush of assignments, exams, and academic pressure that would define the semester.

The morning air wasn’t freezing, but Annette still bundled up. Her body was still adjusting. She wore one of the knitted sweaters Cecile had made for her before she left. Earthy tones, soft, warm.

Cecile had made it her mission to crochet her an entire collection the second she got her acceptance letter. Annette hadn’t asked for them, but she treasured them. They felt like home.

Her first class ‘Introduction to Law’ was in one of the older buildings, its architecture grand and intimidating.

She scanned the room, searching for a seat, and then she saw her.

A Black girl, seated near the front, scrolling absentmindedly through her notes.

Annette’s heart jumped. She hadn’t seen many Black students around campus, and for a moment, irrational relief swept through her. She hoped and prayed that she was kind. That they could be allies in this place where everything, from the language to the history woven into the buildings, made her feel like an outsider.

And she was.

When Annette slid into the seat beside her, the girl looked up, startled. A brief moment of surprise flickered across her face before it melted into something warm, familiar. Like she’d been waiting for this, too.

“Hey,” the girl said, grinning. “Didn’t think I’d see another one of us in here.”

Annette let out a breath she didn’t realise she was holding. “Me neither.”

Her name was Zuri. She was from another city in France, here on scholarship as well. Her French was effortless, her accent melodic, and she spoke with a confidence that made Annette both envious and comforted.

Her hair was a thick halo of tight curls, piled high in an updo with two braids framing her beautiful dark skinned face. She had dark brown eyes, sharp and knowing. She was dressed mostly in black. Silver rings glinted on her fingers.

Annette liked her immediately.

Then, the lecturer walked in, and the room fell silent.

“Welcome,” he said, voice smooth and even. “Let’s begin”

To Annette’s relief, she liked his teaching.

He was sharp, passionate, and engaging, nothing like the droning monotone she’d feared. He didn’t just lecture; he challenged them, threw out questions that made them think.

From the moment he started speaking about the foundations of law, about justice, Annette was hooked. She found herself taking notes feverishly, not out of obligation but because she wanted to remember everything.

For the first time since arriving, she felt something settle inside her.

She could do this.

She wanted to…

—

The rest of her classes were a success. Zuri was in most of them, which made the day easier, lighter. They stuck together, walking the length of campus between lectures, trading complaints about professors, comparing notes, getting to know each other. But they had to part ways in the late afternoon when Annette made her way toward the university gym.

She’d been an athlete for most of her life. Back home, she’d been on the school’s track team. She still had the medals to prove it. To this day, she had no idea how she’d managed that alongside debate club and straight A’s, but she had. And while she had no plans to join the university’s track team, she refused to let go of the discipline, the movement, the clarity she found in training.

The gym wasn’t far from her dorm, which was a bonus. One of the employees gave her a quick tour. The equipment was state of the art, open training spaces, a boxing ring tucked into one corner. She liked it immediately. It was clean, spacious, and quiet enough that she wouldn’t have to deal with too many distractions.

When the tour ended, she changed into her workout clothes, tied her hair up, and found an empty stretch of space where she could start her warm-up. She rolled her shoulders, exhaled, let her body loosen with each stretch.

And then she turned around.

And there was Richter Belmont. Boxing.

She wouldn’t have recognised him at first if it weren’t for the headband. It was the only familiar thing about him. Everything else, the shirtless torso, the sweat on his skin, the coiled tension in his muscles as he threw precise, brutal punches was completely foreign.

He was sparring with someone who looked like a personal coach, focused, relentless. His form was immaculate, his movements sharp and efficient, like each strike had been calculated seconds before it landed.

She wasn’t usually impressed by men in gyms. She’d grown up around athletes, knew how insufferable some of them could be. But Richter moved like he had spent years perfecting this. He fought like he understood his own body down to its last muscle, every action controlled, deliberate.
It was surprising.

The boy she had met days ago. The one who had fumbled through an introduction, turned red over some notes, and tripped over his own feet was nowhere to be found.

Here, in the gym, Richter moved like he belonged. Like he knew exactly what he was doing.
He was brilliant.

Annette watched as he finished his set, taking a deep breath before grabbing his water bottle. His throat bobbed with each swallow, his shoulders rising and falling as he exhaled. And then, as if sensing her eyes on him, he turned his head sharply and met her gaze.

For a moment, he just stood there, blinking like he hadn’t expected to find her watching. Then, with a crooked, boyish grin, he strode over.

“Annette! Hi.”

She nodded. “Richter.”

If he was thrown off by her calm acknowledgment, he didn’t show it. He just smiled wider, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his shorts. “How are you liking the gym? I’m glad you took me up on my offer.”

She had, technically. But only because she’d been too curious not to ask about the headband he wore. It had been that first day, when he and Maria had returned from their supply run.

She had caught him wiping sweat from his forehead, adjusting the fabric tied around his head, and she had asked him without really thinking, what it was for.

He’d explained, somewhat sheepishly, that he boxed. That he wore it whenever he planned to “exorcise some demons”. his words, not hers.

And that had been it. They hadn’t spoken much after. Both busy, both adjusting to their own lives.
She hadn’t really thought about him. Not in a bad way. He just simply hadn’t occupied her mind…much.

But now, standing in front of her, he was undeniably present.

They made light, easy conversation, casual. Annette noted the way he kept a respectful distance, the way his gaze flickered anywhere but at her body. She was wearing a tight fit sports tank top, her gym leggings hugging her toned hips and her ass. Most men would have stared.

Unashamedly.

Richter, however, seemed to be fighting for his life trying not to.

She tilted her head. “You can look at me, you know. It happens.”

His eyes snapped to hers, wide with alarm. “What?”

She smirked. “You’re being very… polite.”

“I—” He let out a short, nervous laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Look, I was raised right, okay? You think I’m about to risk getting punched for staring?”

She raised a brow. “You think I’d punch you?”

“I know you’d punch me.” He grinned. “You’ve got the stance for it. Bet you’d knock me flat.”
She rolled her eyes. “I’d at least give you a warning first.”

“Oh, how generous.” He placed a dramatic hand over his chest. “That means so much to me.”

Annette shook her head, biting back a smile. He was ridiculous.

And yet, as he stood there, grinning at her, sweat-damp and still catching his breath from his workout, she realised something.

She liked talking to him.

It wasn’t just that he was Maria’s brother. That should have made it an obligation, something she tolerated for the sake of her roommate, but it wasn’t that at all.

She genuinely didn’t mind him. He was easy to talk to. Surprisingly so.

That was a relief. The last thing she needed was unnecessary tension with the guy who would inevitably be around all the time.

She’d had enough of that nonsense back home, dealing with the bitter brothers of girls she knew. Boys who took her sometimes serious nature as being bitchy or, worse, as some sort of challenge because she had rejected them. She couldn’t be bothered with that kind of headache.

Richter, though…Richter was different. He didn’t seem to take himself too seriously, didn’t have the kind of fragile ego that made talking to him feel like stepping through a minefield.

“I do a bit of jogging on the weekends,” he said, wiping the sweat from his forehead. “Helps clear the mind. You should join me sometime.”

She hesitated. “I don’t know.”

“Come on,” he whined, flashing a boyish grin. “I promise I won’t show off too much. I’ll let you win.”

She rolled her eyes. “Oh, please.”

“I’m serious,” he said. “I’ll pretend to trip or something. Really sell it. Maybe even roll around on the ground in pain, just to make you feel good about yourself.”

She huffed a laugh before she could stop herself.

He caught it, grinning wider. “That’s a yes, then.”

“It’s a ‘we’ll see.’”

But the idea didn’t seem so bad. She had been meaning to get back into a routine anyway, and jogging alone was miserable. Having a running partner, and one who wasn’t insufferable—might actually be nice.

“Fine,” she relented. “But if you trip, I’m leaving you there.”

“Brutal,” he chuckled.

“But fair.”

—
Two weeks passed, and Annette had managed to adjust to the chaos of her classes and hectic schedule. It wasn’t easy, but at least she had Zuri. The two of them stuck together like glue, navigating campus life as a unit.

She also ran into Richter a lot. More than she expected.

They were in the same faculty building, as it turned out. He was studying business administration, something that had genuinely surprised her. She hadn’t thought much about what Richter might be majoring in, but business just seemed… oddly serious for him.

The first time they bumped into each other between classes, he had a more focused look on his face, backpack slung over one shoulder like he was in some kind of student-athlete movie montage. It was almost jarring seeing him like that. Less playful, more intent.

Then he’d immediately ruined it by saying, “You know, we’ve got to stop running into each other like this. People are going to start thinking I’m stalking you.”

And then, as if realising what he’d just said, he flushed red and stammered, “I mean—not that I am. Obviously. That would be weird. I—never mind.”

She’d laughed, genuinely amused. He was a dork, but at least he was an entertaining one.

Now that they knew they were in the same building, Richter had started walking with her to class sometimes, whenever their schedules aligned. He’d offered, given her the option to decline, but she hadn’t.

There was no real reason not to. He was good company. A welcome distraction whenever she started overthinking school. He had an easy way about him, effortlessly lighthearted in a way that made her feel a little less wound up. Not many people could do that.

They still hadn’t started their morning jogs. She had decided to wait at least a month before settling into a routine. Richter had understood. He hadn’t pressed. If anything, he’d only joked, “Yeah, best not to run yourself into the ground. Save that for exam season.”

—

And then, one afternoon, he mentioned that he and Maria were going to an opera show at the school hall. The music students had organised a performance as a welcome event for the first years.

“You should come,” he said. “It’ll be good. Or at least, Maria says it’ll be good. I have no idea. I’m just here for the free entertainment.”

She was excited about it. She had always loved music, and an opera? That was something she wouldn’t pass up.

When they arrived the three of them found comfortable seats in the middle row, just close enough to see the performers clearly. Annette sat between Richter and Maria. It was a nice arrangement.

As they waited for the show to begin, Annette let herself take in the beauty of the music hall. It was a gorgeous space, with ornate carvings and polished wood, the kind of venue that reminded her just how prestigious this university really was.

“Bet you five euros that someone forgets their lines,” Richter whispered.

She turned to him, amused. “You can’t bet on that.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s mean.”

“I prefer ‘realistic,’” he said solemnly. “Statistically speaking, someone’s bound to choke.”

Before she could retort, the curtains pulled back, and a young man stepped forward under the stage lights.

Annette felt the shock like a slap.

Curly brown hair tied in a neat ponytail. Blue eyes. Caramel skin. A green opera singer’s suit, a white scarf tucked over his chest.

No. That was impossible.

And then he started singing, and her heart lurched.

Edouard.

Her breath caught in her throat. She couldn’t mistake that voice anywhere, nor those eyes.

Five years.

Five years since he had left Haiti to pursue his opera career in France. He had been scouted early.
Just fourteen years old, barely out of childhood, but already performing at a level that turned heads. He had always been talented, his voice rich and commanding even when they were children, always winning competitions, always standing in front of an audience, soaking in the applause like it was the only thing keeping him breathing.

France had been the next step. Inevitable. He had family from his mother’s side there, relatives with enough wealth and status to ensure that his transition would be smooth. His parents followed later, another luxury of having money. Being able to uproot your life for the sake of ambition, without hesitation, without consequence.

She knew how important it was to him. How much he had wanted this.

But that didn’t stop it from breaking her heart when he left.

The goodbye had been awful. Messy. Tearful promises to see each other again, to write, to never forget. She had clung to him at the airport, arms wrapped around his waist, as if sheer force of will could keep him from leaving. He had laughed, told her she was being dramatic, that it wasn’t forever.

And now, here he was. Older. More refined. His voice even stronger, his presence commanding.
And when his gaze swept over the audience and found hers, it was instant recognition.

A flicker of surprise. A heartbeat of stillness.

And then joy. Pure, unmistakable joy, lighting up his face like a sunrise.

They had been best friends once. They had lost each other, and now, by some stroke of fate, they had found each other again.

When the show ended, Annette felt wrung out, emotionally drained in a way she hadn’t expected. Edouard had been phenomenal. He was the standout, his voice commanding the stage like he was born for it. And she was proud of him. So, so proud.

Richter had noticed, of course.

“You good?” he asked as they lingered in their seats, waiting for the crowd to thin out. His voice was light, but his gaze was careful, measuring.

She nodded, but he must have caught something in her expression because he hesitated, then reached out just a brief, uncertain touch at her shoulder, barely there before he pulled away again. Like he wasn’t sure if she’d want it.

She appreciated the effort.

“I’m fine,” she said. “Just emotional.”

Richter gave her a crooked smile. “I mean, I get it. That guy was stupidly good. Almost makes me wish I had a hidden talent.”

Annette arched a brow. “Almost?”

“Yeah,” he said, deadpan. “But then I’d probably have to commit to something, and that sounds exhausting.”

She huffed a laugh. He was ridiculous.

They stood to leave, filtering out slowly once the crowd had cleared. But as soon as they stepped into the night air, Annette stopped dead in her tracks.

Edouard was there, waiting just outside the building. His blue eyes shone bright against the backdrop of the dark sky, his breath a soft mist in the cold.

For a second, neither of them moved.

And then Annette was moving, running to him, eyes wet again as they collided in a fierce, desperate embrace.

“Edouard,” she choked out, voice thick with emotion. “Edouard.”

He let out a quiet laugh, patting her back. “Annette.”

He pulled back, grinning, and wiped a stray tear from her cheek. “It’s so good to see you.” He shook his head, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Look how much more beautiful you’ve become.”

Annette laughed softly, sniffling. “Still sweet as ever I see.”

“Only to the people who deserve it.”

They lingered there for a moment, smiling, before Edouard turned his attention to the others waiting nearby.

“Annette’s friends,” he said warmly, clasping his hands together. “I’m Edouard. Annette and I were childhood friends.”

Richter, as usual, was the first to chime in. “Small world, huh? Who would’ve thought?” His voice was light, pleasant, but Annette caught the slight edge in it, the way his fingers flexed at his sides.

“Very small,” Eduard agreed. “I hope you all enjoyed the performance. We put a lot of heart into it.”

“It was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard,” Maria gushed, practically vibrating with excitement, praises not stopping.

As the conversation flowed, Annette learned that Edouard wasn’t just here as a performer, he was a student too, studying music. Even though he’d found success at a young age, he still believed in getting a degree. “Talent alone doesn’t guarantee stability,” he said with a small shrug.

Then, after a short while, a dark-skinned man approached, a bass case slung over his back. He came up beside Edouard, easy and familiar, and introduced himself as Jordan.

“My boyfriend,” Edouard added with a smile, slipping an arm around Jordan’s waist.

Out of the corner of her eye, Annette swore she saw Richter let out the tiniest, almost imperceptible sigh of relief.

It was so fast, so subtle, she might have imagined it.

But Maria hadn’t. She reached out, brushing her fingers lightly against his wrist. Richter glanced at her, and Maria gave him a small, knowing smile. A secret conversation in the way siblings sometimes spoke without words.

Meanwhile, Edouard bid his goodbyes. Before leaving, he turned to Annette, eyes warm with familiarity. They exchanged numbers quickly, and then, without hesitation, he pulled her into a final hug. One that spoke of years of lost time and the quiet, unexpected joy of finding each other again.
And then he was gone.

“Well, that was lovely,” Marai said, looping her arm through Annette’s with a smug grin.
Annette flushed. “Oh, shut up.”

Maria only grinned wider. “No, really. Very touching.”

They walked together toward the dorms, the night air crisp, the energy of the evening still thrumming through Annette’s veins. It was just the three of them. Annette, Maria, and Richter walking around and enjoying the evening air. They made their way back to their building.

By the time they reached the entrance, exhaustion was settling in. The elevator ride felt annoyingly slow, as if the universe had decided that they hadn’t suffered enough through the long evening. Richter was unusually quiet beside her, hands shoved in his pockets, and Maria looked like she was fighting off a yawn.

When they reached their floor, Richter walked them all the way to their door. It has become a habit of his.

“Goodnight,” he murmured, pulling Maria into a firm hug.Maria squeezed back before stepping inside, and just like that she left them alone again. She always did this. Annette was beginning to suspect it was intentional.

Richter cleared his throat. “Sooo…” He rocked on his heels, a teasing grin playing at the corner of his lips.

“Sooo…” she jokingly mocked him

“Do you also want a goodnight hug? I’m feeling very generous with them tonight.”
Annette gave him a look.

And for one brief, ridiculous moment, she actually considered it.

His grin faltered. “Wait, I was joking.”

She huffed. “I know.”

“Were you actually thinking about it, though?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Sure. Because it kind of looked like you were.”

She folded her arms. “Do you want to be punched?”

“Not particularly, no.” He laughed, then, before she could fire back, reached for her shoulder. His fingers curled around it, warm and firm, and he gave it a small, tight squeeze before letting go.

“Goodnight, Annette,” he murmured, smirking as he turned away.

And she stood there for a moment, staring down at the shoulder he had just squeezed, warmth lingering long after he was gone.

Chapter Text

A month had officially passed since Annette started university, and today was the day she and Richter were finally beginning their jogging sessions.

Maria had called her insane for willingly waking up at this godforsaken hour on a Saturday just to go jogging with Richter. Annette had defended herself, launching into an impassioned speech about the importance of maintaining her body and sticking to a routine.

Maria, in response, yawned dramatically, muttered, couldn’t be me, and promptly rolled over to go back to sleep.

Too exhausted to listen to any more details.

Fine. Whatever. Annette didn’t need her support.

She had decided to meet Richter downstairs instead of letting him come up to fetch her like he usually did when they had early classes together.
But the second she stepped outside, she immediately regretted everything.

The cold slammed into her like a slap to the face.

“What the fuck,” she hissed, immediately crossing her arms over herself.
She was wearing a black tracksuit, having anticipated the chilly weather—but this? This was something else. This was betrayal.

“I don’t think it’s that bad,” Richter said from beside her, sounding disgustingly chipper.
Annette turned and gawked at him.

Sleeveless top. Shorts. In this weather.

This absolute maniac.

“So, what,” she deadpanned. “You just don’t feel cold? Are you immune?”
“Oh, I feel cold,” he said cheerfully. “But this is nothing compared to winter. Wait till it snows.”
Her stomach dropped. “Fuck. Snow.”

His grin widened. “Aw, are you scared?”

“Richter, I come from a place with tropical climate.” She grit her teeth. “Of course I’m not happy about it, especially when fall already feels like this.”

“Well then,” he said, smirking. “I guess we should try keeping you warm.”

And before she could react, he lighty took her hand, like it was the easiest thing in the world then and started leading her forward.

She didn’t even have time to process it. By the time her brain caught up, they had already started jogging. Richter’s hand was no longer holding hers, but the phantom sensation lingered.They stuck to a short route this morning. Just enough for Annette to figure out how much her body could handle.

She hadn’t expected to enjoy it so much.

But after some time, after the initial stiffness wore off, after her muscles eased into the rhythm of movement, it actually started to feel…good. The crisp morning air. The sound of their feet against the pavement. The way her mind felt clearer, lighter.

Richter kept up with her pace effortlessly, matching her stride for stride without so much as a labored breath. Annette stole a glance at him. He was annoyingly steady, not even a hint of struggle on his face.

She narrowed her eyes. “Didn’t think you’d be this patient.”

“What, you thought I’d be sprinting laps around you?”

“No.”

He jokingly gasped. “Annette. I am offended.”

She rolled her eyes. “You were literally showing off in the gym the other day.”

“I wasn’t showing off,” he said, scandalized. “I was training.”

“Uh-huh.”

Richter squinted at her like she had personally wronged him. “You just can’t stand the fact that I’m stronger than you.”

Annette snorted so hard she nearly tripped over her own feet.

Richter caught her arm before she could stumble. “See? This is why you should be nicer to me.”

“Oh, shut up,” she muttered, but the warmth of his fingers on her skin lingered long after he let go.

They kept jogging, their pace slowing as conversation filled the quiet spaces between their breaths. The morning air was crisp, the track field still damp from last night’s rain, but it was peaceful in a way Annette hadn’t expected.

“How are you adjusting to this place?” Richter asked, his voice softer now. Their feet dragged slightly along the dirt path, the energy from their jog fading into an easy stroll.

“Honestly? Not as bad as I thought it would be,” she admitted.

“Really?”

She nodded. “I figured I’d have to manage all of this on my own. I had this whole system with pages of notes on how to prepare, what to expect, how to handle things if they got difficult.” A small smile tugged at her lips. “But then I met you guys. And it’s been… really nice. Most people wouldn’t go out of their way to help like you have.”

“Oh? That sounds awful,” he deadpanned. “I hate that you’re having a good time.”

She rolled her eyes, nudging his arm. “You know what I mean.”

“To be fair, humans are usually better help than notes. Especially in a foreign country.”

“Mmmh, true. You’re probably one of the few decent French people I’ve met.” She shook her head, thinking about the nightmare that was some tourists back home.

Richter gasped dramatically. “I was going to defend my people, but honestly? You’re right. We can be insufferable.”

She sighed, the memory still fresh in her mind. “Yeah. Some of them were rude, entitled. And the men? God. So many of them thought they could wave their money or their looks around and charm me.”

She frowned. “Do I look cheap or something?”

Richter huffed out a laugh. “Not defending them or anything—some guys are just assholes and rude. But I think they were drawn in because you’re beautiful. Even if the approachables are questionable.”

The words left his mouth too fast, before he had the chance to second guess them.

Annette blinked, caught off guard. She just had not expected that from him.

She knew she was beautiful. She had eyes, and people often told her so. But somehow, it felt different coming from him.

There was a beat of silence.

Richter shifted, rubbing the back of his neck. “Shit, was that weird? I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I just—”

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” she reassured him, and to her own surprise, she meant it.

She sighed, slow and deliberate, before glancing up at him with a small, genuine smile. “Thank you. That’s nice of you to say.”

She didn’t know why she felt the need to thank him, but she did. And it made her feel… good.

After that, their conversation drifted into something easier…school, classes, how Richter somehow balanced his boxing and being a business administration student.

“Wait, so you actually enjoy it?” Annette asked, skeptical.

“I thrive in it,” he said smugly. “I’ve got a brain for numbers. Spreadsheets? Sexy. Strategy? Even sexier.”

She made a disgusted noise. “God, please never say that again.”

“Too late. It’s in your brain now.”

To her dismay, it was.

By the time they made it back to their dorms, conversation had mostly faded into silence. Not the awkward kind, but something comfortable. Like they didn’t need to fill the air to enjoy each other’s company.

Okay.

Maybe these morning jogs wouldn’t be so bad after all.

—

It has been a couple of weeks since Annette and Edouard’s reunion. They had been maintaining their friendship through texts and the occasional lunch meet ups.

It wasn’t a regular occurrence since he was tangled up in his studies and his commitments to the opera group, which had performances lined up. She was drowning in classes, readings, and tests.
Still, when their schedules aligned, they made time.

This afternoon, they found themselves wandering through the city, the autumn air crisp but not unpleasant. They eventually settled at a small café, tucked away from the noise of the main streets. The kind of place where conversations weren’t rushed, where people could sit for hours nursing a single cup of coffee.

Edouard stirred his tea smoothly, the spoon clinking softly against the ceramic. Then, without looking up, he said, “So, this Richter?”

Annette’s heart skipped. Just for a moment. It was stupid. But the memory of his voice, that ridiculous, unexpected “you’re beautiful” line, flared up in her mind before she could shove it down.
She forced herself to stay still, to keep her expression neutral. Cool, detached. Like it meant nothing.

She took a slow sip of her drink, unimpressed. “What about him?”

Edouard finally glanced up, his expression unreadable. But the corners of his mouth twitched, just slightly, like he knew something she didn’t. Like he was waiting for her to slip.

“You guys seem close. I see you with him a lot around campus.”

She let out a soft laugh. “We’re friendly with each other. And he volunteered to help me out when I first got here, which was nice of him.”

Edouard hummed. “Mmmh.”

She recognised that hum. That was the I have a theory, and you’re not going to like it hum.
“The last guy you spent this much time with besides me, of course was Caleb. Who, if you recall, had a massive crush on you.” He shot her a knowing smirk. “I still can’t believe you actually entertained him.”

Annette groaned. “Well…” She hesitated, glancing at her cup. “The thing is… we actually dated. Two years you left. For two years.”

A sharp gasp escaped from Edouard’s lips. “You’re serious?” He leaned forward, eyes wide with disbelief. “You never gave me the impression you liked him!”

“I mean…” She shifted in her seat. “I liked him enough. And one day, he asked me out, and I figured, why not? I wanted to try dating, see what it was like. Plus, he was nice. I tolerated him.”

Edouard let out a scandalized laugh. “‘Tolerated’? That’s not exactly a glowing review.”

She winced. “He was a good boyfriend. I think.”

Richter raised a brow. “‘You think?’”

She exhaled slowly, rolling the words over in her mind before speaking. “Well, he was my first boyfriend, so it’s not like I have much to compare it to.” A pause. “But it was… good. Comfortable.”
There wasn’t much to brag about. He was handsome, kind, dependable. The type of person who always showed up on time, who never raised his voice, who was perfectly content with routine. Very content with routine. He’d made her feel safe, and that had been enough. Well. At least for a while.
But there had never been a spark. No breathless anticipation, no sleepless nights thinking about the way he looked at her, no overwhelming need to be near him. Just a quiet kind of affection, steady and unchanging. She’d told herself, over and over, that it should be enough.

That love wasn’t supposed to be dramatic, that passion was a childish fantasy, that stability mattered more.

But now, sitting here, the words felt hollow.

She hadn’t known better back then.

But she did now.

And if she was being honest, they weren’t comparable at all.

Edouard’s expression shifted, eyes sharp with thought. “You never struck me as someone who would be in a relationship for just comfort,” he mused. “I always imagined you as someone who’d love fiercely, passionately.”

Annette looked away, embarrassed.

He gave her a small, knowing smile. “But I don’t fault you. First relationships are uncertain territory for everyone. The fact that he’s an ex now and not a boyfriend tells me that just comfort wasn’t enough for you.”

She sighed. “Yeah. Probably.”

“But it doesn’t matter now.” She straightened her shoulders. “What’s done is done. I’m happier now than I was in a relationship anyway. And I don’t have time for that kind of thing. School needs my full, undivided attention.”

Edouard giggled.

Annette narrowed her eyes. “What?”

“Nothing.” Edouard sipped his tea, eyes glinting with something between amusement and certainty. Like he knew exactly how this conversation was going to end. “Just that… love is unpredictable. It might surprise you while you’re here.”

She snorted. “Yeah, definitely not. No guy has interested me enough to even consider a relationship.”

He raised a brow. “No guy?”

“No guy,” she repeated firmly.

Edouard hummed, tapping his fingers against the table. “But you are somewhat closer with Richter.”

Back to him, huh?

Annette exhaled sharply. “Yeah, I guess.”

“He likes you.”

Said so simply, so certainly, that Annette almost choked on her drink. She barely managed to swallow before fixing him with a glare. “Of course he likes me. We’re friends.” She said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Edouard’s grin widened. “Mmmh.” A slow, drawn out hum.

She knew that tone. That was his I know something you don’t hum.

“And you also like him. As friends, of course.” His voice dipped into something nearly mocking. Not cruel, but close. Like he was playing a game she hadn’t realised she was losing.

Annette opened her mouth to argue. To shut this ridiculous conversation down before he started getting ideas, but something in his gaze made her hesitate. He wasn’t teasing. Not fully. There was something softer beneath his words, something unspoken, like he was waiting for her to catch up.
She refused to take the bait.

Instead, she smiled, shaking her head. “We’re just friends.”

She wasn’t sure why she felt the need to say it out loud.

What more could there be?

Edouard only hummed again, slow and knowing.

And for some reason, it annoyed her.

—

Annette was so distracted by Edouard’s accusations that she didn’t even notice the man occupying her thoughts until she walked straight into him.

“Whoa—careful there.”

A pair of hands steadied her before she could stumble back. Strong, warm. She blinked up at Richter, who was looking down at her with faint amusement.

“Thanks,” she muttered, shaking off the strange awareness of his touch. His hands dropped from her shoulders, but the warmth lingered. Weird. She ignored it. “What are you doing here so late?”

They stood in the doorway, facing each other. He looked…hesitant. Which wasn’t like him. Richter Belmont was all confidence, easy grins and charm. But now he was rubbing the back of his neck, shifting his weight.

“I was actually looking for you.”

That startled her.

Her brows knit together. Me?

Richter came around for Maria. Or for both of them. Or to drag her out for their morning walks to class, always with some ridiculous excuse. But never just her. Never like this. Never seeking her out, alone, at this time of night.

Her heart picked up, just a little.

Richter cleared his throat. “A couple of my classmates are throwing a party on Friday night. Just a casual thing at his place. I was wondering if you’d wanna come.”

Annette must have made a face because Richter immediately turned red, his words tumbling over each other in a frantic attempt to save himself.

“I mean—Maria’s already going, and I figured I’d ask you, too. It’ll be chill, nothing crazy. And we’ll be safe. Obviously. No pressure or anything.”

Annette narrowed her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest. “Mmmh. I don’t know…”

Parties weren’t her thing. She’d attended a few in high school, but even counting them on one hand felt like an exaggeration. They’d always seemed like an elaborate distraction, a pit of noise and people tangled together. School was demanding enough as it was, so why add to the chaos?

“Please,” he begged, voice going low as though he were pleading with her to save his soul. Then, grinning, he added, “It’d be good for you. Loosen up a little.”

She scoffed. “I am loose.”

He wiggled his brows, like a mischievous fox. “Your shoulders disagree.”

Annette gasped, swatting his arm. “Excuse me?”

“I’m just saying,” he teased, sidestepping her next half hearted swipe with a fluid ease that made her want to punch him in the arm again. “A nice time with friends would do wonders for all that stress you’ve got bottled up.”

She huffed, considering it. Or pretending to. She had a reputation to uphold after all. She was serious, not one to throw herself into some random party just because a few people told her it’d be fun.

But he wasn’t wrong. She’d been wound tight, ever since she got here. School. Adjusting to Paris. All the things that made her feel like she was constantly playing catch up. It’d been weeks since she’d done anything that didn’t revolve around schoolwork or planning for what came next.

“Pleaseeee,” he added, dragging out the word dramatically, clasping his hands together as though he were about to drop to his knees.

Annette glared at him, trying to hold her ground. But the sight of him with his ridiculous puppy dog expression, his earnestness breaking through the teasing, had the slightest effect on her resolve.

She rolled her eyes, the corners of her mouth betraying her. “Fine.”

His grin was immediate, all triumph and satisfaction. “Knew you’d come around.”

Annette couldn’t stop the smile creeping onto her face, even as she said, “Shut up.”

“Can’t. I’m too excited about our big night out.”

She groaned, then spun on her heel, heading for her dorm. As she slammed the door behind her, his muffled laughter echoed down the hallway—sounding far too pleased with himself.

The evening was sure to be ridiculous. But maybe, just maybe, she could use a little ridiculous right now.

—

Annette frowned at her reflection in the full-length mirror, twisting left and right, arms crossed, then hands on her hips, then back to her sides.

She had never been to many parties. Back home, the closest thing was a community gathering or a celebration with friends. Nothing like the wild, neon-lit parties she’d only heard about. She had no frame of reference for what was appropriate.

The past few days had been warm, tonight especially. Warm enough that she could get away with wearing a dress.

But a dress felt too expected. Instead, she had pulled on a tank crop top that was olive green, the red text on it bold and slightly faded, clinging to her skin and drawing attention to the flat toned plane of her stomach. Paired with it was a mustard yellow maxi skirt, the colour so vibrant in the light it could almost pass for orange, hugging her waist before flowing down to her ankles. A pair of black sneakers completed the look—practical, because she wasn’t about to spend the night suffering in uncomfortable shoes for aesthetics.

She felt good. She looked good.

A brown coat lay folded neatly on her bed as a backup in case the night turned cold, though she had a feeling she wouldn’t need it.

She reached for her jewelry box, her fingers immediately finding the familiar gold pendant she never went without. A gold sun engraved coin pendant, it had belonged to her mother. Cecile had given it to her when she was twelve, and Annette had kept it close ever since. Even when she layered it with other jewellery, it always sat closest to her heart.

She was just about to put on a pair of gold hoop earrings when the door burst open.

Maria groaned dramatically, tossing herself onto the bed.

“I’m so sorry, but I might have to pull a rain check,” she announced, flopping onto her pillow with a sigh. “I’m not feeling my best, and I don’t think it’s wise for me to go to this party.”

Annette paused, concern flickering across her face. “Are you getting the flu?” She was a little bummed, if she was being honest, Maria was supposed to be her buffer for the night.

“I’m not sure,” Maria grumbled, rubbing her forehead. “But I have a terrible headache. Richter’s bringing me some painkillers when he gets here to pick you up.”

“Damn,” Annette murmured.

Maria lifted her head just enough to glance at her. And then, despite her apparent suffering, she let out a low whistle.

“Look at you.”

Annette blinked. “What?”

Maria grinned. “I never thought I’d see the day. You’re actually showing some skin.”

Annette rolled her eyes, but her cheeks warmed against her will. “You can thank the weather for that. It’s finally letting me breathe.”

She turned back to the mirror, still debating whether to add red lip gloss. Before she could decide, Maria—somehow, despite her sickness, snatched the tube from her desk and shoved it into her hands.

“Put it on,” Maria demanded. “You’ll look insane. In the best way.”

Annette snorted, but before she could argue, Maria added with a smirk, “I bet you’re gonna turn so many heads.” Then, with a glance toward the door, she added, “And I bet a certain someone will definitely notice.”

Annette had a pretty good idea who she meant. She just chose to pretend she didn’t.

Instead of giving Maria the satisfaction of a reaction, she applied the gloss, rolling her lips together before finishing off her look with gold hair rings, securing them around a few of her locs. She tied her hair into a loose half-updo, leaving some strands framing her face.

And then—because the universe had a twisted sense of humour. There was a knock.

The door creaked open, and Richter stepped inside.

“Maria, I have your medication,” he said, stepping in with the kind of urgency that suggested he thought she was on her deathbed. “How are—”

He stopped mid-sentence.

Because his eyes had found her.

His stare was immediate, dragging over her like he was trying to memorise every detail. It wasn’t the way men usually looked at women when they wanted something from them. This was different.

It wasn’t hunger.

It was reverence.

Like he had just seen something divine.

And then—God help her—she thought she heard him actually gasp.

“Annette—” he started, voice strangled.

“Richter,” she said, mirroring his tone exactly, just to mess with him.

Maria let out a barely contained giggle from the bed.

Richter blinked a few times, visibly scrambling for words, but none seemed to come. Instead, he exhaled sharply, dragged a hand through his hair, and then, like an absolute fool, said:

“I—I like your outfit.”

Annette arched a brow. “That’s it?”

He made a noise in the back of his throat like he was physically resisting the urge to say something much more dramatic.

Maria, unhelpful as ever, grinned. “She does look stunning, doesn’t she?”

Richter ignored her. Instead, he tilted his head, gave Annette one last long look, then smirked. The boyish confidence sliding back into place like armor.

“Well,” he said, “at least now I know I’ll be the best-dressed guy at this party.”

Annette snorted, loud and unrestrained. “You?”

“Me.” He gestured at himself, all faux arrogance. “Behold, a man of taste.”

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t deny it. He did look good. Annoyingly good.

He wore a crisp white shirt, slightly unbuttoned at the top, a worn-in leather jacket that fit him too well, and ripped jeans that somehow looked more intentional than tragic. His sneakers were black and white, well-loved but clean, and a silver pendant rested against his collarbone, catching the light every time he moved.

He looked like trouble. And if you didn’t know him, you might think so judging by his outfit and that effortless smirk. But maybe some part of him was trouble.

Richter noticed her staring, and his smirk deepened. “See something you like?”

She scoffed, turning back to the mirror like he wasn’t worth her time. “I’ve seen better.”

“Oh?” He placed a dramatic hand over his chest. “That’s cold, Annette. That’s—wow, I actually felt that.”

Maria snorted. “You’re so dramatic, Belmont. Anyway, my medication before you start saying or doing more corny shit.”

Richter, suddenly remembering his actual reason for being here, flushed slightly before turning to Maria and handing her the medicine.

“I hope you get better,” Annette said, giving Maria a quick hug. “Gonna miss having you around.”
Maria groaned into her pillow. “Miss me twice as much for both of us.”

Annette almost grabbed her coat from the bed but decided against it. Instead, she pushed past Richter, ignoring the heat creeping up her neck.

She heard Maria giggling behind her, whispering something that definitely included her name. Richter, of course, took it all in stride.

As she stepped past him, he leaned in slightly, voice low and teasing.

“For the record,” he murmured, “you’re turning heads tonight.”

Annette shrugged her shoulders and smirked. “I always do.”

His laugh followed her out the door.

—

The house was ridiculous. A massive, sprawling thing that looked more like a mini hotel than a private residence. Expensive without trying to be, with towering glass windows, pristine white walls, and a gated entrance that made it clear this was not for just anyone.

Annette took it all in as they walked up the stone pathway. Loud music blasted from inside, the bass thrumming through the ground. Even from outside, she could see bodies moving through the windows. People were dancing, drinking, draped over furniture like they lived here. Some were on the balcony, others in the pool, laughing as they splashed water over the edges.

She adjusted her skirt. Nerves itched at the edges of her calm, but she refused to let them take over. This wasn’t her usual scene. It was too loud, too indulgent, but she was an adapter. If she could hold her ground in a debate club full of entitled boys who thought they knew everything, she could handle this.

They arrived at the door just as another group stepped in, and the music swallowed them whole.

A club banger rattled through the space, the kind of song designed to make people lose their inhibitions. The crowd wasn’t as overwhelming as she expected, but there was a steady stream of people arriving, filling the gaps.

“Belmont!” someone shouted.

Richter barely had time to react before he was pulled into a rough, back slapping embrace by a tall blonde guy who reeked of too much cologne and the confidence that came with money.
Annette figured with his overconfident attitude that he was the host.

“Glad you made it, man! I wasn’t even sure you would,” the guy said, grinning wide, his voice unnecessarily loud.

Richter, ever the social chameleon, clapped him on the shoulder and smirked. “Yeah, well. Had to make sure my guest got here first.” His gaze flicked towards Annette.

Blonde guy. Whose name she still didn’t know turned his attention to her. His eyes swept over her, lingering just a second too long on for her liking.

Her frown was instant.

But he only grinned, as if he hadn’t just checked her out. “Welcome, Annette. Hope you enjoy yourself. My parties are known to be unforgettable experiences. Ihope that applies to you tonight.” He giggled. Actually giggled, before slapping Richter’s back again and disappearing into the crowd, already moving toward a group that was dancing.

Annette exhaled. “Well, he was a bit much.”

“Really?” Richter grinned, leading them toward the kitchen. “I thought he was tame compared to when he’s drunk. Then you’ll see a real party animal.”

Annette wasn’t sure she wanted to witness that.

The kitchen was massive, all polished marble and sleek black cabinets, designed more for aesthetics than actual cooking. A few people lingered around the counter, drinks already in hand, but it wasn’t as chaotic as the main room.

Richter made a beeline for the oversized fridge and pulled out a bottle of wine that practically screamed rich people nonsense. The gold foil wrapping had a vintage looking engraving on it. Some symbol, no, coat of arms? The centrepiece is a cross with flared tips.

Annette tilted her head. “That’s… elaborate.”

Richter smirked. “Everything here is. I wouldn’t be surprised if this guy has a custom family crest tattooed somewhere on his ass.”

Annette snorted, shaking her head. “Classy.”

“Always.” Richter winked, effortlessly flipping the bottle in his hands. “Now, let’s get some drinks in us before this place turns into a madhouse.”

Richter poured her a glass, and the deep red liquid swirled in the crystal, catching the kitchen lights. Annette hesitated for a second.

“What’s wrong?” Richter tilted his head. “Do you not drink? Shit, I should’ve asked before—”

“No, no, it’s okay.” Annette waved him off. “I do. I have. It’s just been a while. Been too busy.”

“You don’t have to—”

“I want to.” She cut him off, reaching for the glass.

The last time she’d had alcohol was back home, at a party she only attended because her ex had asked her to. It had been fine…fun, even. But she’d spent more time enjoying her friends’ company than his. That was one of the moments she realised she had been settling, clinging to a relationship that wasn’t meant for her just because it seemed good on paper.

She lifted the glass to her nose, inhaling. It smelled… expensive. A mix of dark fruit, lavender, and lilac, with something deeper—rose, maybe.

Annette took a sip.

The flavour exploded on her tongue. Rich, smooth, and just the right amount of sweet, nothing like the slightly bitter red wine she’d had before. She swallowed and immediately downed the rest, surprising even herself.

Richter barked out a laugh. “Whoa, slow down there, Annette.”

“Hey, you wanted me to drink.” She licked her lips, smirking, and held out her glass. “Another.”

Richter arched a brow but poured. His movements were smooth, deliberate, his blue eyes locked on her the whole time. He was a good host, if you ignored the chaos of the party around them.

This time, he taught her how to drink it properly. How to let the wine sit on her tongue, how to savor the layers of flavour instead of just tossing it back.

Annette took her time with the second glass. The alcohol was creeping into her bloodstream, warming her from the inside out, but surprisingly, she held it well. Richter looked impressed.

Richter noticed before she did. “Don’t drink too much though,” he said, leaning against the counter. “Or else I might have to keep my eyes on you the whole night”

Annette simply hummed at that. Letting everything sick in.

She and Richter stayed in the kitchen, talking and drinking, conversation easy and full of laughter. He told her that despite how familiar he seemed with this scene, this wasn’t really his crowd. He didn’t care for the flashy parties, but he did enjoy a good drink.

By the time she was finishing her second glass, she was perched on the counter, legs swinging, giggling at something he said.

Then Richter checked his phone, frowned, and sighed. “I gotta step out and take this call for a sec. Don’t get into too much trouble while I’m gone.”

Annette smirked. “No promises.”

He backed away, shaking his head, and she twirled her glass in her hand, half empty.

For a moment, she just people watched. The kitchen wasn’t too crowded, mostly because drinks were spread all over the house, so there was no need for everyone to huddle here.

Then he walked in.

The blonde guy from earlier.

Annette sighed internally.

“Hey there,” he drawled, sliding up beside her. His voice was thick with flirtation.

She barely spared him a glance, just took another sip of her wine.

He chuckled like she had said something funny, then pushed forward. “I’m Alex, by the way.” He flashed a toothy grin.

Great. Now he had a name.

She wasn’t interested. Maybe if she were looking for a meaningless distraction, she’d have humored him. But right now, all she wanted was for Richter to come back so they could continue their conversation. Be together.

“I’m not interested.”

Her tone was flat. No room for misinterpretation.

But Alex, apparently, was the kind of idiot who mistook disinterest for a challenge.

“Mmmh, I like it when women play hard to get,” he said with a smirk, leaning in slightly.

Annette’s grip tightened around her glass. She was one second away from tossing the wine in his face when—

“Leave her alone, man.”

Richter’s voice cut through the air, sharp and cold.

Alex turned, still grinning. “Oh, Richter, you’re back. I was just shooting my shot, and—”

He trailed off.

Because something in Richter’s face. Something in the way his usually bright blue eyes had darkened, the way his jaw was clenched so tight it looked painful, made Alex pause.

Then he laughed. The audacity.

“I see how it is,” he said, hands up like he was surrendering. “My bad, man.”

He patted Richter’s shoulder as he passed. Richter immediately shrugged it off, irritation still carved into his face, his hands curling into fists.

“Did he disrespect you in any way?”

His voice was tight. Dangerous.

Annette blinked. This was new.

Richter was never like this. He was loud, cocky, always quick with a joke. The only time she’d seen him this serious was during his boxing sessions when he had something to punch.

And she had no doubt he could punch.

She needed to defuse this before he did something stupid.

Sliding off the counter, she placed a hand on his back. “Hey,” she said softly. “I’m fine. You really think I’d let an idiot like that say something disrespectful without putting him in his place? He was just being a talkative, thirsty loser. I can handle myself. But…” She gave him a small smile. “I appreciate the concern.”

Richter exhaled, his shoulders loosening as he looked at her. The tension melted from his face, replaced with something softer.

She grinned, eyes gleaming with mischief. “Instead of preparing to fight someone, come dance with me.”

Richter barely had time to react before she downed the rest of her wine in one go, grabbed his hand, and yanked him toward the main room.

“Whoa—okay, okay, I’m coming,” he laughed, stumbling slightly before catching up to her pace.

The main room was packed, bodies moving to the rhythm of the bass-heavy music, the air thick with heat, laughter, and the unmistakable scent of sweat and alcohol. The crowd was dense, forcing them to stand closer than expected. Not that she minded.

She turned to him with a teasing smirk. “Can you even dance?”

Richter scoffed, rolling his shoulders back like he was preparing for battle. “Annette, I’m a natural when it comes to every sort of movement.”

She raised an eyebrow. “That sounds suspiciously like something a bad dancer would say.”

But to her surprise, he wasn’t lying.

His movements were smooth, effortlessly keeping up with hers, matching her pace without hesitation. She had expected awkwardness, maybe some stiff, hesitant steps, but no. He was good. A little too good.

She narrowed her eyes at him playfully. “You’ve done this before.”

Richter grinned. “What, danced?” He leaned in slightly, his voice dipping lower. “Or danced like this?”

Her breath hitched, but she ignored it, choosing instead to focus on the rhythm, the way the music pulsed through her limbs, the way the alcohol made everything a little lighter, a little easier.

They kept moving, lost in the rhythm, until—

Someone shoved past her, knocking her off balance. She barely had time to react before she stumbled straight into Richter’s arms.

She giggled at the absurdity of it, but Richter didn’t seem to find it funny. His hands were steady on her waist, fingers pressing lightly, burning on her exposed skin, his expression unreadable.

Annette tilted her head at him, still smiling. “Relax, Belmont. No need to look like you’re about to throw hands.”

He exhaled, rolling his eyes but keeping his grip on her. “If someone bumps into you again, I will throw hands.”

“Yeah?” She grinned, emboldened by the wine, by the warmth of his hands on her waist. “How about instead of worrying about that, you focus on dancing with me?”

She reached up, draping her arms over his shoulders, guiding him back into the rhythm. He hesitated for just a second, but then he let himself sink into it, his hands settling more firmly at her waist.

She wasn’t sure what had gotten into her, why she suddenly wanted to be this close, why she needed to know what it felt like to dance in his arms. But now that she was here, she didn’t want to move away.

His arms were solid, warm, making her feel both safe and completely out of her depth. She swallowed. Why did this feel so good?

And God, he smelled good. It was distracting.

Richter’s voice was quieter when he finally spoke. “You good?”

She nodded. “Yeah.”

“Yeah!” She repeated.

Annette barely resisted the urge to lean in, to inhale him. He always smelled good. She had noticed it from the moment they met. Richter took his appearance seriously, always well dressed, always clean, always carrying that fresh, warm scent that clung to him like a second skin.

But tonight? Tonight it was different. Maybe it was the alcohol dulling her inhibitions, maybe it was the heat between them, but God, she wanted to bury herself in him.

Her heart was hammering as they swayed to the music, his hands firm on her waist. He was looking at her like she was the only person in the whole house. Like there was nothing else worth seeing. His blue eyes were locked onto hers. Intense, unwavering, impossible to look away from.

“He likes you.” Edouard’s words rang in her ears. She tried to shake them off.

She moved in closer, letting the music guide her, but between the alcohol and the way Richter was looking at her, her coordination was… questionable. And then she slightly lost her balance, but before she could stumble, Richter’s hands tightened around her waist, steadying her in one smooth motion. It was so seamless, so effortless, that she barely had time to process before she found herself pressed against his chest, her head resting on his shoulder this time.

His heartbeat was loud in her ear. Steady. Comforting.

Annette wanted to stay there, wanted to just listen to the rhythm of him.

“Careful there,” Richter teased, his voice low and warm. “Didn’t have you pegged as the type to have two left feet.”

He pulled back just slightly, gently lifting her head so he could look at her. Annette barely stopped herself from whining at the loss of contact.

He was so beautiful.

Her eyes flickered to his lips. Soft. Moisturised. Kissable.

Just for a second.

If Richter noticed, he didn’t let on. He just kept her upright, his grip steady, his body solid against hers. Like he wasn’t fully aware that she was swaying slightly, that she was warm and lightheaded and definitely, definitely tipsy.

Her gaze drifted lower, down to the silver pendant resting against his collarbone. It looked expensive. Like real silver, not some cheap imitation. And the engraving on it… she squinted. It looked familiar. A symbol, maybe. No, a chrest. And then it clicked.

It was the same as the one on that ridiculously expensive bottle of wine.

The realisation sobered her up, at least a little. That wine, the one that had her acting a fool right now, belonged to his family. The Belmonts.

Now she understood why he carried himself the way he did. That effortless confidence. The way his last name always seemed to mean something, even when he never explained why. Legacy. That’s what it was.

It also explained why he was studying business administration. He wasn’t just getting a degree. He was being prepared. Raised to take over the family winery business, to uphold whatever empire his ancestors had built. And with how old that family crest looked, the business had been around for a long time. Generations, probably.

People changed when they knew you had wealth. They started looking at you differently. Measuring you, calculating their moves. Treating you like an opportunity rather than a person. She had seen it before with Edouard, how his wealth shaped the way people moved around him, how friends became sycophants, how strangers suddenly became interested.

Maybe Richter had learned that lesson too. Maybe that was why he never brought it up.

She figured he would tell her when he was ready. And honestly? That was fine. More than fine. It was better that way.

Richter wasn’t like most rich kids she’d met. He didn’t carry himself with entitlement. He didn’t flaunt his wealth or use it as a crutch. If anything, he acted the opposite. He was kind. Compassionate. Someone who, despite his last name, had clearly been raised to understand people, not just look down at them.

Still. It was interesting.

“Was the alcohol too much for you?” he asked, voice quieter now, tinged with something new like concern, maybe.

She blinked up at him, brain catching up with his words.

“I’m fine,” she said automatically, then paused, reconsidering. “Okay, maybe not fine. Maybe just… slightly less than fine.”

His lips quirked. “That’s a fancy way of saying drunk.”

“Not drunk,” she corrected, raising a finger like she was making a very serious point. “Just temporarily inconvenienced.”

They’d stopped dancing completely at this point, just standing there, looking at each other, heat simmering in the space between them. His brows furrowed like he was about to tell her to sit down, to get some water, to do something other than press against him like this.

Annette rolled her eyes. “Richter,” she said, exaggerating her exasperation. “I’m fine. Just tipsy. Nothing to twist yourself over.” She grinned. “Come on, let’s keep dancing.”

He hesitated. For a second, it looked like he was about to pull his hands away, to give her space.
But she stopped him, placing her hand over his. “It’s fine,” she said, squeezing lightly. “Since you’re so worried, you might as well keep me steady.”

She started leading the dance this time. Richter’s cheeks flushed, but he followed, his grip tightening just slightly—like he still couldn’t believe this was happening.

He is so cute, she thought, smirking to herself.

“You like him too.”

Edouard’s voice echoed in her head, unwanted but right.

Three months.

They had known each other for three months. Seen each other nearly every day. He was one of the few people who could pull her out of her comfort zone, who kept her on her toes because he was so damn unpredictable. Who challenged her, teased her, understood her in ways that felt unfairly intimate.

Her heart pounded harder. Her palms felt sweaty.

And then there was earlier tonight, watching Richter get jealous. Actually jealous. Not the fake, playful kind, but the real thing. The kind that made his jaw tense, his fingers flex, his whole body shift like he was preparing for a fight. All because Alex had tried to flirt with her.
And God, she had loved it.

The way he couldn’t hide it, the way he felt it, deep in his bones. She had never seen a man react like that over her before. Her ex had never been that intense. He had always played it cool, too cool, always trying to be the nice guy, the reasonable one, never wanting to make a scene. It had felt passive. Distant.

But Richter. Richter had looked like he was barely keeping himself in check. Like if she had so much as smiled at Alex, he would have lost it.

She never realised she wanted to be wanted like that. Not until now.

The heat in the room felt suffocating. Maybe it was the alcohol, or the way her heart had been hammering in her chest all night, but something was unraveling inside her. Something she had shoved down for months, pretending it didn’t exist, pretending it was just friendship, just a harmless attraction.

She looked up at him.

And there he was, watching her, focused entirely on her.

There was no denying it anymore.

She liked him.

Wanted him.

And she was in so much trouble.

Chapter Text

Annette couldn’t sleep properly that night.

After their dance, they’d decided to go home. Nothing more had happened between them. Not that she had expected anything, not really, but she couldn’t stop thinking about it.

Outside, while they waited for their Uber, the night air was crisp, carrying distant thump of music, the laughter of strangers spilling out of the house, the cool air biting at her skin. She had shivered barely noticeable, but Richter had caught it anyway. 

 Without a word, Richter had shrugged off his leather jacket and draped it over her shoulders.

“You’re cold,” he had said simply.

The jacket was big, practically swallowing her whole, the sleeves hanging past her hands. It smelt like him. So good, like a mix of clean linen, something woods, and him. It was ridiculous how comforting it was. How warm. But maybe it wasn’t just the jacket. Maybe it was him. 

They stood there, side by side, the streetlights casting long shadows over the pavement.

Annette’s heart was still buzzing from the dance, from the laughter, from the way his hands had felt on her waist, firm, assured, like he had no intention of letting her go. The air between them was charged, thick with something unspoken. Her body was still warm, her skin tingling where he had touched her.

They had decided to stop at a small restaurant before heading back to their residence. Her stomach had growled loudly. So loud that Richter had thrown his head back and laughed, real and unguarded, teasing her the whole way there.

“This place is open twenty four hours,” he had told her as they stepped inside. “I come here sometimes after practice. Good food. Cheap. No judgement.”

Annette had grinned at that. “No judgement?”

“Yeah.” His lips had twitched. “Even if you order pineapple on your burger.”

She had gasped, shoving him playfully, but he had just laughed again, bright and easy, like he hadn’t just had his hands all over her hours ago, like the heat between them wasn’t right there, simmering under the surface. They ordered burgers and fries. Very unhealthy. Very delicious. Very fun.

Richter kept the energy alive while they ate. You’d think he hadn’t drunk anything with how collected he was, but he was talking a lot. Well, more than usual, more animated, his words coming faster, his hands moving with them.

Maybe he was feeling it after all. Or maybe it was just her.Annette watched him, the way his eyes gleamed under the neon lights, the way he licked salt off his thumb without thinking, the way his hair had fallen messily over his forehead.

Her stomach flipped.

She was tipsy, too, maybe. Or maybe she was just drunk on him.

He had walked her back to her room, just like he always did. But this time, something felt different.Or maybe because it was different.

Maybe it was the fact that she had finally admitted it to herself.She liked him. Had actual, real, stomach flipping, palm sweating, head-spinning feelings.

And now, standing outside her door, her heart lodged in her throat, she had no idea what to do with herself.Annette was used to being in control. Control of her life, of her emotions. She was not used to standing in a dimly lit hallway, struggling to form coherent sentences because some boy had made her blush.

And yet, here she was.

“I had a good time tonight,” Richter said, hands shoved into his pockets, the faintest blush dusting his cheeks. He was looking at her closely, like he was memorising her, like he wasn’t quite ready to say goodnight.

She could feel his body heat. They were only a few inches apart, and it might have been the cool hallway making his presence seem warmer, closer.

She blushed, too. Since apparently, that was a thing she did now.

“Me too,” she managed, and God, did her voice sound as breathless as it felt?

She shifted, suddenly aware of the heavy fabric on her shoulders. She had forgotten she was still wearing his jacket. She started to shrug it off, but Richter lifted a hand to stop her.

“Keep it for the night,” he said easily. “I’m not in a rush to get it back.”

Then, with a teasing grin, “Plus, it looks better on you.”

Her face burned.

Oh. Oh.

Annette clutched the jacket tighter, unsure what to do with herself, unsure what to say. Flirt back? Laugh it off? Kiss him?

Nope. No. Absolutely not.

“Thanks,” she said instead, nodding way too fast, fingers tightening around the lapels. “I’ll, uh, take good care of it.”

Oh God, why was she like this?

Richter smirked, shifting on his feet. “Good. You better.”

They lapsed into silence. awkward, lingering silence. Neither of them moved. Neither of them looked away.

Annette swallowed.

Richter exhaled.

And then—

“Well,” she blurted, suddenly desperate to fill the space, “I should—”

“Yeah, of course,” he said, stepping back, running a hand through his hair. “You should—”

“Yeah.”

Another pause. Neither of them moved.

Richter laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “This is, uh—”

“Awkward?”

“Painfully.”

And yet, neither of them seemed to mind.

They said their goodnights, and she barely made it inside before her knees gave in.

Maria was fast asleep, but Annette hardly noticed. She changed into her pyjamas, slipped under the covers, and stared at the ceiling.

And then nothing. She couldn’t sleep. She tossed. She turned.

She thought about the party, the way his hands had felt on her skin, the heat of his body pressed to hers, the way he had looked at her. The jealousy. The teasing. His lips—why was she thinking about his lips?

Her ex had never made her feel like this. No one had ever made her feel like this. It was too much. It was all too much.

Thank God it was Saturday. At least she had time to cool down.

Or so she thought.

Instead, she spent the entire weekend restless, tossing and turning, replaying the party in her head like a song she couldn’t turn off. Every moment felt branded into her memory. The way Richter had held her waist, the teasing heat in his gaze, the way his lips had parted like he was about to say something before deciding against it. The weight of his jacket still lingered on her shoulders, even though she’d taken it off.

And Maria was not helping.

Annette had tried to be subtle. Had draped Richter’s jacket over the back of her chair as if it wasn’t his favourite one, the one he always wore, the one that smelled like him. But Maria had noticed immediately. Maria leaned against the desk, arms crossed, an infuriatingly smug look on her face. “Isn’t this Richter’s jacket?”

Annette didn’t even glance up from her book. “It was cold.”

Maria hummed, unconvinced. “And he just gave it to you?”

Annette turned a page. “Yes.”

Maria arched a brow. “And didn’t take it back?”

Annette hesitated for half a second too long. Maria pounced. She leaned in, voice dripping with amusement. “Richter doesn’t really share his stuff.” She nudged the jacket with a finger. “Especially not this one.”

Annette’s stomach flipped. 

She tried to act casual, rolling her eyes. “I don’t know what you’re implying.” Maria grinned. “I’m not implying. I’m saying.” Annette groaned, shutting the book and tossing it onto the bed. “Maria—”

Maria plopped down beside her, eyes alight with mischief. “You like him.”

Annette stiffened. “I never said that.”

Maria gasped, clutching her chest in mock shock. “Oh my God, you do.” Annette groaned again, burying her face in her hands. “I don’t know. I mean, maybe. It’s complicated.” Maria nudged her. “It’s only complicated because you’re making it complicated.”

Annette peeked at her between her fingers. “You’re being annoying.”

Maria grinned. “I know.”

Annette sighed, dropping her hands. “I just— I wasn’t expecting this.” She hesitated, fingers curling into the bedsheets. “And I don’t want to mess things up.”

Maria softened. “I get it.” She tilted her head. “But, Annette, Richter likes you.”

Annette swallowed. “You don’t know that.”

Maria rolled her eyes dramatically, the playful gesture accentuating her teasing tone. “Oh, please. I’ve seen him with other girls, Annette. But with you? It’s different. He’s such a dork around you,” she declared, laughter bubbling up.

Annette bit her lip, the familiar flutter of anxiety swirling in her stomach. She had always been aware that Richter was attracted to her; he wasn’t particularly subtle about it. The way his gaze lingered just a moment too long, the way he’d lean in a little closer during their conversations. The signs were as clear as day. But being attracted to someone and genuinely liking them were two different things, a distinction that seemed to weigh heavily on her heart.

Maria nudged her playfully again, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Look. You don’t have to do anything right away. But if you want my opinion?” She gestured towards Richter’s jacket draped over the chair, its presence a constant reminder of their last encounter. “Keep it. Wear it around. See what happens.”

Annette narrowed her eyes suspiciously, crossing her arms. “Are you trying to start something?” she asked, half amused, half apprehensive.

Maria smirked, a sly glint in her eye. “Oh, I absolutely am.”

Annette groaned, exasperated, as she shoved her friend off the bed. Maria tumbled to the floor in a fit of laughter, the sound infectious and brightening the air around them. Despite herself, Annette couldn’t help but smile, the tension of the past few days momentarily lifting.

—

On Monday, Annette had been walking back to her room with Zuri after a short day of classes. They had decided to spend their free time studying, or at least attempting to, amidst the comfortable chaos of their shared space. Zuri, with her vibrant energy, was animatedly showing off a poster that had come with a vinyl she had bought of an artist called Drolta Tzuentes. 

“Look at her! Isn’t she stunning?” Zuri exclaimed, holding the poster aloft as if it were a precious relic. Drolta was drop-dead gorgeous, the kind of beauty that made heads turn and hearts flutter. 

The famous pop-rock star was known for her striking looks and bold style, with dark, punkish makeup juxtaposed against splashes of vibrant pink. But her signature look was her afro—a blend of black and pink that made her stand out. Drolta was a whirlwind of charisma and rebellion, and Zuri was absolutely captivated by her.

“She’s the reason I realised I liked girls when I was 14,” Zuri said, her eyes gleaming with admiration. “I was obsessed! I mean, look at her! She’s everything!” As they made their way up the stairs, Zuri continued to rave about Drolta, weaving tales of concerts and fan meet-ups, her enthusiasm infectious.

It was as they rounded the corner that they encountered Richter, just as he was leaving their residence for his own class. He looked a bit stressed, likely burdened by an assignment or test, but he managed to greet them with that signature warmth that sent Annette’s heart racing.

“Hey, Zuri!” he said, his smile brightening the corridor. It was easy, effortless until his gaze landed on Annette. For a moment, their eyes locked, and everything else faded into static. Her breath caught. His posture stiffened. The memory of Friday’s party wedged itself between them like a wall neither knew how to climb over.

“Annette, Hi” he said, almost tentatively. 

“Hi,” she replied, her voice barely above a whisper.

And then came the staring. Again. Their ridiculous, familiar routine. One of far too many stolen glances, of half smothered smiles, of eyes flickering from each other’s faces to the floor and back again. It was pathetic. Really, truly pathetic.

Richter swallowed, fingers tightening around the strap of his bag, his knuckles turning white with the force of his grip. Was she imagining it, or was there the faintest pink dusting his ears?

She had no right to find it endearing. And yet.

A beat passed. Then another. And then, with an almost comical sort of urgency, he blurted out, “Okay—uh—good day! I mean—have a good day! Both of you. Yeah.”

Before either of them could respond, he turned on his heel and practically fled down the corridor, his retreating figure stiff as a board.

Annette remained frozen in place, blinking after him, her pulse still hammering like a drum in her ears. It was only when she heard a loud, exaggerated sigh beside her that she realised she must have been making a truly ridiculous face.

Zuri smirked and shook her head. “Wow, you two couldn’t be more embarrassing, yet somehow still cute and dorky even if you tried.”

“Great,” Annette groaned, feeling the weight of Zuri’s teasing. It seemed everyone was aware of her feelings for Richter, everyone except her, apparently. “Is it really that obvious?”  She asked as they made their way to her room. 

Zuri smiled knowingly, her expression a mix of mischief and encouragement. “Yes, it is.” 

With a dramatic flair, Annette flopped onto her bed when they entered her room, as if trying to disappear into the fabric. “God, this is so embarrassing. I’m literally 19 about to be 20 next year, and I’m acting like some a little girl who fell in love for the first time”

Zuri, lying comfortably next to her, side-eyed her with an amused grin. “Well… isn’t true?” Annette shot her a glare, her cheeks still flushed. “That’s not the point.” Zuri shrugged, looking far too pleased with herself. “It’s exactly the point. You’re allowed to feel this way.”

Annette let out a dramatic sigh, covering her face with a pillow in a futile attempt to hide. “I hate this. I don’t even recognise myself.”

“Oh, come on!” Zuri nudged her playfully. “It’s cute! You like him, and he likes you back. You two are practically a rom-com waiting to happen.”

“Zuri, this is not a film,” Annette protested, though a small part of her thrilled at the idea. She could almost imagine a montage of stolen glances and awkward encounters. But reality was far messier, and far less predictable.

“True, but it could be,” Zuri replied, a glint of mischief in her eyes. “Just think about all the awkward moments to come! The miscommunication, the accidental touches—”

“Stop,” Annette groaned, but she couldn’t suppress the smile tugging at her lips. There was something exhilarating about the uncertainty, the potential for something more than friendship. Perhaps she didn’t need to hide from her feelings. Perhaps this awkwardness was just the beginning of something beautiful.

Zuri laughed, nudging her. “Babe, it’s okay. You do realise this is normal, right? You’re not some anomaly for catching feelings later than other people. We’re still young. You should be grateful your first love isn’t some idiot who’ll ruin romance for you forever.” She shuddered, like she was speaking from a painful experience.

Annette peeked out from behind the pillow. “You say that like you’ve got a horror story.”

Zuri rolled her eyes. “Too many. I specialise in falling for people who turn out to be emotionally unavailable, or just plain useless. You, on the other hand, landed a guy who’s actually decent. Who actually likes you back.”

Annette groaned again. “Don’t say it like that.”

“Like what? Like it’s true?”

She threw the pillow at Zuri’s face. Zuri caught it easily, laughing. “Listen, I know you’re used to being all cool and composed—”

Annette scoffed.

“—but love will humble you,” Zuri continued, completely unbothered. “Trust me. And that’s a good thing. You were starting to worry me with all your studying, no social life, no distractions.”

“I have a social life.”

“For who? Me? Maria? Edouard? Richter? You barely give yourself time to breathe, never mind fall in love.”

Annette grumbled, but she didn’t have a good rebuttal for that.

Zuri smirked. “You should’ve seen me when I first started dating my girlfriend. I was a wreck. Embarrassing. I couldn’t even text her without triple-checking my messages like an idiot.” She sighed dramatically. “The trenches are real.”

Annette sat up, scowling. “So what you’re saying is, I’m doomed?”

Zuri patted her shoulder. “Babe, you’re finished.”

—

Christmas vacation was fast approaching, which meant a few weeks had passed since the party. Time had moved strangely since then. Both too fast and too slow, stretching and folding in on itself in a way that left Annette constantly on edge. Every glance Richter threw her way, every casual touch, every moment where they were left alone in the same room, it all felt charged. Like something was waiting to happen. Like something had already happened and neither of them wanted to acknowledge it.

She had decided to stay in France over the break to focus on studying. Exams were looming in January, and with the first semester coming to a close, she couldn’t afford to let herself get distracted. At least, that was what she kept telling herself.

Maria, of course, had other ideas.

“You’re going to kill yourself with stress and loneliness,” she had declared dramatically upon hearing Annette’s plans. “Come home with us instead. There’s plenty of space, and you can still study. It’s quiet there, peaceful. And you won’t be miserable.”

Annette had hesitated. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to go. Maria’s home sounded warm and lively, a welcome contrast to the dull, solitary break she had planned for herself. But it also meant something else.

It meant spending Christmas with Richter.

His home. His family. His space.

She had tried to think through the decision rationally. Weighed her options like a sensible person. She had even talked it over with Eduard, hoping for a stupid reason to decline. But he had only shrugged.

“If you want to go, go,” he had said simply. “I’ve been to that part of town—it’s near a vineyard I’ve performed at. I’ll come with you for a few days, but after that, I have Christmas bookings and family to see. It’s your choice whether you stay longer or come back with me.”

And that had left the decision entirely in her hands.

So she had agreed.

And now, despite her usual confidence, she wasn’t sure whether she was more excited or terrified.

She told herself it was just a trip. Just Christmas with friends. Just a peaceful place to study. But the way her heart wouldn’t stop racing told her otherwise.

Because this wasn’t just about Christmas.

It was about him.

Richter had been thrilled when she told him, his entire face lighting up with that open, boyish enthusiasm of his. “That’s great,” he had grinned. “I’ll take you to my favourite parts of town, and—oh, there’s this bar you have to try. And maybe some walks, too. The air’s a lot fresher in the countryside.”

She had laughed at how excited he was, but inside, she was already bracing herself.

Because spending time with Richter in Paris was one thing. Spending time with him in his home, in a place where everything belonged to him, where he was most comfortable, where she would see him in a different light was something else entirely.

Something dangerous. Something thrilling. And Annette wasn’t sure if she was ready for it.

— 

The train ride home had been arranged by Maria, which was the only explanation for why Annette found herself seated next to Richter. Across from them, Maria and Edouard sat together, deep in some conversation, their heads tilting towards each other, their laughter spilling into the air between them.

Lovely, Annette thought dryly.

Richter, ever the gentleman, had given her the window seat. Said he wanted her to enjoy the view, since he was used to it. Three hours was a long journey, and she appreciated the small thoughtfulness of it.

For the first hour, they talked. Or, rather, Richter talked, and Annette listened, because Richter Belmont had a lot to say about himself.

“I was a nightmare as a kid,” he admitted, stretching his legs out, taking up more space than necessary. “Energetic, loud, talked too much—”

She let out a small chuckle. “You? A loudmouth? No way.”

He grinned. “It’s true. And the town’s small, so everybody knew me. I was always helping people out by fixing fences, carrying crates, running errands. You could say I was basically every mother’s dream man for their daughter.”

He shot her a smug look.

Annette rolled her eyes, but she didn’t disagree. Richter was kind. Helpful. Good hearted in a way that didn’t seem forced, just natural. She could see why people would like him.

Outside the window, the scenery blurred past rolling green hills, endless stretches of trees and farmland, the occasional town flickering by in the distance. The train rumbled beneath them, steady and soothing.

“I can’t wait to see it,” she said after a moment. “Your town, I mean. Edouard was telling me about a vineyard nearby. Apparently, it has the best wine in the country.”

At the mention of the vineyard, Richter went quiet.

Not the usual kind of quiet but the one where he was listening, nodding along, waiting for the right moment to speak. No, this was different. His expression went still, his eyes unfocused, like he’d drifted somewhere far away. Annette didn’t say anything. She just sat there, waiting for him to come back from wherever his thoughts had taken him

.After a moment he sighed and looked at her “There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you,” Richter said, voice lower than usual. He hesitated, rubbing a hand over his jaw before exhaling sharply. “About me. My surname. The vineyard”

Annette tilted her head, watching him carefully. “Richter,” she said softly. “I know.”

His brows pulled together. “You know?”

“Yes.” A small smile tugged at her lips. “I know.”

“How?”

She chuckled, leaning back slightly. “The wine bottle from the party. Your pendant. They both have the same crest. It wasn’t hard to put two and two together.”

Richter blinked. Then let out a short, breathy laugh, running a hand through his hair. “Shit. I thought I was being subtle. Are you mad?”

Now she laughed, shaking her head. “Richter, why on earth would I be mad about that?” She placed a gentle hand over his, squeezing lightly. “Your family is your business. Your secret to keep. You don’t owe me anything if you weren’t ready to tell me.”

She meant it.

It didn’t matter that he hadn’t told her yet. She wasn’t the type to pry, but curiosity had gotten the better of her, so she’d done a little digging.

The Belmont Estate. One of the most profitable wineries in France. A legacy spanning generations. Their wines weren’t the kind you found in regular shops, and weren't meant for everyday people. They were exclusive, served at banquets for royalty, auctioned at obscene prices to collectors who cared more about prestige than taste. The kind of wine you bought not to drink, but to own.

And that wasn’t all.

The Belmonts funded art schools. Sponsored young painters and sculptors. Kept dying artistic traditions alive when no one else could afford to care. Their influence stretched far beyond vineyards.

The current head of the estate wasn’t a Belmont at all.

A man named Alucard Tepes. He wasn’t a blood relative, yet he was the one holding everything together. A figure caught between past and future, keeping the estate afloat until Richter was ready.

Until he was old enough to take over.

She wondered if he felt the weight of it. If he woke up each morning knowing he had an entire legacy waiting for him. If he resented it, or if he had already resigned himself to the path set before him.

She glanced at him now, taking in the set of his jaw, the way his fingers flexed slightly under her touch. “Were you scared I’d treat you differently?” she asked.

His lips pressed into a thin line. He didn’t answer right away. But eventually, he sighed, shoulders relaxing. “Maybe,” he admitted. “People act weird when they find out. Some start looking at me like I’m a walking bank account. Others think I have it easy, that my life’s all sorted out for me. It’s exhausting.”

Annette hummed, watching him closely. “Well,” she said after a beat, giving his hand another squeeze. “I don’t care about all that. You’re still just Richter to me.”

His gaze snapped to hers, something softening in his expression. He swallowed. Then, quietly, he said, “Yeah?”

She nodded. “Yeah. Plus you’re not the first rich person I’ve been around with. I’m literally best friends with Edouard. This is just another day for me”. 

“Thank you,” he said. And he meant it 

She smiled and squeezed his one last time before removing it and looking at the beautiful natural scenary from the train window. Maybe it was a way to keep her cool after the heat she had felt from touching his warm hand. Maybe. 

— 

By the time they arrived, it was well into the afternoon. The train pulled into a small station, nothing more than a single building surrounded by endless green. Annette had noticed the shift in scenery as they drew nearer. How the air had became fresher, how the buildings grew sparser, how the world seemed to slow down. It was a stark contrast to the chaos of Paris, and for the first time in weeks, she felt like she could breath properly.

The station itself was quiet. A few scattered figures milled about, but it was nothing like the bustle she had grown used to. It was peaceful, and she needed that. 

The four of them walked a short distance to the bus stop, where they would take a ride into town. From there, it would be another walk to Maria’s house, which sat just on the outskirts, nestled amongst the trees. A little further out than the rest of the town, but Annette didn’t mind. She liked the idea of the quiet, of the space.

As they walked, she took in the architecture. It was old, with beautiful buildings that lined the streets, the way the town carried a kind of age and history that made it feel almost untouched by time. It was smaller than she had imagined, but charming, in a way that Paris could never be.

Maria, ever the tour guide, pointed out everything of significance as they passed: her favourite shop, a tiny little pet store run by an elderly couple (where, of course, she had adopted her cat), the library where she spent hours holed up reading. Most of the shops were closed, given that it was a Sunday, but they passed a bakery, and Annette caught the scent of fresh bread and pastries through the window. Her stomach growled in response.

She must have looked too longingly at the display because Richter chuckled beside her, nudging her shoulder.

“You don’t have to stare so hard,” he teased. “You’ll be getting these for free soon enough.”

Maria hummed in agreement. “Mum will probably force feed you if you ask nicely.”

Annette smiled. That didn’t sound like the worst thing in the world.

As they continued their journey, they ran into a handful of townspeople, most of whom seemed to recognise Maria and Richter instantly. They exchanged warm greetings, stopping here and there to chat, and Annette noted how naturally they fit into the fabric of this place. The sense of community was undeniable.

The cold nipped at her, reminding her that winter had settled in. She was relieved to find that there was no snow here not like in the north. Perhaps being in the south spared them the worst of it. Even so, she had bundled herself in layers, more than prepared for the chill.

At last, they arrived at their destination. The house was a large beautiful brick built double story . It nestled between towering trees with a running river with a small arched bridge not too far off. The yard was vast, with a picnic table set beneath an ancient oak. It was lovely, homely, and far enough from the town that it felt like its own little world.

Before they even reached the door, it swung open to reveal a blonde woman, her features strikingly similar to Maria’s. An older version of her. The resemblance was uncanny.

“Mum!” Maria beamed, practically launching herself into her mother’s arms.

The warmth between them was undeniable. They held each other tightly, swaying slightly, and something inside Annette twisted painfully at the sight. She swallowed the lump in her throat, pushing the thought away before it could settle.

At that moment, a cat and a dog came bounding towards them, tails wagging wildly. Maria, predictably, abandoned them all in favour of showering the animals with affection. Her mother turned towards the rest of them, greeting them warmly.

Richter stepped forward first, wrapping her in a tight hug. “Aunt Tera.”

Annette blinked. Aunt? That was a surprise. She had assumed they were siblings, but clearly, that wasn’t the case. Before she could dwell on it, Tera had turned to her, opening her arms for an embrace. Annette hesitated for only a second before stepping forward, allowing herself to be enveloped in warmth.

“You must be Annette,” Tera said, her voice kind. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

Annette pulled back slightly, raising an eyebrow. “I hope it’s all good things.”

Tera chuckled. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Annette cast a glance at Maria and Richter, who both looked entirely too pleased with themselves. She had a suspicion about who had been talking about her, but she let it slide.

Inside, the house was warm in every sense of the word. It was exactly as she had imagined. It one of those old French houses, the kind you saw in period films, except the interior had been blended with more modern touches. It was beautiful, surprisingly spacious, yet undeniably homely.

Maria wasted no time in giving them a tour. There were four bedrooms: Maria’s, Richter’s, Tera’s, and a fourth, which Annette and Edouard would be sharing. There were two single beds for them. It wasn’t awkward for them, far from it. They had practically grown up together, had shared the same bed countless times as children during sleepovers. If anything, she was glad for it. She wanted to spend as much time with him as possible before he left.

As she took in the space, the warmth of the home, the way Richter kept sneaking glances at her as if she were the most precious thing in the world, Annette felt something settle in her chest. A sense of belonging, of being wanted

Dinner would be ready in about two hours. By then, Annette and Edouard had finished setting up and even changed into fresh clothes. She pulled on a warm olive-green tracksuit, a thick sweater, and soft, fluffy boots. The house was comfortably warm, the heat from the fireplace spreading into every corner.

She made her way downstairs, the scent of roasted meat thick in the air, making her stomach tighten with hunger. On the dining table sat a giant roast chicken, golden and glistening under the dim kitchen lights. Beside it, a mountain of mashed potatoes, roasted vegetables, and freshly baked rolls. Her mouth watered. It looked delicious.

They gathered at the table with Annette and Edouard side by side, Maria and Richter facing them, and Tera seated at the head. The dinner conversation was warm, filled with the kind of ease that only came with family. Tera, ever the mother figure, entertained them with childhood stories. About how chaotic Richter had been as a child, how he’d once tumbled straight into a river because he was too busy showing off. Then there was the story from the train, the one about old ladies fawning over him. She caught his smug little smile from across the table. It wasn’t planned, the way her heart skipped a beat, but it happened. She ignored it.

After dinner, Edouard put on a performance near the fireplace, singing something soft while they sipped hot chocolate. Annette curled her fingers around the warm ceramic mug and let herself relax. For most of her life, it had just been her and Cécile. She wasn’t used to a house full of people. Wasn’t used to this kind of warmth. But she liked it.

Later, before bed, Maria had shown her the lizard, the tortoise, and the bird she kept. They mostly lived in a spacious shed outside, but sometimes, if they were lonely, Maria brought them inside.

By the time the house quietened for the night, everyone was asleep. Or nearly everyone.

Annette had tried. She lay in bed, listening to the soft breathing from the other side of the room where Edouard slept, but rest wouldn’t come. Something in her chest felt too full, too tight.

So she got up.

She moved carefully, slipping out of the room and making her way downstairs. The house was dark, save for the soft glow of the fireplace, but she found a candle, lit it, and let the small flame guide her.

The photos on the wall caught her attention.

Maria, Tera, and little Richter stared back at her from the frames, frozen in time. Some pictures showed them young, others closer to how they looked now. But one stood out.

A woman with soft brown hair, one side of her face hidden beneath it, holding a little boy in her arms. He couldn’t have been older than seven or eight. He had a big smile, one of those radiant, innocent ones, and he clung to her as if she were his whole world.

“My mother,” a voice said behind her.

Annette jumped, spinning around so fast she nearly dropped the candle. Richter stood there, sleep still in his eyes, his hair a mess from bed, a faint smile on his lips.

“Richter—I—” She pressed a hand to her chest, trying to calm the wild beat of her heart. “You scared me.”

He chuckled, running a hand through his hair. “Sorry. I heard footsteps and wondered who was sneaking around this late.”

“It’s okay. I was just surprised, that’s all.” She smiled, trying not to stare too much at his bare arms, at the way the candlelight flickered against his skin. 

“Your mother?” she asked, nodding toward the photo.

“Yeah.” He stepped closer until they were side by side, both looking at the image.

She hesitated, but he must have sensed her thoughts because he nudged her, giving her a soft, reassuring look. “Go on,” he said.

“It’s just… I assumed you and Maria were siblings.”

Richter gave a small nod. “Yeah, I get that a lot. It’s the whole calling each other brother and sister thing. We are, in every way that matters. We don’t share parents, but we’re family. Aunt Tera is a distant cousin of my mother. She took me in when I was young.”

Annette studied him. The way he spoke, it was calm, steady, as if this were just a fact of life. As if he’d made peace with it long ago.

“I see,” she said quietly. Her eyes flickered back to the woman in the picture. “She’s beautiful.”

Richter grinned. “Isn’t she? Guess you finally know where my devastating good looks come from, huh?”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re such a dork.” Then, after a beat of hesitation, she asked, “Where is she now?”

Silence.

She already knew the answer. She had suspected as much from the beginning, but she wanted to hear him say it.

Richter’s jaw tightened. “She passed when I was young. I lost her when I was 9. That’s when Aunt Tera took me in”

The air shifted. It felt heavier somehow, thicker, pressing down on them.

Annette reached out, her fingers brushing his shoulder. A small touch. A quiet offering.

“I— I lost my mother at that age too,” she murmured.

His eyes flickered toward her, startled. Then something in them softened.

“I’m sorry you had to go through that,” he said.

“I’m sorry you did too.”

They stayed like that for a moment. They stood close, the candlelight casting shadows across their faces. His hand came up, slow and hesitant, resting over hers. His skin was warm.

The staring lasted a second too long. Just enough for both of them to notice.

Annette felt heat rise to her cheeks. She cleared her throat, stepping back. “Well—I suppose I should get back to bed.”

“Yeah,” Richter said, still watching her. “Me too.”

She turned, making her way upstairs. When she reached the landing, she glanced back. He was still there, standing at the bottom of the stairs, looking up at her with something unreadable in his expression. 

“Sleep well, Annette,” he said softly.

“You too.”

And then, after another second of quiet staring, she finally turned away.

She slipped back into her room, easing the door shut behind her. Edouard was still fast asleep, his breathing slow and steady, undisturbed by her absence. She climbed into her bed, pulling the blankets up to her chin, willing herself to rest. But her mind refused to quiet.

She thought about him. As one does these days.

Richter Belmont. The supposed heir to a very profitable vineyard. A boy carrying the weight of a wealthy name, of a family legacy stretching back generations, and yet he didn’t act like some entitled brat. Instead, he lived here, in this quiet town, in this comfortable house with his Tera and Maria.

His mother had died, and somehow, he had ended up in Tera’s hands instead of the Belmonts. 

She turned onto her side, staring at the faint outline of the ceiling in the darkness. There had to be a story there. A tension, a fracture, something unspoken that had led him to this life instead of the one his blood demanded of him. Had it been Rejection? Or had he chosen this place over whatever expectations his family had set for him?

Annette liked to think that being raised by Tera instead of the Belmonts was for the best.

She liked this version of him. This Richter, the one who grinned too smugly when praised, the one who played the hero without ever calling himself one. The one who had looked at her tonight with something unreadable in his expression, something that had made her heart stutter in a way she didn’t entirely hate.

But the rest was for him to tell her when he was ready. For now, she only cared about the way he made her feel.

—-

The next day, Maria decided it was best that they head to town to explore now that the shops were open. The streets were livelier, though not overwhelmingly so. They were the right amount of people milling about to give the town a sense of life without suffocating the quiet charm it held. Annette found she preferred this to the ceaseless chaos of Paris.

As they wandered, they passed a grand church, its towering structure casting long shadows over the cobblestone street. 

Two men stood outside, engaged in what seemed to be a serious discussion. Their attire marked them as churchmen. One was an older man with greying blonde hair and piercing green eyes, his face severe, unreadable. The other was a Turkish looking man, well built, almost intimidating in stature. He looked like he could have been a bodybuilder in another life.

Their conversation halted the moment they walked past. The Turkish man was the first to speak.

“Good morning, children of God,” he greeted, his voice unexpectedly warm, kind. Given his imposing appearance, Annette had expected something sterner, but the sincerity in his tone surprised her.

“Mizrak, it’s good to see you,” Richter responded, stepping forward to shake his hand. His words were polite, but his face betrayed no particular warmth. And then, when he turned to the blonde man, there was no greeting at all, but a stiff, dismissive nod.

Interesting, Annette thought.

Mizrak took the lead in conversation, offering them all a warm welcome to the town and extending an invitation to their church. Annette and Edouard exchanged knowing glances, both offering polite smiles but making no move to engage in a discussion about religion. Then the blonde man spoke, his voice carrying the weight of authority.

“The house of God is open to all,” he said smoothly. “You are always welcome.”

Before either Annette or Edouard could reply, Maria cut in, her tone sharp enough to slice through the air.

“They aren’t Christian, Emmanuel.”

Something bristled beneath the surface of her words, a palpable tension that crackled like static. The weight of it settled on Annette’s shoulders, pressing down with the silent force of something unspoken but heavy.

So she hadn’t imagined the cold indifference Richter had shown, the way Maria’s jaw had clenched the moment they’d approached. Whatever this was, it ran deep. Maria barely spared Emmanuel another glance before turning on her heel and continuing down the street.

Annette hesitated but followed, not pressing for answers. She knew better than to pry open wounds that were clearly still fresh. But she took note of the way Mizrak’s eyes softened with something that might have been understanding, the way Emmanuel’s lips thinned as if he was swallowing words he dared not say aloud.

Maria walked stiffly, her shoulders tense. The tension didn’t break until Richter, ever the fool, spotted a pub and practically lit up with excitement.

“This,” he declared, pointing at the old brick building, “is the best place in town to get a drink. Best drinks in two miles, I’d say.”

Maria sighed, shaking her head at his dramatics, but Annette seized the moment. She looped an arm around Maria’s shoulders, squeezing gently.

“Better?” she murmured.

Maria exhaled, nodding. “Sorry. I just got mad seeing his face.”

Annette waited, sensing that Maria had more to say. Up ahead, Richter and Edouard had fallen into some kind of discussion, leaving the two of them a moment of privacy.

“That blonde idiot is my father,” Maria said at last.

Annette nearly stumbled. Out of all the things she’d expected Maria to say, that had not been one of them.

She blinked. “I—what?”

Maria’s lips twisted into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “I take it you see the resemblance now.”

Annette did. The green eyes, the sharpness of her features. She was a perfect combination of both her parents. 

“I’m guessing, with how that went, you’re not very close,” Annette said, though it wasn’t a question.

Maria snorted. “He chose a life devoted to God, his church, and this town over raising his own daughter. No big deal. And this?” She gestured vaguely in the direction they’d come from. “This is the consequence of that choice. A daughter who does not give a fuck about him.”

Annette let the silence linger before she spoke. “Religious fanatics suck, huh?”

“Totally.” Maria giggled, but there was a hollowness to it. “But you don’t have to worry about me. Richter and my mother are my family. More than enough.” She shrugged. “God knows what kind of Christian upbringing I would’ve had if he’d actually raised me.”

Annette huffed a laugh. “You’d probably be a nun.”

Maria gasped in mock horror. “Don’t even joke.”

Feeling the weight of Maria’s struggle, Annette reached out. She took Maria’s hand in hers, fingers interlacing like vines in the forest. The warmth of their clasped hands provided an unexpected comfort, a silent promise that they were in this together. Maria’s eyes flickered with surprise, but as Annette squeezed her hand gently, the tension began to melt away.

Ahead, she noticed Richter’s eyes flicker towards them, the surprise quickly turning into a softer look. The tension that had been hanging around his shoulders seemed to fade, as if he was finally able to breathe. He nodded at Annette in gratitude, giving her a small smile that sparked a warm, fluttery feeling in her chest.

They spent the next few days in town. There were walks, sampling the food, browsing the handful of shops. Annette found herself particularly drawn to the bookshop, a cosy little place run by a warm, silver haired woman who always had a kind word for her whenever she passed by. She kept her promise of studying, though half heartedly, only brushing through her notes when Edouard, Maria, or Richter weren’t dragging her outside, insisting she was on holiday and should act like it.

Edouard was set to leave after five days. To see him off, Tera prepared a feast, a spread so generous it could have fed twice their number. He appreciated the gesture, tucking in with a fond smile, and when it was time to go, he pulled Annette into a tight embrace.

“Take care of yourself,” he murmured, a teasing glint in his eye. “And don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

She rolled her eyes but squeezed him tighter before letting go. With that, he was gone, disappearing into the distance, and Annette felt the first pang of loneliness settle in her chest.

Later that evening, Richter had asked her to join him at his favourite pub. She told him she’d meet him there, wanting to stop by the bookshop first since it was only a minute’s walk away anyway, a perk of small town life.

“Be safe,” he said, brow creased in that endearing way of his.

She almost laughed. He worried too much, and yet, it was sweet. She reached out and squeezed his arm before turning away, the touch lingering between them.

In the bookshop, she quickly found what she was looking for. It was a book on African mythology. Cecile would love it. She had always been the one to push Annette deeper into history, into the rich, sprawling stories of their ancestors. It was more for her than Annette, but she didn’t mind. She spent longer than intended browsing the shelves, losing herself in the quiet comfort of the space, and was in the middle of paying when Maria burst through the door, looking irritated.

“There you are,” Maria huffed, greeting the shop owner before immediately grabbing Annette’s wrist. “I’ve been looking for you.”

“What’s got you so flustered?” Annette asked, letting herself be dragged out.

“Richter.”

Annette’s stomach twisted. “What did he do?”

“Nothing, really, but I got bored sitting there, and I need you to keep him company before he does something stupid.”

Annette laughed. “You make him sound like a big baby.”

Maria only sighed dramatically. As they neared the pub, she suddenly slowed to a stop in front of the door and turned to Annette with a devious glint in her eye. Then, before Annette could react, Maria pressed a quick kiss to her cheek.

“Keep him company for me,” she said before promptly disappearing down the street.

“Maria!” Annette called after her. But Maria only waved her off with a lazy “Love you! Have fun!” before vanishing entirely.

Annette sighed at her audacity but shook it off. She liked spending time with Richter. It wasn’t like she was being forced. And maybe, a quiet part of her thought, something interesting might come of it.

She stepped inside. The pub was warm, packed enough to feel lively but not suffocating. Her eyes scanned the room, and then she saw him. He sitting at the bar, broad shoulders hunched, brown hair falling messily over his forehead. He was laughing at something, lips curled into a lazy, easy grin, dimples on full display. And he wasn’t alone.

A woman was leaning against the bar, all but draping herself towards him. The sight sent something sharp and hot through Annette’s chest.

She froze. She had no reason to feel anything about this. He was just talking. And yet, it made her stomach twist uncomfortably. A feeling, so foreign, unfamiliar and unsettling rose inside her. She almost didn’t recognise it at first. But then she saw how the bartender lingered, the way she kept finding excuses to pass by, her eyes never straying far from him. It was jealousy. Annette was jealous.

The realisation made her bristle. She ignored the way it made her insides churn and walked towards him.

As if sensing her presence, Richter turned, and the second his eyes landed on her, his face lit up.

“Annette!” he beamed, as though she had just made his entire evening by stepping through that door. “Finally! I was starting to think you weren’t coming.” He tapped the empty stool beside him eagerly. “Sit.”

She took her seat, studying him. His cheeks were flushed, his nose slightly red. He had been drinking, though not much. He still had control, if a little looser than usual.

Without missing a beat, he signalled the bartender. “A mulled wine for her,” he said. Then, turning to Annette with an almost boyish excitement, “It’s a warm winter drink. You’ll love it.”

As he talked, words spilling from his mouth with reckless affection, Annette couldn’t help but notice the way the bartender’s eyes kept flickering towards him. She was always nearby, always watching. At first, Annette had thought it was just standard politeness. He was a customer, after all. But no, she recognised that look. The way the woman’s smile lingered just a second too long, the way she subtly preened whenever she passed their table.

Richter either hadn’t noticed, or he didn’t care. Or worse. He had noticed and simply didn’t mind.

That realisation made Annette’s teeth clench. She didn’t like this feeling. This tight, prickling awareness curling around her ribs. It was absurd. He wasn’t hers. But she still wanted the woman to stop.

From the day she had met Richter, she had been aware of his good looks. It was impossible not to be.  He looked good and then there was his personality. He was goddamn kind, ridiculously sincere. She had seen how women responded to it. She had seen how they leaned in when he laughed, how their hands would brush over his arm, how their smiles lingered just a little too long.

She had never cared about that before. But now, here she was, internally screaming while trying to keep a straight face as another woman sent interested signals to Richter. And the worst part? He was oblivious. Or maybe he wasn’t. Maybe he did care. And that thought made something inside her twist so violently she had to grip the edge of her barstool just to keep herself steady.

A warm hand tapped against hers. She flinched, startled, and turned to find Richter watching her, his brows drawn in concern. “You all right?” he asked softly.

His voice alone was enough to make her exhale some of the tension locked in her shoulders. She forced herself to meet his gaze, forced her lips into a small smile. “I’m fine. Just got lost in thought.”

He didn’t look convinced. His bemused little smirk told her he knew she was lying, but for once, he didn’t press. “I see that,” he murmured, his fingers brushing lightly over hers before pulling away.

She took a sip of the mulled wine. It was as delicious as he had promised, spiced and warm, leaving a pleasant heat in her throat. “It’s good,” she admitted.

His grin widened. “I knew you’d like it. I’ve got great taste.” He took a dramatic sip of his own drink and sighed in satisfaction. “Unlike Maria, who still insists that cocktails are the only drinks worth having. It’s tragic, really.”

She giggled. “You sound personally offended.”

“I am. She’s my sister. Her bad taste reflects on me.” He placed a hand over his heart in mock sorrow. “Imagine my humiliation.”

She laughed, despite herself, and he beamed at her like she had just given him the greatest gift in the world. He always did that. Like every little thing she did had the power to make his whole day better. It was stupid. It was endearing. It was making her heart do ridiculous things in her chest.

As they continued drinking, Annette tried to ignore Emily, the woman whose name she had learned earlier. Annette  was the one who had his attention, the one he was looking at and sneaking touches to as they talked and drank. But that didn’t stop her heart from racing or the jealousy from bubbling up inside her.

They lingered at the pub for a while longer, but the moment they stepped outside, the winter air biting at their faces, Richter fell uncharacteristically quiet throughout their walk back to their place. She figured he was tired from drinking too much. 

But Annette frowned, when he decided to slow his steps, stopping just near the shed by the house.

She turned to him, brows furrowing. “Richter, are you—”

“I liked it,” he interrupted, turning towards her.

She blinked. “What?”

“The way you were looking at me earlier. And the look you gave Emily.”

Her stomach dropped. Her throat went dry. Her mouth opened, but she had no idea what to say.

“I thought I could shut up about it,” he continued, voice quieter now, like he was confessing something dangerous, “but I couldn’t help thinking about it the whole way back.” His gaze burned into hers, cheeks flushed, and not from the alcohol this time, but something else. Shyness. Desire.

Annette’s pulse roared in her ears. Embarrassment crept up her neck, heating her face. So he had noticed.

She looked down out of shame, but then she felt the softest touch against her chin. It was his fingers, tilting her face back up. He was so close now. Close enough that she could smell the warmth of spice and mulled wine on his breath. Close enough that she could count the dark flecks in his blue irises.

“I didn’t say it was wrong,” he murmured. His fingers ghosted over her skin. “I liked it. It was cute.”

Her breath hitched. Her entire body felt like it was on fire. They stood there, staring at each other, tension stretched thin between them, something slow and inevitable pulling them closer. He leaned in. Her heart nearly stopped. She almost gasped, but instead, she found herself moving too, tilting her head slightly, closing her eyes.

In that moment, she realised she wanted this—she wanted to be kissed by him. Since the party, his lips had been on her mind, and now it was finally happening. Their noses brushed, and she felt his breath ghosting over her lips.

And then—nothing.

She opened her eyes, confusion washing over her as he pulled back slightly. He exhaled sharply through his nose, as if steadying himself. “No,” he said hoarsely. “Not like this.”

She stared at him, her pulse racing, barely able to find her voice. “What?”

“I want to be in the right frame of mind if I’m going to kiss you,” he replied, his voice raw and casual, as though he hadn’t just shattered her entire reality. “And take your lips properly.”

Her stomach jumped, and her knees nearly buckled. A mix of disappointment and longing filled the air between them. His words hit her like a physical force, heavy and tangible, something she could reach out and grasp. 

She swallowed hard, trying to process what he had just said. “Richter—”

He stepped back before she could finish. Smiled at her softly, teasing, devastating. “Go inside,” he said, adjusting her coat like nothing had happened. “I’ll be there in a bit.”

And with that, he stood there waiting for her to go back inside.  Annette barely remembered how she got back to her room. It wasn’t until she was inside, door shut behind her, chest rising and falling rapidly, that she let herself breathe properly.

She pressed her fingers against her lips. Let out a quiet, shuddering exhale.

What the hell had just happened? And what did he mean by wanting to be in the right frame of mind?

Chapter Text

Annette might not have gotten any lip action that night, but her subconscious had no intention of letting her off so easily.

She dreamt of him. Of his mouth, hot and insistent against hers. Of the way he had hovered so close, his breath mingling with hers, the tension thick enough to smother her. In her dream, there was no hesitation, no interrupted moment. Only the full force of him pressing her back against the wall, his hands gripping her waist, his lips hungry and relentless. 

It wasn’t soft or careful. It was desperate, deep, tongue and teeth clashing, heat curling low in her stomach as he swallowed every sound she made.

She woke up with a sharp gasp, her body thrumming, thighs clenched, sweat cooling on her skin despite the winter air. Her pulse was erratic, her lips felt swollen despite never having touched his, and worst of all was that her core ached. She groaned, burying her face in her hands.

This was ridiculous.

One almost kiss, and she was already reduced to this? Waking up in the middle of the night, legs squeezed together, breathless and needy over a man who hadn’t even kissed her yet?

She fanned herself, even though it was freezing outside, but it was useless. The heat wasn’t on her skin but was under it, deep in her bones, simmering, unshakable.

She hadn’t felt this hot and bothered in a long time. She had seen Richter shirtless plenty of times before. Too many times, really. That knowledge and that memory was now a curse. Because once the thought had lodged itself in her brain, it refused to leave. 

Now all she could see was the way his body looked when they jogged together, damp with sweat, muscles shifting, his breath coming out in even, steady pants. The way his shirt clung to his back after training. The way his throat bobbed when he drank water, jaw sharp, skin flushed.

Her legs squeezed tighter.

Fuck.

She exhaled sharply, pressing a hand over her eyes like it might physically push the images away. It didn’t. It just made them worse.

She was also grateful Edouard had left because how was she supposed to act normal around him when she was busy thirsting over Richter? How was she supposed to sit across from Richter tomorrow, listen to him talk, pretend she wasn’t thinking about his hands gripping her waist, about his mouth, about—

She groaned into her pillow, face burning. This was too much for her.

How the hell was she supposed to sleep after this?

To say she had finally gotten some sleep would be a lie.

She had spent the entire night staring at the ceiling, thinking of Richter. Thinking of his hands, his mouth, the weight of him pressing her into the mattress in her traitorous imagination. By the time morning came, she was exhausted, her body heavy with sleeplessness, but staying in bed wasn’t an option. It was the weekend, and Tera liked everyone to have breakfast together when she wasn’t up at dawn running the bakery. Besides, she wasn’t about to miss out on those pastries.

Her heart pounded against her ribs as she made her way down the stairs. She was being ridiculous, but it didn’t stop the dread curling in her stomach at the thought of seeing him. It was just breakfast. Just a normal morning. She reached the dining table, relieved to find that Richter wasn’t there yet.

“Good morning,” she greeted, forcing a smile as she sat down. Maria and Tera returned the greeting, and she busied herself with plating her food, trying not to look like she was on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

Tera set a warm cup of hot chocolate beside her plate, a small, comforting gesture. “Thank you,” she murmured, wrapping her fingers around it for warmth.

“Is Richter still in bed?” Tera asked.

His name alone made her spine stiffen. “I think so,” she replied, struggling to sound nonchalant. “We got back late last night. He’s probably still tired.”

Maria snorted. “Ah, speaking of the devil.”

Annette barely had time to brace herself before Richter strolled into the room, fresh from his bedroom. He looked terrible. Hair an absolute mess, dark circles under his eyes, the kind of exhaustion that made her think he’d spent the whole night just as restless as she had.

Oh.

Oh, that was a problem.

“Morning,” he mumbled, voice still rough with sleep as he collapsed into his seat. He yawned, rubbing at his face.

Maria wrinkled her nose. “You look like shit.”

Richter shot her a flat look. “Gee, thanks, Maria. I was really hoping someone would point that out.”

Tera chuckled as she placed a cup of coffee in front of him, brushing his shoulder affectionately. “Didn’t sleep well?”

“Yeah, unfortunately,” he said, reaching for his drink. Then, at the worst possible moment, his gaze flickered to Annette. “Had a lot on my mind.”

Her stomach dropped.Her grip tightened around her spoon like it was the only thing anchoring her to the present moment.

Now, why the hell did he have to look at her when he said that?

It would have been so easy to crumble. To let the heat crawl up her neck and look away like she hadn’t spent the entire night thinking about him, about his hands, his mouth, the almost but not kiss that had left her in a state of absolute insanity. But she wasn’t going to let him have this. If he was going to play games, then fine. She would play too.

So, she met his gaze head on.

Richter, who had clearly not expected this, faltered. His spoon slipped from his fingers, clattering against the plate, and the look of pure, dumb surprise on his face was so ridiculous that Annette couldn’t help it but laugh.

It was exactly what she needed to break whatever ridiculous spell she had been.

“So smooth, Belmont,” Maria drawled, voice dripping with sarcasm.

Richter scowled, scooping up his spoon like it had personally offended him. “Okay, first of all, that was an accident.”

“Sure.”

“It was.”

“Right.”

“God, you’re annoying,” he muttered, taking a sip of his coffee. “I don’t even know why I like you.”

Maria grinned, completely unbothered. “Tragic, really. Must be hard, waking up every day knowing you have incredible taste.”

“Okay, okay, enough,” Tera said, shaking her head fondly. “Eat your food before it gets cold.”

Annette bit back a laugh, shoving another bite of pastry into her mouth. But even as she focused on her breakfast, she could feel Richter’s gaze on her—steady, unrelenting. Burning.

And, if she was honest with herself, she didn’t mind.

Not one bit.

They never actually found a moment to talk.

As soon as breakfast was over, Annette had slipped upstairs for a bath, the warmth of the water lulling her into something close to peace. But the second she climbed into bed, intending to rest for just a few minutes, exhaustion swallowed her whole.

She woke up hours later, groggy and disoriented, her phone vibrating against her pillow.

Edouard.

She groaned, swiping to answer. “Hello?”

“Well, hello to you too,” he teased, the smirk evident in his voice.

“Sorry,” she yawned, checking the time. 1 PM. Thank God she was on vacation. “Didn’t get much sleep last night.”

“Mmh.” His tone turned speculative, playful. “Something interesting happen after I left?”

Annette frowned. “What? No.”

Silence.

Then—

“I knew it,” Edouard said, far too smug. “So, what happened?”

She groaned, dragging a hand down her face. “Well… we almost kissed.” The words left her in a rush, as if saying them quickly would make them less mortifying.

Edouard let out a low whistle. “Not surprising. It was bound to happen sooner or later. Honestly, I’m just mad it happened a few hours after I left. Shouldn’t have made my exit early.”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re so ridiculous.”

“Someone in this friendship has to be. Anyway, why didn’t you actually do it?”

Her fingers curled into the sheets. “He said he didn’t want it to happen like that,” she admitted. “That he wanted to take my lips properly.”

Edouard burst out laughing. “That’s a man who knows what he wants. Very happy for you.”

“Mmmh,” she hummed, stomach twisting. “Yeah, but who knows what’ll happen when we actually talk about it.”

Edouard’s voice softened, but there was still a teasing edge to it. “It’s Richter. If it were any other guy, I’d be worried. But with him? You’ll be fine.”

She sighed. “You make it sound so simple.”

“That’s because it is,” he said. “And try not to embarrass yourself. Or him, to be honest.”

Annette groaned. “No promises.”

He laughed. “Alright, I was just checking in. Update me. Love you. Miss you.”

“You know I will. Love you too, Edouard.”

As soon as the call ended, she let the phone rest on her chest, staring at the ceiling.

This was happening.

They had been dancing around each other for months, orbiting closer and closer, and now there was no pretending. No avoiding it.

They had almost kissed. And she had a feeling there would be no going back from this.

———

When Annette finally went downstairs to find Richter, so they could talk, he was nowhere to be seen.

She checked the dining room first, then the sitting room, even pressed her ear to his bedroom door and knocked, yet nothing. Silence.

Weird.

He better not be avoiding what happened last night, she thought.

A flicker of irritation sparked in her chest as she made her way to the front balcony. The early afternoon air was crisp, the sun casting long shadows against the ground, and there he was by the small bridge near the river.

Richter stood with his back to her, deep in conversation with two men.

Annette narrowed her eyes. One of them was an older man with long silver hair, wearing a red coat and white trousers, the kind of ensemble that screamed old money. The other was even more striking. He had pale blonde hair, skin so ghostly it was almost unsettling, but sharp, handsome features that softened the effect. Both of them looked like they came from wealth, their clothes too pristine, too fine.

Something about them made her uneasy. But she pushed that feeling aside. Richter clearly knew them. If it was important, she’d find out soon enough.

She turned back inside and headed to the kitchen, where Maria was chopping vegetables, her sleeves rolled up and her expression relaxed.

Annette grabbed a knife and started helping.

Maria shot her a look. “You sure slept for a long time.” She flicked a piece of pepper into a bowl. “Nightmares?”

Annette hesitated. “Not exactly a nightmare. Just… exhaustion, and something happened that kept me up all night.” She kept her voice casual, waiting to see if Maria would put the pieces together herself.

Maria’s knife slowed. She hummed. “Funny. Richter said the same thing.”

Annette’s grip on the knife tightened.

“He crashed for a bit after you went up,” Maria continued, her voice dripping with suggestion. 

Silence.

Then Maria gasped.

“Shut up!” Maria screamed. 

Annette groaned, already knowing what was coming.

“I didn’t even say anything—”

“Yeah, but you were about to.”

Maria smirked. “Well, something clearly happened for you two to come back late, exhausted, looking like—god, Annette, you should’ve seen the way you two were staring at each other at breakfast.” She dropped the knife, turning fully towards her. “Now spill.”

Annette bit her lip, but there was no escaping it.

“We… we almost kissed.”

Maria gasped so loudly Annette was grateful Tera was not in the house at the moment. “WHAT. Oh my god. Why didn’t you?”

Annette huffed out a laugh. “I— I don’t know. It just—” She shook her head. “We were about to and then Richter just stopped it.”

Maria made a noise of pure frustration, “Of course that idiot stopped it.” She rolled her eyes so hard Annette thought they might get stuck. “Do you know why?”

Annette sighed, “He said something about ‘not like this.’” The words still burned in her memory, the low rasp of his voice, the way his breath had been warm against her lips. “I’m assuming because he was drunk and he’d want to do it properly.” She tried to shrug it off, tried to make it sound like it hadn’t sunk its claws into her and pulled, sharp and deep, straight to her core.

Maria groaned. “You two are insufferable. So are you dating now?”

“Wait, hold on,” Annette said quickly, heart racing at the mere suggestion. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

Maria looked at her like she had sprouted a second head. “Why not? You like each other. A LOT. You literally almost kissed last night. What’s stopping you?”

Annette exhaled, placing the knife down. “It’s not that simple. There’s a difference between finally acknowledging your attraction to someone and immediately jumping into a relationship.”

Maria crossed her arms. “I mean, sure, but what’s stopping you, really? You’re obviously into each other.”

Annette sighed. “I do really like him.”

Maria’s expression softened. “Then don’t overthink it. Look, I know Richter, he’s not the type to mess around. If he’s looking at you the way he does, and he actually made a move? He’s all in. 

She paused, letting the weight of that settle between them before continuing, “The real question is, are you?”

Annette’s breath caught.

The words rang in her head, bouncing off the walls of her skull, relentless. It wasn’t like she hadn’t asked herself the same thing a hundred times already. But hearing it out loud, spoken so plainly, forced her to confront it in a way that made her chest tighten.

“Yeah…” Her voice came out quieter than she intended, like the weight of admitting it pushed the air from her lungs. She swallowed, trying again. “I—I think I am.”

—————-

 Annette and Maria spent the rest of the afternoon in the kitchen, the air thick with the scent of simmering spices and freshly chopped herbs. Annette took charge of the stew and meat, while Maria busied herself with preparing the salads and dessert.

“Are you sure it’s not because you want to impress someone with your cooking skills?” Maria teased, nudging her playfully as Annette stirred the pot.

Annette rolled her eyes, but the heat rising to her cheeks betrayed her. “Shut up.”

Maria smirked. “You didn’t deny it.”

Annette didn’t dignify that with a response, instead focusing on seasoning the stew, ensuring the broth was just right. The sound of the front door opening and closing broke the moment. Tera walked in from work, inhaling deeply before exhaling in satisfaction.

“Mmmh, that smells incredible.”

“Annette made dinner,” Maria announced proudly, setting the finishing touches on the cake before carrying it to the table.

Tera raised a brow, clearly impressed. “Well, you’ve cooked at the perfect time because we have guests tonight.”

Annette turned from the stove, wiping her hands on a towel. “Guests?”

Before Tera could answer, the door swung open again. Footsteps, deep voices, Richter’s the familiar laugh, and then three figures stepped into the kitchen.

Richter. And two other men.

Annette had only seen them from a distance before, but up close, they were striking. The older man in the red coat carried himself with an air of authority, but his face was warm, eyes gleaming with something almost mischievous. The other one was tall, impossibly pale, with golden hair and sharp features. He had otherworldly beauty.

“Maria!” The old man’s voice was full of excitement as he opened his arms.

Maria practically threw herself into his hug, beaming. “It’s so good to see you!”

She moved next to the blonde, embracing him too. Meanwhile, Richter had gravitated towards Annette, standing beside her under the guise of helping with the dishes.

“Hi,” he said, voice a little too soft.

Annette glanced up, smirking. “Hey.”

Richter fidgeted. “Slept well?”

Annette couldn’t help the snort that escaped her. He was being awkward. As if he hadn’t been the one who tried to kiss her last night with all the confidence in the world. “Yes, Richter, I did.”

His ears went pink. She had to bite her lip to keep from laughing.

They finished plating the food just as Maria returned with the two men.

“Anyway,” Maria said cheerfully, “this is my friend Annette. She and I are roommates, and she’s spending Christmas with us.”

The blonde man’s lips quirked in a small, polite smile. “It's lovely to meet you, Miss Annette.” His voice was deep, refined, and his handshake was firm. “A friend of Maria’s is always a pleasure to meet. I am Adrian Tepes, but you can call me Alucard.”

Annette’s heart stuttered. Alucard. She knew that name. He was the temporary head of the Belmont Wine Estate, well at least until Richter took over. She had read about him before but had never imagined him to be this beautiful, poised, almost ethereal.

“And I’m Juste,” the older man added.

Annette blinked. “Juste who?”

Richter snorted beside her.

“Juste Belmont.” The man smirked, jerking a thumb toward Richter. “I’m this idiot’s grandfather.”

Annette’s stomach dropped. She didn’t know about him, as there was little information about the Belmont relatives. It was just mentions of the current estate head and fragments of family history.

Richter groaned. “Hey! Don’t call me an idiot in front of Annette!”

“Why? Are you my grandson’s girlfriend?” Juste asked bluntly.

Everything stopped.

Annette felt her entire body go rigid. Richter froze beside her.

Maria, of course, took the opportunity to stir the pot. “Yes.”

“No!” Annette and Richter spoke at the same time, voices tripping over each other, too loud, too panicked.

“I mean, we could be—” Richter started, then immediately clamped his mouth shut, realising what he had just said.

Maria and Juste burst out laughing.

Richter’s face burned. Annette’s wasn’t faring any better.

“I mean—” Richter stammered, rubbing the back of his neck. “I just—forget it.”

Annette swallowed, ignoring the way her chest felt tight. We could be. The words settled into her bones.

Thankfully, Tera reappeared, clapping her hands together. “Alright, alright, that’s enough. Let’s eat before the food gets cold.”

The seating arrangement was settled quickly. Annette and Maria on one side, Richter and Alucard across from them, with Tera and Juste sitting at either end.

“This looks delicious,” Alucard praised, eyeing the stew.

“Annette made it,” Maria said, nudging Annette with a grin.

“Really?” Alucard’s expression was unreadable, but there was something approving in the way he nodded.

“You made this?” Richter turned to her, clearly impressed.

Annette shrugged. “I wanted to cook.”

Juste took a bite and let out a pleased hum. “Damn, kid. You sure you’re not a chef?”

Annette smiled. “I just like good food.”

Richter, meanwhile, was busy scooping up a spoonful of stew, eyes lighting up the second he tasted it. “Annette, this is—” He cut himself off, shaking his head as if words failed him. “This is so good.”

Annette raised an eyebrow. “It’s just stew, Richter.”

“No,” he said with full seriousness, “this is the best thing I’ve ever had.”

Maria snorted. “You’re so dramatic.”

“I’m not! It’s perfect.”

Annette tried to ignore the way warmth spread through her chest.

The rest of the dinner was loud and filled with conversation. Juste made jokes, Maria was her usual playful self, and Alucard, while reserved, was kind and engaging. It was comfortable.

And Richter?

Richter kept sneaking glances at her. It was embarrassing how obvious he was. Every bite of stew had him humming in satisfaction, but it wasn’t just the food—it was the fact that she was sitting right there, across from him, in the same warm glow of candlelight, her locs catching the flickering orange hues. Every time she moved, every time she smiled, he looked at her like she was the best thing in the room.

Pathetic.

But she liked it.

She pretended not to notice at first, focused on the meal, on the casual conversation flowing between everyone at the table. But then Richter did it again, his gaze lingered a second too long, his spoon halfway to his mouth as if he had forgotten how to eat properly. And when she met his eyes, he had the audacity to flush, quickly shoving the spoon into his mouth to cover up his embarrassment.

Annette bit the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling. He was so gone.

Juste was making jokes, slipping effortlessly into the role of the charismatic host. He seemed like a cool, nice old man. Like someone with a warmth that put people at ease. It was surprising, really. Nothing about him aligned with the strict, distant figure she had conjured in her head. She had imagined Richter’s grandfather would be someone cold, a man whose absence had been deliberate, but watching Juste now, laughing over a shared memory with Tera, she couldn’t quite reconcile that image with the man before her.

So why, then, had Richter been raised elsewhere?

The question burned at the back of her mind. She stole a glance at Richter again, but this time, he wasn’t looking at her. His expression had shifted—his jaw a little tighter, his shoulders a little stiffer. He was listening, but there was something guarded in his posture, something that made her wonder if maybe, despite the easy atmosphere, he felt like an outsider in this house.

She wanted to ask. But now wasn’t the time.

Instead, she reached beneath the table, her fingers brushing against his knee. His whole body tensed for half a second before he relaxed, glancing at her with something unbearably soft in his eyes. She gave him a small squeeze, a silent reassurance.

And just like that, the tension in his shoulders eased. He turned back to his meal, a little more at ease, and she let the conversation carry on, letting the warmth of the moment settle between them.

Juste had asked Richter to fetch a box from his house after dinner. Since he was going there anyway, Alucard also asked him to retrieve some important papers that were there. Simple enough.

Richter stepped outside, and before the door even shut behind him, Annette was already following.

“Richter,” she called.

“Yeah?” He paused on the stairs, turning to look at her.

“Can I join you?”

He blinked, visibly surprised, before his face lit up. “Really?”

She shrugged. “Why not? A walk sounds nice. And I don’t think I’ve seen that part of town yet.”

“Um, yeah. Sure. That’s cool,” he said, doing a terrible job of playing it off like it wasn’t the best thing to happen to him all day. He smiled and stepped aside, gesturing dramatically for her to go ahead.

“Gee, what a gentleman,” she teased.

“I learnt from the best,” he quipped, grinning as he fell into step beside her.

The walk started in comfortable silence. Juste’s house lay across the river, deep in the forest, so they had to cross through the trees. The night air was crisp, laced with the scent of damp earth and wildflowers. Annette liked the quiet. Richter had other plans.

“So—” he began, glancing at her like he was working up the courage for something.

“So…?” she prompted, amused.

“I guess we should talk about last night.” He rubbed the back of his neck.

She hummed, tilting her head. “Yeah, I guess we should.”

“Right. About last night—” He exhaled sharply, as if steadying himself. “I remember everything. And I know you do too—it’s written all over your face, but before we begin, I just want to say I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”

She smiled. He was always so thoughtful. “You didn’t,” she assured him. “Trust me, you would’ve known if I was uncomfortable.”

Richter let out a breath of relief. “Great. That’s—great. Because, uh… I meant what I said.”

“Which part?”

“The liking the jealousy part.”

Annette nearly tripped over her own feet. “Oh, God. Don’t remind me.”

Richter cackled. “No, no, I was very pleased, actually. I never knew you could get like that. Your jaw was clenched so hard that I swear, if you had the ability, you would’ve made her explode on the spot.”

“Richter!”

“What? I’m just saying, it was very flattering.” He smirked. Then, after a beat, “Would you rather we pick up where we left off?”

She snorted. “Easy there, tiger. We’ve got a task to do.” She tried to make it sound casual, but her heart pounded at the thought. She needed time to collect herself.

Richter whined dramatically. “Later, then?”

“Maybe.”

“That’s not a no.” He grinned, nudging her shoulder. He looked stupidly happy.

They fell into an easy rhythm again, walking in the hush of the woods. Juste’s house was surprisingly small considering his wealth. It was a family cottage, warm and inviting, nestled so deep in the trees you wouldn’t even know it was there unless you stumbled right into it. The river nearby gurgled softly, a peaceful undercurrent to their conversation.

Then Annette leaned in and whispered, “Oh, and by the way, your grandfather is really hot.”

Richter nearly choked. “Gee, thanks. That’s exactly what a guy wants to hear from his—” He stopped himself just in time.

“From his what, Richter?” She turned to him with a knowing look, a slow smirk curving her lips.

He tensed. “Um. You know.”

“I don’t, actually. That’s why I asked.”

“You’re making this very difficult for me.”

“I know,” she said, laughing. “That’s the point.”

Richter groaned but recovered quickly. “Anyway, he gets along with Maria more than me.”

“Because she put the fear of God into him,” Annette pointed out.

“Exactly. Never underestimate the power of a teenage girl who’s not afraid to curse you out.”

“Smart of her,” Annette agreed, nodding solemnly.

“Yeah, yeah,” Richter said, pushing open the door and stepping aside to let her in first. “Ladies first.”

She rolled her eyes but stepped inside. The place was not what she had expected.

The cottage was stunning. Vintage, but with modern touches that suggested it had been cared for over the years. The space was vast, open, uncluttered. It barely looked lived-in, which made her think it was more of a vacation home than an actual home. Still, there was something warm about it, something that felt preserved. As if time had simply stopped moving inside these walls.

She wandered through the open-plan space, glancing at the walls. They were filled with portraits of Juste, mostly from when he was younger. He’d been handsome his entire life, it seemed—white haired and striking, a face that might have been sculpted from marble. Annette recognised Richter’s mother in a few pictures, and beside her, another blonde woman she assumed was Richter’s grand. They looked happy. There was even a photo of the three of them with a baby, a tiny thing with dark brown hair and bright, sharp blue eyes.

Richter.

But after that, there were no more pictures of him. Just young Juste, his mother and grandmother. As if the house, like its owner, had chosen to freeze in time.

“Come on,” Richter called from ahead. “The stuff’s in the basement.”

She followed him down, and that was where they spent most of their time—searching, talking, laughing. The search itself was dull, mostly sifting through dust-covered crates and old trinkets, but the company made it worthwhile. She had no idea how long they spent down there before they finally found what they were looking for.

The box, when they unearthed it, was locked.

It was small, unassuming, though clearly expensive—rich wood, intricate carvings, the details worn soft with age. Whatever was inside must have been valuable. Annette ran her fingers over the lid, but before she could pry at it, Richter made a disappointed noise.

“No key,” he muttered. “Figures. Juste probably has it.”

“So we did all that for nothing?”

“Not for nothing,” Richter said, hoisting the box under one arm with ease. “We bonded.”

She rolled her eyes but followed him back upstairs. She had taken only a few steps upstairs when something large and white darted across the floor, brushing against her ankles.

Annette screamed. Loud.

The sudden fright nearly sent her stumbling, and in the chaos, she knocked over a book from the shelf. Thankfully, nothing else. Instinctively, she had grabbed Richter’s free hand, clutching it as if her life depended on it. Her heart pounded against her ribs. The initial shock faded quickly—it was just a rat, a massive one, but still, just a rat. Even so, she remained frozen for a moment, her grip on Richter’s hand unwavering.

And then she realised Richter wasn’t moving, either.

When she turned to look at him, his face was already flushed pink, his mouth curled into a knowing, delighted little smile. He gazed down at their joined hands, then up at her, looking so unreasonably fond that she felt her face burn.

“Well,” he said, and his voice was unbearably smug. “This is nice.”

A wave of embarrassment crashed over her all at once. She dropped his hand as if it had burned her.

“Shut up,” she snapped, quick and sharp, covering her face with her hand.

Because he was unbearable, he kept talking.

“You’re really cute, you know that?”

“Oh, shut up, Richter.”

“No, really, you are,” he mused. “You don’t have to be shy about it. It’s just nice to see you flustered for once. It’s usually me making an idiot of myself.”

She gave him a sidelong glance. He wasn’t wrong.

Richter had been an absolute disaster when they first met. She would never forget how his things spilled out of his bag when he dropped by to see Maria on the first day. He had been adorable, flustered and fumbling all over the place. There had been plenty of other moments like that.

And now, he was enjoying the reversal.

She sighed, but there was a smile threatening to tug at her lips.

When they got back and handed over the box to Juste, she would make sure they finally had that talk.

Just the two of them.

With no interruptions.

She glanced at Richter again, at the way he was still grinning to himself like an idiot. She really was in deep.

She gave him a small, knowing smile.

And together, they walked back to his home.

Annette only gave him a small smile before they started the walk back to his home.

She had hoped it would be a quiet return, a peaceful one. But as soon as they crossed the bridge, she saw him.

Alucard was waiting outside.

The dim evening light cast his already pale features in sharp relief, his arms crossed over his chest, golden eyes like slits of polished glass. He was eerily still, watching them approach.

Then it hit her.

“Oh, god—the papers,” Richter groaned.

“Yeah, I know.”

“Shit.” He dragged a hand through his hair. “I’ll have to tell him.”

Annette sighed. “Hopefully, there wasn’t a deadline.”

Something told her that wasn’t the case.

Richter barely had to say a word before Alucard’s expression shifted. It wasn’t much, just a flicker, a tightening around the mouth, a slight narrowing of the eyes, but it was enough.

Annette saw the moment disappointment settled in, quiet but sharp.

“I’m sorry,” Richter said, sounding genuinely guilty. “I forgot. I got—distracted, and it completely slipped my mind.”

Alucard’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Of course you were.”

Annette didn’t miss the way his gaze flicked to her, just for a fraction of a second. If she weren’t paying close attention, she might not have noticed it at all.

But she did.

And it made her blood boil.

Alucard’s voice was quiet, but it cut through the space between them like a blade. “You’re grown now. You will be the head of this business. This thing of getting distracted so easily won’t work in corporate. Those papers were important. We had a deadline. I was sure you could handle the simple task of retrieving them, but I suppose not. You’re supposed to be better than this, Richter. This is not acceptable.”

It happened fast.

The way Richter flinched. It wasn’t enough for anyone else to notice, but enough for Annette to see it. The clench of his jaw. The way his hands curled into fists, nails pressing into his palms.

“I was just—”

“Do I make myself clear?”

Something inside her snapped.

“Hey.” Her voice rang out, sharp and cutting. “Knock it off.”

Alucard turned to her, golden eyes narrowing. A warning.

She didn’t care.

“Just because you were raised to be an uptight, polished person who never slips up doesn’t mean you get to put that pressure on Richter,” she said, stepping forward, chin tilted up defiantly. “He’s nineteen. Nineteen. And what’s done is done. If those somcalled papers were so important, maybe you should’ve fetched them yourself. I mean, you’re the one who decided to leave them sitting there, and now you’re making it Richter’s problem. Mistakes happen, Alucard. That’s part of life. Get over it.”

The words left her like arrows from a bow, and for a moment, the silence between them felt suffocating.

She had admired Alucard once. Had looked at him the same way everyone else did, as a brilliant, always in control, always above reproach man. But all of that shattered the moment he spoke to Richter like that.

Because no one got to speak to Richter like that.

Alucard’s gaze had flickered. Maybe with surprise, maybe with something else, but Annette didn’t care.

She turned to Richter instead, eyes burning, shoulders squared. “What’s done is done. Maybe try and fix it yourself instead of bothering a nineteen year old about a mistake anyone could’ve made. That you also made. Come on.”

Because that was what mattered. Not Alucard’s judgment. Not his expectations. Just Richter.

Richter didn’t argue. He followed, walking past Alucard, back into the house, back to his room. But before he stepped inside, he hesitated for just a moment, looking at her.

“Thank you,” he murmured.

His face showed more than his words did. What she had dond , what she had said, had meant something to him. A lot.

Then the door shut behind him.

—

Richter never came out of his room.

The tension between Annette and Alucard was thick. She didn’t try to hide her disdain, fixing him with pointed looks whenever their eyes met. Juste, ever the mediator, chose to stay out of it. He let them figure it out on their own, and Alucard, for his part, seemed almost caught between irritation and some new, grudging respect for her.

She didn’t care.

She was still mad at him.

Thankfully, he and Juste were staying in a lodge in town. That meant less of Alucard’s self-righteous presence lingering in the house, less of his judgement suffocating the space Richter needed to breathe.

Annette had gone to her room when they left, but sleep never came.

She tossed and turned, restless. Every minute that passed gnawed at her. Richter hadn’t come out. Not for the warm drinks they always before bed, not for anything. She hated not knowing if he was okay.

So, deep into the night, she slipped out of bed and padded down the stairs. The house was silent, the floorboards creaking under her careful steps.

She stopped in front of Richter’s door.

Knocked lightly.

Silence.

She tried again, this time whispering, “Richter, it’s me. Are you awake?”

A pause.

Then the lock clicked.

The door opened, and there he stood.

He wasn’t surprised to see her.

He was wearing a sleeveless, baby blue shirt and loose pyjama trousers, looking soft and warm in the dim glow of the heater-lit room. He didn’t say anything. He just stepped aside, lifting an arm slightly, a silent invitation for her to come in.

The room was very neat. No stray clothes on the floor, no mess, no clutter. It even smelled good, like cedarwood and something distinctly him. 

She let him lead her to the bed, sitting down while he remained standing in front of her, arms crossed over his chest.

His face was carefully neutral, but his eyes told a different story.

She could always read him.

So she didn’t pretend everything was fine.

“I came to check on you,” she said softly.

Something in his expression softened. He exhaled, shoulders losing some of their tension.

“Oh,” he said quietly.

“Yeah.” She hesitated. “But only if you want to talk. If you don’t, that’s okay, too. I just… I just wanted to make sure you’re alright.”

He rubbed at his arm, looking down, and sighed. “No, I don’t mind,” he admitted. “We can talk.”

So he sat next to her on the bed.

Usually, she would have been nervous. Sitting like this  on his bed, in the middle of the night, with all the tension that always buzzed between them, but none of that mattered.

Not when he needed comfort.

Richter stared at the door, his hands clenched into fists, before exhaling sharply. “I’m not just angry about what Alucard said to me. I mean, I am, but—” He broke off, shaking his head. “I think I’m more angry about the pressure. The weight of expectation. The fact that I’ve convinced myself I have to be perfect. That I have to be faultless, because soon, I’ll be the one doing Alucard’s job. Keeping everything together. Making sure I don’t accidentally ruin a business that’s been in my family for generations. And it almost—” His voice faltered for a fraction of a second. “It almost feels like I’ve let my mother down.”

Annette’s chest tightened. She wanted to say something, to reassure him, to tell him he wasn’t alone. But she held her tongue. Let him speak. Let him breathe.

“To be honest, the only reason I still care about  this name, the only reason I feel somewhat proud of it, is because of her.”

His voice was steady, but there was something beneath it, something weighted. Something brittle, like it might shatter if she touched it too soon. Annette watched him closely.

“If I forsake this name, if I forget it, it feels like I’d be forgetting her too. Her memory. She was a proud Belmont. Raised me to be proud of it. To take pride in what our family has built. So I do it. I honour her. I make sure that our dream—her dream, just doesn’t die with her.” His lips quirked, humourless. “Not that it has to be me. Alucard could run things smoothly. He’s practically family. Like a favourite uncle, that’s what Juste called him, anyway”

Annette smiled at that. 

Richter exhaled sharply, rubbing at his face. “Anyway. The thing is, she would have supported me no matter what. If I wanted nothing to do with the business, if I wanted to pack up and piss off to some nowhere village to be a fisherman or whatever, she’d have been proud of me all the same.” He let out a short, self-deprecating laugh. “Thing is, I actually like it. The business. Running things. It’s something I’m good at, funny enough.”

Then, quieter—almost to himself—he said, “But when she died…” He swallowed, his hands curling into fists. “It felt like she took everything with her. And fucking Juste—” He stopped, his jaw tightening. “You probably wondering why he gets along better with Maria than me. Why am I here instead of at the Belmont estate? Well, that’s because he was a dick. Plain and simple.”

Annette felt her stomach twist.

“He was grieving too,” Richter admitted, shaking his head. “Losing my grandmother, then my mother…it broke him. Turned him into a different person. Depressed, miserable. He said raising me would ‘trigger’ him. That’s what he called it. Like I was some kind of wound that wouldn’t stop bleeding.” He let out a humourless chuckle. “But that’s not an excuse to abandon your grandchild for years. It just isn’t.”

“It isn’t,” Annette agreed. If it had been her, if Cecile had turned her back after their mother died. She honestly didn’t know what she would have done. Grief wasn’t an excuse to leave someone behind. If anything, it should have been the reason to hold on.

Richter was lucky. He had Tera. He had Maria. He could have grown into a bitter man, resentful of the world for how it had treated him. But instead, he had been raised with kindness, patience, love. And it showed in everything he did.

“Our relationship only started getting better two years ago,” Richter admitted, running a hand through his hair. “He came to apologise. I was a dick to him, which he 100% deserved. I mean, I hadn’t seen him since I was nine, and suddenly, he was back? Fuck that.”

Annette nodded. The thought of Juste abandoning his 9 year old grandson made her blood boil in anger. 

“But eventually, we came around. Because I’m doing this for my mother. For Maria. For Tera.” He hesitated. Then, in an attempt at lightness, he added, “And also because, let’s be real, there aren’t many Belmonts left. Kind of an endangered species at this point.”

Annette snorted. He was trying to make a joke of it, but the way his fingers flexed at his sides, like he was grasping for something just out of reach gave him away.

“They’ve supported me my whole life,” Richter murmured. “I want to do the same for them. I want to make sure that the  Belmont estate. A place my mother loved, what she cherished—continues. That it’s run the way she would have wanted.” He let out a breath, slow and measured, then laughed, soft and almost self-conscious. “I think she’d be proud.”

Annette watched him carefully. There was something raw in the way he spoke about his mother, something unguarded. Richter never let himself be this vulnerable. He masked his emotions with jokes, with that infuriating smirk, with an easy confidence that made him seem untouchable. But right now, he wasn’t the cocky, sharp-tongued guy who made her laugh. Right now, he was just a boy who missed his mother.

His jaw clenched before he forced himself to relax again. “I’m not a Belmont because of the company or the wealth that comes with it. I’m a Belmont because of my mother. When I speak so highly of this name, it’s because of her.”

Annette’s chest ached. She wanted to say something that mattered. Something that would tell him she understood. She took a slow breath.

“You know,” she said, “I lost my mother at a similar age. My father died when I was a baby, so I have no real memories of him. Just images, stories. But my mother…” She exhaled. “She was my world. My best friend. And when she died, it felt like the world ended too. Cecile was my anchor. She was the one who kept me going.” She smiled, small and aching. “So I understand. I understand why you do this for Maria and Tera. Why you hold onto this legacy for your mother. I don’t know who I would be without Cecile. I don’t know if I would’ve survived without her.”

She didn’t say those words often. Hardly spoke about this with anyone, only Edouard. But Richter made her feel safe enough to say them. She trusted him.

Richter nodded slowly. “It’s funny, isn’t it? How we both lost our mothers at the same age. How we both ended up here.” Then, with a smirk, “Maybe we were meant to be. Soulmates, that kind of thing.”

Annette snorted, rolling her eyes. Even in the middle of a serious conversation, he couldn’t help himself.

But then his expression turned serious again. His hands, which had been clenched so tightly, slowly unfurled. His fingers pressed into the mattress beside her.

“But despite everything,” he said, voice quieter now, “I’m always going to push through. I can’t be a disappointment, now can we?”

Annette moved before she could think. Her hand found his, a hesitant tap against his knuckles. A question. An offering.

Richter looked up at her, and she felt it before she even saw it—the weight of everything he carried, the grief, the uncertainty. His eyes were rimmed red, like he was barely holding it together, like if she said the wrong thing, he might break right in front of her.

Her heart clenched. Without helping it a blush crept onto her cheeks. “Richter, you don’t need to prove yourself to anyone. And you’ll never be a disappointment. Well…” She smirked. “Not to me, at least.”

A sharp breath left him. She caught the shift in his expression—gratitude, appreciation. And then…

Want.

Desire.

Her pulse stuttered.

His fingers brushed against hers, tentative at first, then firm and sure, wrapping around them. Warmth shot up her arm, spreading through her chest, settling low in her stomach, twisting into something unbearable.

Richter turned fully towards her now, his body shifting closer. Too close. Not close enough.

Oh God.

Oh God, is this finally it? Is it finally happening? 

Her heart was hammering so loudly she was certain he could hear it, certain he could feel it in the spaces between them. Were they really about to have their first kiss right now, after a vulnerable conversation like that? After weeks and months of stolen glances and lingering touches and all the unspoken things that had been clawing at her throat?

It felt surreal. 

He leaned in, but just slightly, just enough to tell her what he wanted, but then he hesitated.

Waiting.

Giving her the chance to back away, to pretend this was a mistake, to pretend they were a mistake.

But she didn’t want to back away. She wanted him. She had never wanted to kiss anyone the way she wanted to kiss Richter at this moment.

So she leaned in, breath hitching, eyes fluttering shut.

She felt the warmth of his exhale ghost over her lips, the unbearable anticipation hanging between them like a thread about to snap—

And then—

Contact.

Soft.

Softer than she had imagined in all the times she let herself think about this, softer than he had any right to be. A quiet sound slipped from between them, the barely-there noise of their mouths meeting, and it sent a shiver down her spine, set her skin alight.

She curled her fingers around his instinctively, gripping, anchoring herself to this moment, to him, as the kiss deepened.

He made a soft, strangled sound, like he couldn’t believe this was happening either, like the weight of it all had just hit him. And then he was tilting his head, kissing her deeper, surer, more desperate, like he had spent months thinking about this and now couldn’t bear to hold back.

His tongue swiped against her lip, hesitant, seeking, and she let him in without thinking. The taste of him was foreign, intoxicating, something she couldn’t quite place but already knew she’d be addicted to. She met him halfway, her own tongue sliding against his, and when she sucked on it, just enough to tease, and he gasped, tightening his grip on her like she might slip through his fingers.

For a first kiss, this was—

Intense.

Maybe it was because they had been dancing around this for so long, walking the razor-thin line between friendship and something else, something too dangerous to name. Maybe it was because Richter had been waiting for her to be ready, for her to make the move, because he always seemed to read her better than she read herself.

Maybe it was because this was inevitable.

Because the moment their lips met, she knew.

This had been coming for them since the very beginning.

And then—

They were falling.

She wasn’t sure if it was him pushing her down or her pulling him with her, but it didn’t matter, because the next thing she knew, her back hit the mattress, and he was on top of her, one arm bracing his weight, the other still gripping her waist, their bodies pressed together, breaths heavy and uneven.

“Shit,” he breathed against her lips. “Annette—”

She didn’t let him finish.

She surged up, kissing him again, harder, hands sliding into his hair, threading through the strands and tugging, and he groaned, before dropping his weight onto her like he couldn’t help himself.

His hands were everywhere. Skimming along her waist, fingers splaying against her ribs, gripping her like he was afraid she might disappear.

And then, in one smooth motion, he lifted her, just slightly. Just enough to adjust her, align them so perfectly it knocked the breath from her lungs.

His body slotted between her legs, heat radiating from him, and God, the way he moved her like it was nothing, like he had been waiting for this, like he knew exactly what he was doing—

She gasped.

Not from shock.

From pure, aching want.

This was getting dangerous.

And yet, it felt so good.

His lips on hers, his weight pressing down, the heat radiating between them. It  was too much and not enough all at once. And God, the way he sucked on her bottom lip, slow and deliberate, made her dizzy, made her mind go blank, made her want.

She didn’t even realise what she was doing until she felt the way they both gasped, both groaned, the same sharp inhale of shock and pleasure. Her legs had wound around his waist, pulling him closer, pressing them together in a way that sent sparks up her spine.

Oh.

Oh, this was—

“Woah,” Richter choked out, breathless, dazed, like the moment had caught up with him all at once. “This is—shit—this is getting a bit, uh, steamy.”

It broke the spell.

Just enough for her to think, to remember that they weren’t in some dream world where this could go as far as instinct wanted to take them.

Her head was spinning. Her pulse was a thunderstorm in her ears.

She swallowed, licked her lips, tasted him there.

“We should stop,” she said, and she had to actually will herself to say it, had to drag herself back to reality. “Before we cross lines we shouldn’t. Not yet, anyway.”

Not yet.

Because she knew she wasn’t ready to have sex with him, not now, not here, not in his childhood bed of all places. That would be another time, another moment, one she wanted to be right.

Richter blinked down at her, his blue eyes dark with something that made her stomach flip. But then he nodded. He understood. He always did.

“Yeah,” he murmured, voice hoarse. “Yeah, okay.”

And then he kissed her one last time. So soft, lingering, like he didn’t want to stop either but would for her. Like he was saying, I’ll wait. I’d always wait for you.

Then, with a deep breath, he lifted himself off her, giving her space to breathe again, though her body protested the loss of his weight, his warmth.

She let out a shaky exhale.

He looked like a mess. His lips were swollen, hair wild and sticking up at odd angles, his shirt rumpled from where she had fisted it in her hands. And judging by the way his gaze swept over her, slow and reverent, she must’ve looked just as wrecked, sprawled out on his bed like that, still catching her breath.

“We can stop,” he repeated, softer this time, like he wanted her to know she had nothing to worry about, that he wasn’t upset, that he was okay.

She gave him a small, grateful nod, letting the moment settle, letting herself calm.

And then—

“Annette,” Richter said, all of a sudden.

She turned her head to him, curious.

His gaze was so soft it made something twist painfully in her chest. His eyes were full of hope, happiness, something bright and unguarded. He reached for her hand, thumb brushing lightly over her knuckles, and said, as if he had been waiting for the perfect moment to ask:

“Would you like to go on a date with me?”

Her breath caught.

Oh.

Oh, he was serious.

Her lips parted, her heart stammering all over again, because of course he would do this now, when she was still breathless from his kisses, when he was looking at her like she was the only thing in the world he wanted.

It was so stupid. It was so him.

She laughed, shaking her head at how ridiculous and perfect he was, and then, before she could stop herself, she squeezed his hand and said,

“Yes. I’d love to go out with you, Richter.”

Chapter Text

Annette didn’t actually leave his room until three in the morning.

Well…she tried to. But Richter had begged her to stay, and she had caved embarrassingly fast. Not that she needed much convincing. She just happened to be better at pretending she had self-control, at hiding what she secretly wanted.

They spent most of their time tangled up in his bed, limbs entwined, the heat of their bodies making the room feel even smaller than it already was. She rested her head against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, while his arms remained wrapped firmly around her, keeping her anchored. He was so warm. So solid. She imagined this was what it must feel like to cuddle a bear, except the bear in question was also whispering ridiculous things into her hair and occasionally kissing the top of her head like he couldn’t help himself.

And really, it probably wasn’t the best idea to be this close, not after the way they had kissed so passionately just minutes before.

Not after the way they had left each other hot and desperate and wanting.

But they didn’t care. They had danced around this for too long, had denied themselves for too long. They deserved this.

Richter’s thumb traced lazy circles against her back. She shivered under his touch, though not from cold. It was strangely calming, how he touched her. How careful he was with her. How natural it felt to be wrapped up in him like this. She had never had a boyfriend that is like him. 

Boyfriend.

The word sent a jolt through her, sent her mind spinning, made her heart stutter painfully against her ribs. It was such a simple word, so small compared to what she actually felt for him, and yet it carried a weight she hadn’t quite reckoned with until now.

Richter was her boyfriend.

She barely had time to process the thought before her body betrayed her, tensing slightly in his arms. He must have noticed, because his grip on her tightened instinctively, his hand smoothing over her back in that absent-minded, comforting way he always did when he sensed something was wrong.

“Where’d you go?” His voice was thick with sleep, soft and warm, the kind of voice that made her want to sink deeper into his hold and never leave.

She hesitated. “Just thinking.”

He huffed a quiet laugh, pressing a lazy kiss to the top of her head. “Dangerous habit.”

And then, because she couldn’t help herself, and because curiosity was a dangerous thing, and she had never been very good at reigning it in and asked, “So we’re together now?”

Richter stilled.

Just for a second, just long enough for her to feel the way his body tensed before he exhaled, releasing it all at once.

“I thought,” he said, and she could hear the nervous edge in his voice, “that the whole making out passionately on my bed and asking to take you out on a date implied that.”

She bit back a smile, shifting just enough to glance up at him. “Mmmh, but you didn’t ask me to be your girlfriend.”

He blinked.

And then— because Richter, for all his bravado and charm, was the most sensitive man alive— he immediately started panicking.

“Shit, I’m sorry—I thought it was clear—I guess I was just so excited and assumed we were it already and that the only thing holding us back was the kiss and—”

“Richter.”

He shut up instantly at the gentle tap to his chest, his blue eyes wide, still holding that flicker of uncertainty, like he was bracing himself for something.

“Yeah?”

She sighed, resting her chin against his sternum, looking up at him through her lashes. “I was joking. Teasing you. You don’t have to get so worked up, please. For my sake.”

A pause. Then—

“…Oh.”

She snorted. “Oh?”

He cleared his throat, cheeks going pink, and suddenly couldn’t seem to look her in the eye. “Well. You were very convincing.”

She smirked. “I am dramatic.”

“That’s one way to put it.” He rolled his eyes, but there was no real heat behind it. Then, before she could make another joke, he exhaled and squeezed her a little tighter. “Okay, but will you be my girlfriend?”

She narrowed her eyes. “You’re not gonna let this go, huh?”

“Nope.” His lips twitched at the corners, waiting.

She pretended to think about it, tapping a finger against her chin. Let him suffer for a moment.

Then she sighed, all mock-exasperation, and muttered, “Yes, Richter, I’ll be your girlfriend. Even though we were already together.”

His answering smile was obnoxiously bright. “Happy?” she grumbled.

He kissed her forehead, murmuring, “Very.”

And that was that.

They remained there, wrapped up in each other, until she eventually drifted off to sleep.

Richter had to wake her up when the clock crept dangerously close to morning.

“I’d let you stay, but I feel like Maria would have… questions,” he whispered, grinning. “And you know she won’t let it go for weeks.”

He was right. The last thing Annette needed was to be interrogated before she’d even had the chance to process any of this herself. Begrudgingly, she dragged herself out of bed, still warm from sleep, still barely awake, and Richter, ever the gentleman, walked her back to her room.

And then he kissed her.

It was meant to be quick. A simple goodnight. But then it wasn’t.

He lingered, lips brushing hers one last time before he forced himself to step back, smirking slightly at the way she just stood there, stunned, speechless. “Sleep well,” he murmured, before practically sprinting down the hall.

She touched her lips, blinking. What the hell.

And then, somehow, despite the adrenaline still buzzing in her veins, she climbed into bed and immediately fell asleep.

⸻

Seeing each other again just a few hours later was… something.

There was no denying what had happened the night before. No pretending it hadn’t changed something. Every time their eyes met, they both went embarrassingly red, neither quite able to hold the other’s gaze for too long.

And then there was their date.

Or rather, the dilemma of their date.

There were only two options, according to Richter: they could go to one of the town’s most popular restaurants, or they could wait until they were back in Paris, where he could take her on a proper date. His words, not hers.

Annette, for her part, didn’t care. They could have just sat outside eating Tera’s food, and she would have been happy. But Richter was insistent.

“I want it to be special,” he told her, looking at her so earnestly she almost felt bad for finding it amusing.

It was then she realised that Richter was a romantic.

It should not have been surprising, really. He had always been expressive, always worn his heart on his sleeve. But with him talking about their future date with so much excitement, telling her how many times he had imagined it was still enough to catch her off guard.

But for now, since the proper date would have to wait, he took her for coffee. A simple thing, but enough for them to enjoy each other’s company before the next two days swallowed them whole.

“Tera’s going to work us to the bone,” Richter warned dramatically as they walked through town, their fingers brushing. “I hope you know this.”

“I gathered,” Annette laughed.

He hummed. “Christmas is serious business in that house. You don’t want to be caught slacking. Trust me.”

At some point, he reached for her hand.

It was hesitant at first, a little shy, but once their fingers slotted together, neither of them let go.

They walked like that. Hand in hand, easy, comfortable. That is until they stumbled across Mizrak in the park.

He wasn’t alone.

He was with a dark skinned man with striking green eyes, brown hair long and neatly tucked behind his ears. He was beautiful, and more importantly, he and Mizrak seemed very… cosy.

Annette smiled to herself. Good for him.

Richter, however, frowned. “Olrox,” he muttered.

She raised an eyebrow. “You know him?”

“He and my mother did not get along,” Richter said flatly. “And he’s… sort of a rival. Business-wise. We tolerate each other.”

She studied him for a moment, amused. “You tolerate each other,” she echoed.

“Yes.”

“The tension between you two must be insane in the same room if I could feel your distance from just a single glance,” Annette said slowly. “Didn’t even take you as the type to have tension with others. But I guess it’s natural. We won’t get along with everyone.”

Richter smirked. “Don’t worry, I’d inherit your enemies as well”

“Richter!”

“What? I’m being serious. I am, as you say, a very passionate person, and I would not stand someone who disrespects you or makes you feel negatively.” Then his smile became wicked, all teeth and mischief. “I mean, you should understand, considering you shouted at Alucard yesterday to defend me.” He squeezed her hand, warm and solid.

“I did what I had to do.” She shrugged, voice casual, but her fingers gripped his tighter. “Wasn’t really thinking. I just wanted him to stop talking to you like that.”

His expression softened. He smiled, that soft, unbearably fond smile that always made her stomach turn over. “I’m glad you understand.”

She rolled her eyes, laughing, then leaned in and kissed his cheek.

Big mistake.

His body turned fully towards her in an instant, and without hesitation, he kissed her on the lips. And it wasn’t a small peck. It was an all-out assault. She wished she could say she stopped him, but the truth was, she kissed him back with just as much intensity. And weakly, breathlessly, she muttered, “We’re in public.”

Yet she didn’t stop.

She kept kissing him, lips parting, fingers curling in his jacket, losing herself in him like they weren’t sitting in the middle of a park with actual human beings around.

“I don’t care,” he whispered against her lips. But after a short pause, he listened, pulling back. He was grinning. Looking far too pleased with himself. Like he was proud about leaving her breathless and dazed in broad daylight.

She exhaled sharply, composing herself. The park was nearly empty, save for a few people scattered in the distance. Thank God. She never thought she’d be the type to engage in public displays of affection. And yet here she was, making a fool of herself. She blamed him entirely.

It was just so easy to lose herself when she was with Richter.

⸻

The next two days were spent preparing for Christmas. Just as Richter had warned, Tera and Maria were relentless. They decorated, they prepped, they planned everything down to the last detail. But what really made Annette want to bury her face in her hands was how quickly they had figured things out.

Because when she and Richter walked back into the house, still hand in hand, Maria had practically jumped in excitement.

“Finally!” Maria groaned, exasperated. She turned to Tera with a knowing look. “See? What did I tell you?”

Tera hummed, looking awfully smug herself. “Told you it would happen before Christmas. Now pay up.”

Annette blinked. “Wait. What?”

Richter frowned. “Wait a minute. You guys bet on my dating life?”

Maria shrugged like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Well, yes. You’re a hopeless loser, but I had to prove to mom that you weren’t that hopeless. Which is why we made the bet. She thought you wouldn’t have the courage to make the move with someone as beautiful as Annette.”

Annette snorted, covering her mouth.

Richter replied dryly, “Gee, thanks.”

Maria patted his shoulder, utterly unrepentant.

Annette laughed. At least they weren’t being weird about it. It was nice to know everyone had already accepted them as a couple, like this was something inevitable, something they had all been waiting for. And honestly, she couldn’t even be mad about it.

 Though Tera had to go and ruin the moment though. 

“Juste and Alucard will be coming for Christmas lunch,” she announced.

Richter and Annette groaned in unison.

Tera levelled them both with a look. “Now, now. I know things between you three are tense right now, but I invited them before any of this happened.” A pause. A deliberate look in Annette’s direction. “Maybe this will be a chance to work out whatever the issue is.”

Bless her heart. She was so hopeful. So optimistic. As if Annette was the kind of person to let things go easily. As if she hadn’t spent years perfecting the art of holding a grudge. She supposed they would see what happened. But she wasn’t too hopeful.

Despite the exhaustion of decorating and cooking, Richter and Annette still found ways to sneak off and spend time together. They were practically inseparable.

And really, that was more Richter’s fault than hers.

He was constantly at her side, helping with every little task, standing way too close when there was absolutely no need, sneaking in kisses whenever no one was looking.

Too many kisses.

So many that even Maria started to complain.

“I know I am your biggest supporter,” Maria grumbled one afternoon, rolling dough for pastries. “But please, for the love of God, try to control yourselves.”

Richter, ever the menace, just leaned in and pressed another slow, exaggerated kiss to Annette’s lips, just to spite her.

Maria groaned in playful disgust. 

“You’re such annoying,” Annett ,said against his lips, trying to push him away, though she was smiling too much for it to be effective. 

“Yeah, but you like that about me,” He whispered back. 

Annette, laughing, tugged at his wrist. “Come on, we have work to do.” 

He sighed dramatically but let himself be pulled away, smiling like a lovesick fool the entire time.

On Christmas day, Richter snuck upstairs at an ungodly hour. His knock was rough, distinct. Only he would dare be at her door at this time. Annette groggily opened her eyes, squinting against the dim morning light. She sat up, blinking.

5:30 in the bloody morning.

He knocked again, louder this time, insistent.

Annette sighed, dragging herself to the door. When she pulled it open, Richter stood there, looking… nervous. Strange. 

“Hi,” he said, shifting on his feet. “Sorry to wake you so early, but can I come in?”

She raised an eyebrow. “This better not be bad news.”

“Oh—no, no, not at all. This is actually something good,” he said hastily, rubbing the back of his neck. He stepped inside, and she shut the door behind him.

Then he just… stood there. Fidgeting.

She eyed him. “Richter.”

“Yeah?”

“What’s going on? You look like you’re about to confess to a crime.”

He let out a short laugh, then cleared his throat. His eyes, suddenly full of intensity, locked onto hers.

“Stick out your hand for me.”

She frowned. “What?”

“Just—lift your arm. And close your eyes.”

She gave him a long, scrutinising look. “If you slap something stupid into my palm, I will kill you.”

He grinned. “Noted.”

She sighed and did as he asked. For a moment, she heard the faint rustling of fabric, the soft clinking of metal. Then she felt something cool wrap around her wrist, followed by a soft click.

“Okay,” Richter said. “You can open your eyes now.”

She looked down.

Two gold bracelets adorned her wrist, intricate in design, glowing softly in the dim morning light. One was a chain of gold medallions linked together, each engraved with delicate patterns. Some were ancient, some unfamiliar. A tiny letter ‘A’ was carved into one of the coins. The second was a delicate gold chain dotted with small, deep-red rubies.

Annette’s breath hitched.

“Richter,” she said, voice unsteady. “They’re beautiful.”

He watched her carefully. “You really like them?”

“I—” she exhaled sharply, struggling for words. “I don’t know what to say.”

He shrugged, like it wasn’t a big deal, but his ears were turning red. “I just thought they’d suit you. You love gold, and you have that thing for rubies.”

Her heart squeezed. She had mentioned it once. Once. Offhandedly, in a conversation that hadn’t even been important. Something about her mother’s old jewellery, the way she used to admire the ruby rings and earrings back home.

He had remembered.

Annette laughed, shaking her head at her own giddy disbelief. “Where the hell did you find these? I wasn’t aware this town had a high-end jewellery store.”

Richter coughed, looking even more embarrassed. “Uh… actually, I bought them a month ago.”

Her head snapped up.

A month ago?

So it wasn’t just a Christmas gift. It wasn’t because they had just gotten together. He had already bought this, back when things between them were still uncertain, still unspoken.

She stared at him, stunned, and he must have caught on because he rushed to explain.

“I was in Paris, and I saw this shop selling vintage jewellery. And then I saw these and thought of you. The ‘A’ was already engraved on one of them, which just felt like—” He hesitated, smiling sheepishly. “I don’t know. A sign, I guess.”

Annette swallowed hard.

“You were hopeful, weren’t you?” she teased, voice soft.

Richter grinned. “I’d say my intuition is impressive. But honestly… even if nothing had happened between us, I still would’ve given them to you. Because I like you, Annette. A lot.”

Her chest ached.

“Maybe it’s ridiculous,” he added, laughing at himself. “Maybe it’s a bit much for someone I was just hoping to date at the time. But I figured, at best, it would be a nice gift for my girlfriend. And at worst, maybe—maybe it would’ve given me the courage to finally ask you out.”

She exhaled shakily, overwhelmed. She had no words. So she did the only thing that made sense to her at the moment. She leaned forward and kissed him.

“Thank you,” she murmured between kisses. “Thank you so much. This means everything.”

Richter hummed against her lips in response, already pulling her closer. One hand cupped her cheek, the other curling around the back of her neck, tilting her head just the way he wanted.

Richter was, unfortunately, a fantastic kisser. Every single time, he left her breathless. He kissed her like she was air and he had been drowning. But, lucky for him, she could match his intensity. Had even surprised him at first with how easily she kept up, how she sometimes took the lead, dragging him under with her.

They kissed like that for a while, that is until the door suddenly swung open.

“Of course,” Maria’s tired voice rang out. “Of course you’re here. And of course you two are already sucking each other’s faces first thing in the morning.”

Annette and Richter sprang apart in surprise, but Maria just stood there, with an unimpressed but playful look, arms crossed over her chest.

“Anyway,” she continued. “We’ve got cooking to do. I’ll meet you both downstairs.” She shut the door with a dramatic sigh, muttering something about hopeless idiots.

A beat of silence. Then Annette and Richter dissolved into laughter.

But before they went downstairs, Annette reached into her bag, pulling out a wrapped gift.

“I’m sorry it’s not extravagant like yours,” she admitted, suddenly nervous.

Richter’s face lit up. “You know I don’t care about that. I’ll love anything you give me.”

He unwrapped the gift eagerly. Richter tore into the wrapping paper with the enthusiasm of a child, fingers moving fast, impatient.

Inside was a deep navy-blue zip-up hoodie, thick and soft, the exact colour of his eyes. The Belmont crest was stitched onto the back, an intricate, beautiful thing. There were also new headbands—because, well, why not.

For a moment, he just stared at it. Then he looked up at her, blinking, before a grin spread across his face, warm and pleased. “Annette.” He ran his fingers over the crest, reverent. “You do pay attention to me.”

“Duh.”

He giggled, brushing his thumb against the stitch. “You know, my mother used to embroider her clothes with Belmont crests. One of her favourite things to do. But I never got the chance to have one myself after she was gone. I was still in mourning, and after that, I kind of resented it. Especially with the way Juste behaved during that time.”

Annette’s breath hitched. “Richter, I—”

“No, don’t get me wrong, I love it. A lot.” He met her gaze, expression softer now, reassuring. “It’s such an unexpected gift, and it reminded me of my mother… Thank you, Annette.”

Annette could only smile, heart swelling. Funny, how they had both ended up giving each other gifts connected to their mothers. And yet, somehow, it felt so fitting. Almost inevitable.

He moved closer, wrapping her in a tight hug, warm and firm. “I…” He sighed deeply, burying his face in her hair. “You’re amazing. Really.” His arms tightened around her. “I’ll treasure them, I promise.”

Annette exhaled, sinking into him, her chest full of something too big, too overwhelming. That was all that mattered.

The morning was pure chaos.

Between the heat of the kitchen, the endless walking back and forth, and Maria’s shrieking every time something wasn’t done exactly how she wanted it, Annette felt like she had aged five years.

She had volunteered to make the stew. Mostly because they all loved her cooking so much. Richter was in charge of the meat, and Maria and Tera handled the pastries. It was exhausting, loud, and messy, but somehow, by noon, everything was ready.

Now, all they had to do was change and wait for their guests to arrive.

The thought of interacting with Alucard again made Annette want to bash her head against the wall. But she let it slide. For now.

She changed into a deep red velvet tracksuit, slipping on the Christmas hat Tera had insisted they all wear. When she came downstairs, Richter was already there, and, of course, he was wearing the hoodie.

Looking unbearably proud of himself, too.

“You look lovely,” he said when she passed him in the kitchen.

Annette rolled her eyes. “It’s a tracksuit, Richter.”

“I know,” he said, grinning, “but it looks good on you.” A pause. Then, with a deep, dramatic stare, “Very good.”

She snorted. “Richter—”

“Oh, and you have to kiss me.”

She blinked. “What?”

He pointed up. “We’re standing under mistletoe.”

Annette glanced up. Sure enough, there it was.

She gave him a dry look. “You don’t actually believe in those pointless traditions, do you?”

“Fuck no,” he said cheerfully. “But it gives me an excuse to kiss you without Maria jumping me.” His grin turned smug. He leaned in slightly, clearly expecting her to close the distance.

She could leave him hanging. Just to mess with him.

But, unfortunately, she was just as bad as he was.

So she leaned in and kissed him.

Of course, that was exactly when the front door swung open.

Juste’s loud voice rang out, followed by a slow clap. “Look at you, being a man. Knew it would work out for you.”

They pulled away instantly, Annette groaning as she turned to find Juste standing there, grinning like an idiot.

Right beside him, Alucard sighed heavily.

Richter cleared his throat, nodding stiffly. “Juste.”

“Alucard,” he acknowledged, much colder.

Annette, meanwhile, just folded her arms, unimpressed, and fixed Alucard with a deadpan look.

Alucard sighed again, long-suffering. “Can we talk? Outside?”

She wanted to say no.

But then Richter squeezed her shoulder, a silent, it’s okay.

Fine.

The three of them stepped outside, closing the door behind them.

Alucard was the first to speak.

“I’d like to apologise for the way I spoke to you last time we met.”

His voice was steady, measured—an attempt at humility, but Annette didn’t miss the way his fingers twitched at his sides, like he was bracing himself.

She didn’t soften. Didn’t let him off so easily.

“It was wrong and disrespectful. Rude.” she said icily. She had no interest in mincing words.

Alucard inclined his head, accepting the blow without flinching. “I know. And you have every right to be frustrated with me.” He exhaled, casting a glance her way. “I acknowledge my fault in this, and I am sincerely sorry. I am not asking for forgiveness. I just want to fix my mistake.”

A pause. A beat of silence that stretched just long enough to be uncomfortable.

“And you were right,” he admitted, quieter this time. “It was my own arrogance. I bear the punishment of it.” His lips quirked, something wry but not unkind. “Very humbling experience, being shouted at by a nineteen-year-old. But it reminded me of how out of touch I am with your generation.”

Annette raised a brow. “You speak as if you’re decades older than us.”

Alucard huffed a quiet laugh. “That’s because I am.”

She frowned. “How old are you?”

“Thirty-nine.”

Her jaw dropped. “No way.”

Beside her, Richter let out a snort, barely holding back his laughter.

“I get that a lot,” Alucard said dryly. “But my point is, I was wrong. And I apologise.It has been so long since I was a teenager, I forgot what it was like to be that young. As you said, these things happen. And I shouldn’t try to hold Richter to a higher standard. He is young and learning”

Annette studied him.

Really studied him.

His shoulders were squared, but not tense. He wasn’t looking at her in expectation, wasn’t waiting for her to absolve him. He had meant what he said—I am not asking for forgiveness—and he was standing by it.

It would have been easier to stay angry. To hold on to her resentment, let it fester. But the truth was, she had already won. He had listened. He had learnt. And now he was trying.

Beside her, Richter had already made up his mind. She could tell by the way his stance had loosened, the way his body was angled slightly towards Alucard, no longer so rigid. If Richter was willing to let it go, then so would she.

Because, at the end of the day, she had done this for Richter.

Now, at least, they could have a peaceful Christmas lunch.

The Lunch had gone well. More than well. It had been warm, indulgent, and heavy in the way Christmas meals always were, the kind that made you want to curl up by the fire and let the food settle. The table had been full of every dish imaginable, all of it delicious, all of it homely. But the best part—at least, for Richter—was that he got to sit next to Annette.

He hadn’t asked. He just did. And for the past three days, he’d made a habit of it.

It was still surreal to think about. That just a week ago, they had been locked in the same frustrating dance of want and desire. And now… now they were here. Now they had already kissed—a lot—and spent every waking moment as if making up for lost time.

At some point after lunch, Richter had disappeared with Juste, off to handle something he would no doubt tell her about later. While he was gone, Annette had found herself by the fireplace with Maria, Alucard, and Tera, a comfortable sort of warmth settling in her bones.

Alucard, as it turned out, was a talker. He was absurdly well-travelled, fluent in more languages than she could count, and had stories that made even Maria listen with rapt attention. Now that the tension between them had disappeared, Annette could appreciate his better qualities. Like his self-assurance, his quiet sensitivity.

Also, she was pretty sure she could destroy him in a debate. He had the kind of personality that invited a good argument, and she would relish eating him alive.

When Richter and Juste finally returned, he looked fine, with no signs of stress or discomfort, so that was good. He sat down immediately, pulling her close without hesitation, pressing her against his side as if it was second nature.

Maria groaned, dramatically pressing a hand to her forehead. “You see what I have to deal with? Mind you, they’ve only been together for three days.”

Juste only laughed, swirling his wine. “It’s a Belmont thing,” he said. “If you think Richter is bad, you should have seen me with his grandfather. We can’t help it. We get attached to our partners.”

Maria pulled a face. “Gross.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Richter rolled his eyes and kissed Annette’s temple just to spite her.

Annette couldn’t help but smile.

When it came time to exchange gifts, Richter was practically glowing as he showed off his new hoodie. “It’s from Annette,” he announced, proud as anything.

Juste laughed knowingly, lifting his glass in a toast. “She’s a keeper.”

Annette, despite herself, blushed.

She had put effort into her gifts, hoping to get them right. For Maria, she had picked out keychains of the four symbols of Chinese mythology aka the four guardians. They that reminded her of Maria’s own animal companions. Maria had loved them, promising to tresasure them for forever, and her babies would love them. For Tera, she had bought new baking utensils, ones she had noticed were either missing or too worn down to use properly.

And in return, Maria and Tera had surprised her with something she hadn’t expected: a handbag she had seen in town on her very first day here. She must have mentioned it in passing, not even thinking about it, and yet Maria had remembered.

It was almost overwhelming how welcomed she felt here.

By the evening, Juste and Alucard had to leave for other engagements, but not before Juste pulled Annette into a warm hug. “Take care of him,” he murmured.

At least she had his approval.

⸻

Later that night, when she was comfortably curled up in bed, there was a knock at her door.

Her heart jumped.

Because the last time one of them had knocked on the other’s door… well.

She got up anyway, opening it to find Richter standing there, a familiar expenesive box in his hands.

She stepped aside, letting him in. “Hey.”

“Hey.” He sat on the bed beside her, setting the box between them. “Juste gave this to me.”

“I can see that,” she said softly. “I’m guessing you’re here to tell me what’s inside?”

“Yeah.” He exhaled, fingers running over the lid. “It—it actually belonged to my mother.”

Annette’s breath caught.

“Oh, Richter.”

“I know.” He huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “I had no idea. I don’t even remember it. But to be fair, my mother had a lot of stuff. Or maybe… maybe she kept this one safe somewhere.”

“It must be special.”

He smiled. It was a small and sad, but a smile nonetheless. “Yeah. It has her wedding ring. And some other jewellery, things that mattered to her.”

Annette reached out instinctively, her hand resting on his shoulder, brushing gently. She said nothing, just gave him space to speak when he was ready.

He took a steadying breath. “Juste told me that he kept it because… because I wasn’t ready when she died. Granted, I was a child then, but even after, our relationship was so strained that he just left it in the basement at the cottage. It was safe, but it also hurt to look at. So he put it away. Tried to run from it. From me.”

His mouth twisted, his frustration bleeding through. “He said it was because I reminded him too much of her. Of my grandmother, too. So instead of dealing with it, he kept his distance from me.”

Annette felt something in her chest tighten.

“He admitted it was cowardly,” Richter continued. “Said I didn’t deserve that kind of separation. That he wouldn’t blame me if I never forgave him. I mean, we already talked about all this two years ago, when he first came back, but I guess this was his way of explaining why the box was hidden away for so long. He only remembered it when he stepped into the house last week for the first time in years.”

Annette hesitated. “Do you… accept his reasoning?”

Richter ran a hand through his hair. “I mean. I do now. Which is why he’s even allowed back in that house. But if he’d tried giving me this two years ago? I probably would’ve punched him in the face.”

His voice was casual, but his grin was downright evil.

Annette understood. If it had been her, she wouldn’t have let him off so easily either. Richter had some forgiveness in him, while she had none.

“You did what was best for you,” she said simply. “That’s what matters.”

He looked at her then, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. “You know, we’ve only been together for three days, but I’ve never been this vulnerable with someone I’m dating before. You just… make it easier.”

Her heart clenched.

“I feel the same,” she admitted. Because she did. She never imagined she would share so much of herself with someone like this. But Richter had broken through her walls in a matter of months. That wasn’t something she took lightly.

He cleared his throat, shifting his grip on the box. “I should probably put this somewhere safe.”

“Yeah. Especially with the ring.”

“I’ll probably save it for the future,” he said absent-mindedly, eyes still on the box.

And yet, Annette saw it. The slight flicker of his gaze towards her when he said future. Her stomach flipped. She said nothing. Instead, she pressed a kiss to his cheek and pulled him down next to her.

“Do you want to sleep here, tonight?”

“Yeah.” He set the box down on the nightstand. “I really would.”

“Good. But no funny business, Belmont.”

He grinned, tapping her nose. “Trust me, I wouldn’t dare. …Unless you asked, of course.”

She giggled, settling against his chest.

It was perfect.

What they had—it was perfect.

—-

Leaving had been emotional.

Annette had spent two weeks in this town, and they had been some of the best days of her life. She had made memories she would never forget. The long walks in the cold, late nights spent curled up beside Richter, stolen kisses behind doors, under blankets, against walls when no one was looking. New Year’s had been a particular highlight.

The pub had hosted a party, a chaotic, loud, drunken mess of a celebration. She and Richter had spent the entire night glued to each other, hands never straying far, bodies drawn together. By the time the clock struck midnight, they were already kissing—everyone was doing it, so why shouldn’t they? Except, unlike everyone else, they had struggled to stop.

When they finally pulled apart, her lips had been swollen, his hair a mess from where she’d gripped it. He had looked at her like she was the most beautiful thing in the world, and she had felt it, deep in her bones.

She wouldn’t forget that night.

But Paris had been waiting.

When they returned, Annette had forced herself to shift gears. Exams were looming, and she could not afford to slip up. Their long-awaited date had to be postponed until early February, after the first semester ended. She was serious about her studies, disciplined. She told herself she had no choice.

So, she studied. She locked herself in the library, pored over her notes, revised until her brain ached. She told herself she was focused.

But then there was Richter.

And he was sitting right next to her. Because of course he was.

The library was meant to be a neutral space. A sanctuary of discipline, focus, and studious silence. And yet, he was here, distracting her without even trying.

They had promised to avoid each other’s rooms during exam season. Being alone together always led to disaster. To them making out like lunatics, to hands slipping under shirts, to whispered gasps and lost time. She had set the rule herself, determined to maintain restraint.

And yet…

Here she was.

Not studying.

Staring.

At his hands.

His fingers moved effortlessly over the keyboard, long and thick, typing away with infuriating ease. He was so good at everything—boxing, writing, playing with her hair when she curled up beside him. But those hands had yet to be put to proper use on her.

Annette took a slow, deep breath.

Was she ovulating?

Because for the past week, she had been completely out of control. She couldn’t stop thinking about Richter. More specifically, about Richter pressing her into the mattress, his weight holding her down, his body hot and unrelenting as he pulled desperate little sounds from her throat.

Even their kisses had changed. She had become frantic, her grip on him tightening, her body pressing so close that she could feel the hard outline of him against her stomach, sometimes core. And God, that had made her dizzy, had sent heat pooling between her thighs, had left her lying awake at night, restless, aching, needing.

But they had never pushed further. Hadn’t had sex yet.

It wasn’t that she was inexperienced. She wasn’t some naïve girl, blushing at the thought of being touched. She had had sex before. She had liked it. It had been nice. Enjoyable. Her ex had been good to her, attentive, patient. But it had never been earth-shattering.

She had just never been left dizzy, breathless, trembling with need.

And yet, despite everything, she was feral for Richter.

This all-consuming hunger was new. It clawed at her, left her restless, made her shift in her seat as heat pooled low in her belly.

And he hadn’t even touched her properly yet.

That worst part was knowing that she was already wrecked before he had even laid his hands on her. What would it be like when he finally did? When those large fingers gripped her hips, spread her open, pressed inside her—

Annette clenched her thighs together, a futile attempt to smother the fire raging within her.

Richter hadn’t pushed because he thought she wasn’t ready. Because he was patient. Thoughtful. Probably assumed that she needed more time.

He was wrong.

God, if only he knew.

She wanted him. She wanted him so badly she could barely breathe. She wanted him to ruin her.

And he was sitting there like nothing was wrong. Like he wasn’t the source of her suffering. Like she wasn’t sitting beside him, burning alive, her hands curled into fists beneath the table to keep from reaching for him.

A fresh wave of heat rolled through her. She bit her lip, squeezed her thighs tighter, tried to focus on the words in front of her—

“Annette?”

She jolted so violently she nearly knocked over her water bottle.

Richter turned to her, frowning in mild concern, his head tilting in that endearing way he always did when he was trying to figure her out. His blue eyes scanned her face. “What’s wrong?”

Everything.

Nothing.

Her heart was pounding, her cheeks on fire. He had no idea what kind of filth was running through her head right now.

“Nothing,” she said quickly, forcing her face into an expression of calm neutrality. “I was just… thinking.”

“Uh-huh.”

Richter didn’t look convinced. A slow, knowing grin crept onto his lips, and then—damn him—he reached out and squeezed her thigh.

“Noted.”

Noted.

Her body nearly short-circuited.

Her skin was on fire where his fingers had been, a brand of warmth searing through the fabric of her trousers, sinking straight to the bone. It didn’t matter that it had been the lightest, most casual of touches. It was Richter. And Richter touching her, in any capacity, was enough to make her spiral.

He had no idea what he was doing to her.

Or maybe he did.

Maybe he was doing it on purpose.

Oblivious (or not), Richter stretched, rolling his shoulders, and she nearly groaned at the sight. Every muscle in his body shifted, flexed beneath his shirt, the movement sinfully easy. He let out a long sigh before going back to typing.

“I can’t wait for exams to be over,” he said. “We can finally relax. And I can take you on that proper date.”

Annette latched onto that thought like a lifeline—anything to drag her mind out of the gutter.

“Richter, you don’t have to go out of your way to plan some grand, ‘proper’ date. Our little dates have been amazing already.”

They had been. They had gone for late-night walks, hands entwined, stolen pastries from cafés, shared meals in his room, curled up together on his bed with cheap wine and conversation. Every moment with him had felt like something precious, something warm and bright.

“They have been,” he agreed easily. “But I’m allowed to want to spoil you, aren’t I?”

He turned to her with the most devastating look—soft eyes, head tilted, lips curved in something far too affectionate for her poor heart to handle.

Annette rolled her eyes, but it was impossible to fight the smile tugging at her lips. “You’re impossible.”

His grin widened.

“Fine,” she said, exasperated, “You better Impress me, Belmont.”

“Oh, I will.”

His voice had dropped an octave. Low and warm, smug as hell.

And then—because he was cruel, because he was designed specifically to torment her…he smirked, winked, and turned back to his laptop like he hadn’t just obliterated her entire nervous system.

Annette was in trouble.

Serious, irreversible, life-altering trouble.

She tried to focus on her work. Truly, she did. She read the same sentence five times, willed the words to make sense, but it was no use.

All she could think about was Richter.

His voice. His hands. His mouth.

The way his smirk made her stomach twist. The way he said her name, slow and teasing, like he was tasting it. The way he looked at her sometimes. It was so hungry, so intense, like he was barely holding himself back.

She wanted to push him past that point.

She wanted to ruin him.

God, she was so, so fucked.

That night, she dreamt of him.

Over and over again.

Richter above her, his weight pressing her into the mattress. His breath hot against her neck. His hands, rough and careful, spreading her open.

She woke up aching, desperate, cursing the fact that she shared a room and couldn’t do a damn thing about it.

When the day of the infamous date arrived, Annette found herself more nervous than expected.

It was ridiculous. It was just a date. This was Richter.

But maybe that was exactly why she felt this way, because it wasn’t just a date. It was their first real big date. A date that required her to dress up. And she wanted it to be perfect.

Richter had only given her one instruction: Wear something nice.

Nice was vague. Nice could mean anything. Nice was useless.

She sat on her bed, legs crossed, glaring at the contents of her wardrobe like they had personally offended her, while Maria and Zuri lounged nearby, watching her suffer with barely concealed amusement.

“I think he meant casual nice,” Zuri said, twirling a pen between her fingers. “Richter wouldn’t take you somewhere fancy without telling you. He’s too nice for that.”

“Agreed,” Maria added, flipping lazily through a magazine. Then she smirked. “You know what look would really drive him insane?”

Annette turned, wary. “What?”

Maria pointed towards her wardrobe. Specifically, towards his leather jacket.

Richter’s leather jacket.

The one he had originally lent her at the party. The one she had returned, only for him to give it back to her last week with an easy shrug and the words, You look better in it than I do.

“No.”

“Yes,” Maria and Zuri said in unison.

“Try it on with an outfit,” Zuri insisted.

Annette groaned, but complied, because she didn’t exactly have a better plan.

She settled on a short black turtleneck dress. Something that hugged her figure just enough, showing her thighs, and just so happened to be the same length as Richter’s jacket on her. She paired it with sheer, skin-toned pantyhose, the good kind, the expensive kind, the kind that gave the illusion of bare skin while keeping her warm. Knee-high black boots. Gold jewellery—rings, small hoop earrings, the bracelets from Richtef (she never took them off unless she was sleeping), the delicate pendant around her neck. Light makeup, enough to highlight her features but not enough to feel heavy.

Maria let out a low whistle. “Oh, he’s going to die.”

Zuri nodded approvingly. “Hope you’re wearing some good lingerie too, just in case.”

Annette gave her a flat look.

“What?” Zuri said innocently. “You never know.”

Annette rolled her eyes, but…well.

She wasn’t wrong.

Annette had, in fact, picked it up. Just in case.

It was a dark red two-piece with delicate lace and straps that sat high on her thighs. The kind of lingerie that was designed to be seen. The kind that drove men insane. The shop assistant had said as much when she’d bought it. If you want to send a message, the woman had told her with a knowing smile, this is how you do it.

And Annette did want to send a message.

Richter was the type to wait. To take his time. To be patient and careful and hold back because he didn’t want to push. Which was sweet, but also frustrating as hell, because it meant he hadn’t realised she was ready.

She needed him to realise.

She needed him, full stop.

It was embarrassing, really, how much she wanted him. How much she had always wanted him. How sexually frustrated she was over a man who had, at most, pressed her into a mattress and kissed her breathless. Pathetic, really. To think they hadn’t even done anything yet. If just kissing Richter made her weak in the knees, then when they actually—

She shivered.

Oh, she was going to die.

“Damn,” Zuri mused, watching her closely. “You really are ready for it.”

Annette scowled. “Shut up.”

Maria, smirking, arched an eyebrow. “Just don’t go overboard. We can’t afford a baby yet.”

“Maria!”

“I’m just saying,” she said, grinning. “You two are incapable of keeping your hands off each other. Anything is possible.”

Annette huffed. “We’ll be careful, Mom.” Then she stuck her tongue out at her, because what else was she supposed to do?

She checked herself one last time, then left to go upstairs and fetch him.

She could have waited. Could have texted him to come down and meet her.

But she didn’t want to wait.

She wanted to see his reaction.

Plus, she wanted to see what he was wearing.

As she walked down the hallway, two guys passed by, eyeing her up with obvious interest.

Not that she cared.

She knocked on his door, and while waiting, she shifted on her feet, tugged at the hem of her dress, adjusted the jacket on her shoulders.

Her pulse was already pounding.

She could hear movement inside his room.

Then the door opened, and there he was.

And—

Oh.

Oh, shit.

Richter had dressed up.

Black trousers. A fitted black turtleneck— they had matched without knowing. A coat thrown over his shoulders, collar popped just enough to make him look effortlessly good. His hair, normally messy, was combed back just a little, just enough to look like he had tried, and it shouldn’t have been that attractive but it was.

He looked really really good.

And when his gaze landed on her, his whole body tensed.

He didn’t speak. Didn’t blink. Didn’t even breathe.

He just stared.

Not for a second, not even for a few moments, but for an agonising stretch of time in which Annette watched his pupils dilate, watched his breath hitch, watched his entire nervous system seemingly fail to function.

And then, after a long, stunned silence, in a voice slightly rougher than usual, he said—

“Fuck, you’re gorgeous.”

Heat crawled up her neck.

As if that wasn’t bad enough, his gaze flickered lower, dragging over the length of her body before settling on the oversized leather jacket she had thrown on.

His jacket.

“And you’re wearing my jacket.” His voice came out weak, reverent, like he was witnessing a divine act. “Fuck.”

Annette bit her lip, because, God, she knew she looked good. She had checked the mirror before coming here, but this? This reaction? This was everything she wanted.

She tilted her head, feigning innocence. “I just thought it’d look good with my outfit.”

Then, with deliberate ease, she sauntered inside, past his rigid frame, and sat on his bed, throwing him a wicked little smile.

Richter hadn’t moved. He was still staring, completely mesmerised.

“It really does,” he murmured, almost like he was speaking to himself. “I was right. It does look better on you.”

She laughed, then dragged her gaze over him, letting it linger, appreciating how well he cleaned up—neatly ironed tight shirt, tousled hair that he had clearly run his fingers through a dozen times, a fresh, woodsy scent that made her want to lean in and bury her face in his neck.

“You look handsome,” she admitted.

“Thank you,” he said, pink creeping up his ears. “I put a lot of effort into this so I could impress you.”

God, he was so cute.

“Well, you did.” She stood, closing the space between them, and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek.

His breath audibly stuttered.

Annette smirked. “Ready to tell me where we’re going?”

Richter exhaled through his nose, recovering quickly. “Now that would ruin the surprise,” he said, voice still a little rough, a little shaky, before ducking down to press a kiss to the column of her neck.

Heat flashed through her, liquid and instant.

Bastard.

He pulled back far too soon, flashing her a cocky little smirk, like he knew exactly what he’d done, before grabbing his coat.

“Come on, let’s go.”

When Richter had promised to impress her, Annette had assumed something extravagant. A high-end restaurant, some absurdly expensive place with a name she wouldn’t even be able to pronounce. Something grand. Something that rich people did.

What she hadn’t expected was this.

A jazz event. At a fancy hotel filled with rich people, sure, but front-row sits to a live jazz performance.

She nearly cried.

Annette loved jazz.

She loved neo-soul, blues, the kind of music that settled into your bones, curled into the deepest parts of you, left you aching in ways you couldn’t quite put into words. She had grown up going to jazz festivals back home, swaying to the sound of saxophones, letting the rhythm seep into her skin. There was something about it. About the depth of the sound, about the way every note felt like it had lived a thousand lives before reaching her ears that made her feel at home.

And Richter had remembered.

The venue was breathtaking. Warm, golden light spilling from chandeliers, tables draped in crisp white cloth, waiters in sleek uniforms weaving effortlessly through the crowd with trays of glistening champagne. The band was set up on a small stage, rich velvet curtains framing them as the smooth, honeyed notes of a trumpet filled the space. It was intimate in a way that made her heart swell.

This wasn’t just a date. This was thoughtful.

They had spent the evening soaking in the music, and Annette had barely spoken for half the night, too mesmerised by the performances, by the deep hum of the double bass, by the pianist’s fingers moving effortlessly over the keys, by the pure, aching soul in the singer’s voice. It had been perfect.

When they finally sat down for a drink, her mind was still buzzing, her skin still tingling with the aftershocks of it all.

“You know,” she said, still slightly dazed, “I expected you to take me to some fancy restaurant. Not something like this.”

Richter grinned, reaching for her hand across the table, his thumb brushing lightly over her knuckles. “Yeah, but I know you,” he said simply. “You would’ve enjoyed it, but I wanted it to be special. Something you’d remember.”

Annette stared at him, warmth blooming in her chest, spreading all the way to the tips of her fingers.

The worst part was that he wasn’t even trying.

He wasn’t saying this to impress her, wasn’t leaning into some grand romantic gesture for the sake of it. He had just—thought of her. Paid attention. Given her something she hadn’t even realised she had been craving.

She let out a breathless laugh, shaking her head. “I hate how well you know me.”

He smirked. “You love it.”

She rolled her eyes, but her cheeks were aching from how hard she was smiling. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet, here you are.”

She couldn’t argue with that.

The waiter arrived with more drinks, and as they clinked their glasses together, the band eased into a slower tune, something soft and heavy with longing. The singer’s voice dripped like honey, thick with yearning, with something that settled deep in Annette’s stomach.

She glanced at Richter over the rim of her glass.

He was watching her.

Not the band, not the people around them—her.

She swallowed.

“Dance with me?” he asked, voice low.

There were people on the dance floor already, swaying slowly to the music, bodies pressed close.

Annette hesitated, biting her lip. “You know I can be a terrible dancer when I have too many drinks.”

“I don’t care,” Richter said simply.

And of course he didn’t. Of course he was already standing, holding out his hand, waiting for her like it had never even been a question.

So she took it.

And let him pull her into him.

Into the warmth of his chest, into the scent of his cologne—deep and rich, and undeniably him. Into a moment so perfect, so dizzyingly intimate, that she had to close her eyes against it, had to press her cheek against his shoulder just to convince herself it was real.

Her heart clenched.

“But don’t worry,” he murmured against her hair, smirking. “The fancy dinner comes after.”

Annette laughed. Of course it did.

He would never let her go hungry. 

She leaned back to look at him, at the way his face softened in the dim light, the golden glow of the chandeliers casting sharp, beautiful angles over his cheekbones. His hands were firm on her waist, holding her steady, like he never wanted to let go. Like he never would let go.

She wouldn’t complain. She loved food.

And she loved him.

The thought came naturally, so effortlessly, that it almost slipped past her entirely. But then it lodged itself in her mind, stubborn and unrelenting, and suddenly she couldn’t breathe.

Love.

The word echoed, reverberated inside her chest, as if her heart was trying to make space for the enormity of it.

Her stomach dropped.

She froze.

She loved Richter.

Her palms went clammy. Heat prickled up her neck. It wasn’t a question, wasn’t some fleeting, speculative thought she could shove aside and dissect later—it was a fact. A solid, immovable truth that had been sitting there all along, waiting for her to notice.

How had she not realised it before?

It seemed so obvious now. Painfully obvious.

Of course she loved him.

She had been in love with him for weeks, months, and had been too oblivious to name it.

It was in the way she searched for him in every room. The way her body leaned towards his, instinctively, unconsciously, as if pulled by some unseen force. The way her chest ached whenever they were apart, as if some essential part of her had been misplaced.

It was in the way she watched him when he wasn’t looking. The way she memorised every little thing. The precise shade of blue in his eyes, the way they darkened when he was amused, the way they softened when he looked at her. The way his hands flexed when he was nervous, the way he chewed the inside of his cheek when he was deep in thought. The way he always touched her, even if it was just the brush of his fingers against her wrist, like he needed the contact.

It was in the way she wanted him.

Not just physically—though God, that too, always, burning and unbearable, but in every way that mattered. She wanted him beside her, in her space, in her life. She wanted to know him fully, to unravel every layer, to have him in ways no one else ever could.

She wanted forever.And that should have terrified her. But it didn’t.

Instead, a strange kind of warmth settled in her chest, something light and unbearable all at once.

Because it was him.

It had to be him.

It could only ever be him.

Chapter Text

She loved him. She was in love with Richter.

And it didn’t scare her. Not even a little. Maybe if it had been her ex, sure. But with Richter there was no fear, no hesitation, no nagging voice in the back of her head telling her she was being reckless. Because it could have only ever been him.

So she held on to him tighter, let herself melt into the warmth of his arms, into the way he looked at her. So tender, adoring, like she was something precious. She let herself revel in it. In him.

After the event, as promised, Richter took her to a fancy restaurant. Proper fine dining, the kind with candles flickering in glass holders and waiters in crisp white shirts. It was beautiful, elegant, the kind of place people dressed up for, and Annette was sure she was about to experience the best meal of her life.

Except it was… fine.

Not bad. Not awful. Just fine.

The flavours weren’t anything special, the portions were tiny, and honestly, she’d had better seasoning back home on a random weekday.

When they left, they exchanged a look. Then promptly burst into laughter.

“Well,” Richter said, stuffing his hands into his pockets, “so much for fine dining.”

“It was good,” Annette said, still giggling, “just not mind-blowing.”

“So we agree that it wasn’t worth the stupid price tag?”

“Oh, absolutely.”

And that was how they ended up at a food truck twenty minutes later, clutching greasy paper bags of hot dogs and fries like it was the best meal they had ever had. Which, to be fair, in comparison to what they had just eaten, it kind of was.

They found a bench in the park, the air cool but not biting, the distant hum of the city around them, the jazz from the hotel still echoing in her mind. Annette took a big bite of her hot dog and let out a contented sigh.

“Now this,” she said through a mouthful of food, “this is a meal.”

Richter chuckled, his own mouth full. “So much for impressing you with a fancy dinner.”

She reached for his free hand and gave it a squeeze. “Richter, it’s not a big deal. I still had fun. I’ll try out any mediocre restaurant as long as I get to be with you.” She smirked. “And you pay, of course.”

“Ha ha, very funny.”

He was blushing. Blushing.

God, she loved him.

For a moment, they just sat there, their fingers still loosely tangled together, eating in companionable silence. The kind that only ever happened when you were completely comfortable with someone. The kind that felt warm. Easy. Right.

Then Richter shifted beside her.

“I was thinking…”

She glanced up. “About?”

He rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly hesitant. “Well, the date isn’t technically just for tonight or over.”

Annette frowned. “What do you mean?”

He exhaled, glancing away, clearly trying to keep his voice casual. “I, uh… happened to book us a room at the hotel where the jazz event was. Because—I mean, I thought—it might be nice to spend the weekend together.” A beat. “Alone.”

He said it in a rush, as if afraid she might get mad.

But the second she processed his words, her stomach flipped, and any potential frustration vanished in an instant. A whole weekend. Just the two of them. No interruptions.

Her mind raced with the possibilities.

Richter, shirtless in the hotel sheets. Richter, rolling over in the morning, his voice rough with sleep, arms warm around her waist. Richter, pressing her into the mattress, his weight heavy on top of her, kissing her like he meant it.

Heat curled at the base of her spine.

She grinned. “That’s great,” she said, excitement clear in her voice. “I’m looking forward to it.”

Richter’s shoulders, which had been so tense, immediately relaxed. He looked at her like a man who had just been granted a second life.

“Really?”

“Of course,” she said. “Why would I even say no?”

He was grinning now, boyish and happy, and Annette’s chest felt like it might burst.

Because this was perfect.

A whole weekend.

No distractions.

No studying.

Just them.

And most importantly, an actual opportunity to satisfy the very real, very urgent sexual frustration she had been carrying for weeks.

The lingerie she had impulsively bought?

Yeah. It was absolutely worth it now. 

—

The walk back to the hotel was a special kind of torture.

Annette was trying to be normal. To act like she wasn’t burning from the inside out, like she wasn’t gripping Richter’s hand just a little too tightly, like she wasn’t walking just a little too fast because she was so fucking ready for what came next.

But Richter, the absolute menace, was just strolling. Taking his time. Looking perfectly content with the cool evening air, humming some jazz tune under his breath, completely oblivious to the fact that she was suffering.

He had no idea what he was doing to her.

He had no idea that she was biting the inside of her cheek to stop herself from dragging him into the nearest alleyway, no idea that every brush of his thumb over her knuckles sent electricity straight down her spine, no idea that she was this close to shoving him against a wall and climbing him like a damn tree.

Patience, she told herself. Be normal. Be civilised. Don’t jump him in public.

She took a deep breath, exhaled through her nose.

It didn’t help.

Because she could still smell him. The warm, sharp, and a little smoky from the hotel, from the city, from just him. His cologne lingered on his skin, and Annette swore it was going to drive her out of her mind.

They reached the hotel, stepping into the grand, gold-trimmed lobby, and Annette had never been so grateful to see a lift in her life. They just had to get upstairs. Just a few more minutes and—

Richter turned to say something—probably something sweet, something innocent, but she never let him get the words out.

She yanked him inside the lift, pressed the button for their floor, and before the doors had even shut, she was on him.

She kissed him like she was starving. 

Her kiss had taken him by surprise. He hadn’t expected her to lunge at him in the elevator, hadn’t thought she’d be this reckless. But he never cared about that sort of thing, never cared about propriety or caution, not when it came to her. If she wanted him, he would give himself over without hesitation.

So he kissed her back. Just as intensely.

He tasted like the champagne they’d been drinking, his lips soft and insistent like usual. She swore she could feel the heat of his want coursing through her, making her heady, making her weak. The sound of their lips colliding filled the small space, wet and needy, like they’d been starved for this, for each other.

He cupped her face, fingers pressing into her skin as if he needed to hold her there, needed to keep her against him forever. And then he turned them, pushing her gently against the elevator wall, swallowing the small sound she made in response. She clung to him, hands twisted in his shirt, pulling, desperate.

“This is dangerous, you know,” he murmured against her lips, breathless.

“I know,” she said simply. And then, lower, more desperate, “I don’t care.”

The elevator doors slid open, but they didn’t part right away. They stood there, breathing heavily, foreheads pressed together, their mouths still tingling with the memory of the kiss. And then, finally, he took her hand and led her to their room.

The hotel suite was absurdly grand—high ceilings, chandeliers, a balcony that overlooked the city lights. A clear view of the Eiffel Tower. French luxury at its finest. But Annette barely noticed any of it.

“So, you can actually afford all of this?” Annette asked, breathless, still dazed from the kiss.

Richter grinned, easy, boyish. “Perks of having a wealthy grandfather trying to make up for abandoning his only grandchild,” he said, shrugging. “The card he gave me has been put to good use.”

She hummed, only half-listening.

Because who cared about his grandfather and wealth right now? not when he was standing right there, lips kiss-swollen, breathing uneven, looking at her like that?

Her pulse thrummed. She was barely keeping it together.

Her skin felt too hot, her clothes too much. She needed his hands on her—everywhere—and she needed them now.

So she dropped her leather jacket to the floor and stepped closer.

Richter stilled. Just for a second. Just long enough for her to notice the way his breath hitched, the way his throat bobbed as he swallowed. He was waiting for her. Always waiting for her.

Annette wasn’t in the mood for waiting.

She reached for him, wound her arms around his neck, and kissed him again. Slow this time, sweet at first, savouring him, tasting the warmth of his lips. And then because she had been thinking about this for far, far too long—she sucked on his bottom lip, bit down just enough to make him groan.

Good.

That was exactly what she wanted.

She swallowed the sound, pushed her tongue into his mouth, kissing him deeper, kissing him like she needed him to understand exactly what she wanted. And he did. She could tell from the way he gasped against her lips, from the way his grip on her waist tightened, from the way his body pressed into hers, heat and muscle and barely restrained strength.

She was dizzy. Burning.

“You’re sure?” he murmured, voice rough, a little breathless.

“Yes.”

That was all it took.

His hands moved from her waist to her thighs, gripping, squeezing, then lower, lifting her.

She gasped in excitement, instinct kicking in. Legs wrapped around his waist, her arms clutching his shoulders.

He carried her to the bed, barely breaking the kiss, setting her down gently. But then he pulled back. Annette barely stopped herself from whining.

She clenched her fists, dug her nails into her palms, bit down on her bottom lip. This man.

Richter chuckled, low and quiet, the sound reverberating through her bones. “It’s okay, I’ll get to it,” he murmured, his lips quirking into something almost mischievous.

And then—torturously slowly—he reached for her boots.

He was taking his time with it. Deliberate. Calculated. He unzipped them with excruciating patience, peeling them away like he had all the time in the world, like he didn’t notice how her toes curled, how her breath hitched.

She lay back, staring at the ceiling, trying to desperately calm herself down.

But then his fingers brushed over her thighs.

Slow. Dragging. Teasing.

He hooked his fingers into her tights, tugging them down with an almost infuriating carefulness, his skin grazing against hers as he pulled them off.

Annette shivered.

His lips twitched. “There.”

Like he hadn’t just tortured her.

He shrugged off his coat, tossed it aside. Taking off his own boots. And then without breaking eye contact—he reached for his top. 

Annette swallowed.

The way he did it was slow, precise, pulling it up slowly as more of his skin, muscles were exposed. It made her breath hitch.

God, he knew exactly what he was doing.

When he was done,  he crawled onto the bed, pressing his body against hers, his warmth seeping into her skin, his lips finding hers again. He kissed her like he had no intention of stopping. Like he wanted her to lose herself.

And she did.

She forgot about the room. Forgot about the night. Forgot about everything that wasn’t him. Then his mouth moved lower.

His lips grazed against her jaw. He bit her ear, gently, his breath warm against her skin. Then he kissed her neck, soft, lingering, right against her pulse.

Her breath stuttered.

And then he stopped.

Annette opened her eyes, frustrated, only to see him tugging at the fabric of her turtleneck.

Oh.

Annette swallowed, pulse thrumming, and pulled her dress over her head in one smooth motion.

Richter inhaled sharply.

He froze.

His gaze dropped to her body. It was dark, hungry. Sweeping over the dark red two-piece lingerie she had deliberately chosen for tonight. His fingers hesitated, brushing over the lace, so light, so reverent, that she was the one who shivered.

“You wore this for me,” he murmured, voice hushed, like he couldn’t believe it. She smirked, even as her heart pounded. “Duh.

His eyes darkened further. He reached for the straps on her thighs, tugging them lightly, smirking when she twitched beneath him. “I’ll never forget this,” he said, almost to himself.

“You better not,” she teased. “I paid a lot of money for—”

Her words dissolved into a sharp gasp.

Richter’s hands were everywhere. They were palming, exploring, learning her body like he had all the time in the world. His fingers curled around her waist, skimmed the curve of her back, trailed up, up, until he cupped her breasts.

Annette shuddered.

His lips found her throat again, hot and insistent, pressing open-mouthed kisses along her jaw, down the slope of her neck, lower, lower until his lips grazed the swell of her breasts.

Then he tugged the bodice down.

And kissed her breasts properly.

A sharp inhale. A sharp shock of sensation.

His tongue flicked over her nipple, teasing, before his mouth closed around it.

“Oh, fuck,” she gasped.

Her fingers curled into the sheets, knuckles whitening, as he sucked—slow, deep, perfect. She was burning now. Her whole body feverish, alight with heat, a desperate, aching need curling in her stomach.

His hand slid lower, fingers splaying over her hip, squeezing, before slipping down to cup her ass.

“I like how this feels,” he murmured, voice husky against her skin.

Annette could only moan in response.

She needed more.

She arched into him, her hips rolling instinctively, seeking friction, seeking him.

Richter groaned, his grip tightening.

And then he moved lower.

Lips grazing down her stomach. Kisses burning into her skin.

Annette opened her eyes—just in time to see where he was headed.

And her breath caught.

He looked up. Paused. His mouth hovered just above her thighs.

His expression—God.

Like he wanted to ruin her.

“Do you not want me to?” he asked.

His voice was rough. His breath was hot.

Annette felt dizzy.

Oh, she did. She wanted it so badly she thought she might die.

She’d just never had this before, never had anyone go down on her, never had someone look at her like this, like he needed to taste her, like he wouldn’t survive if he didn’t.

“No, I do,” she rushed to assure him. “I want this. I was just…surprised.”

A slow, devastating smile. “It surprised me too. But I promise to make you feel good”

Then he ducked his head. And kissed and sucked the inside of her thigh.

Annette nearly sobbed.

Her fingers flew to his hair, tugging, her hips jerking involuntarily, her breath shattering as he moved higher. His hand slid up, thumb ghosting over the heat between her legs, teasing, pressing.

And then—oh.

He kissed her over the fabric of her lingerie.

Firm. Slow. Deliberate.

“Fuck,” he groaned, his grip tightening. “I really like this.” 

He did it again.

And again.

Annette twitched. Jolted. Shuddered.

Richter hummed in approval, low and pleased, his fingers tugging at the thigh straps again—stretching them, snapping them back lightly against her skin, watching the way she reacted to every little thing he did.

“I think I won’t take these off for a bit,” he mused, his voice teasing, his breath hot against her inner thigh. “I really love how they look on you.”

Annette was barely breathing. All she could do was nod at his words.

His hands smoothed over her skin, slow, deliberate, taking his time as he memorised the feel of her. And then—God—he dipped his head, pressed an open-mouthed kiss just above the thin lace, let his tongue tease at the edge of the fabric…just enough to make her hips jerk up, desperate for more.

He grinned against her skin. And then, finally, finally, he pushed the fabric aside.

And got to work.

The first touch of his tongue sent a violent shudder through her body. She arched off the bed, hands flying to his hair, gripping, tugging. But he was unyielding. 

Richter’s grip tightened around her thighs, pressing them apart, keeping her still, making sure she couldn’t escape him.

Not that she wanted to.

Because he was devouring her.

Licking, kissing, sucking—his mouth insatiable, his tongue moving with slow, exquisite precision. He was relentless, each movement deliberate, each flick of his tongue designed to unravel her, to turn her into something molten and unrecognisable.

He knew what he was doing. The way he would bury his face deeper, like he wanted to taste every inch of her, like he was starving and she was the only thing that could possibly satisfy him.

Annette whimpered, her fingers tangling into his hair, clutching, grasping—as if she could hold onto something, anything, to keep herself from falling apart. But there was no escape. No relief. She was trapped beneath the overwhelming pleasure of his mouth, her body trembling, her breath catching on every ragged, helpless gasp.

And he moaned against her.

A deep, throaty sound of satisfaction. Like he was enjoying this. Like he loved the taste of her.

Her entire body jolted, white-hot pleasure curling at the base of her spine. “Richter—” Her voice was wrecked, barely a whisper, but it was enough to make him groan again, the vibrations sending another wave of euphoria crashing through her.

He gripped her thighs tighter, pulling her even closer. Like he needed this, like he couldn’t stand to be any further away. His fingers dug into her skin, his desperation mirroring her own, as if they were both seconds away from losing their minds completely

Annette’s fingers fisted harder in his hair. Yanked.

But he groaned at that. A deep and low, the sound vibrating against her, making her jerk, making her writhe. And he didn’t stop. Didn’t ease up. His tongue flicked, curled, exactly right.

She broke.

A sharp, shattered cry tore from her throat as her body seized beneath him. Her legs trembled, her back arched—pleasure crashing into her, wrecking her, drowning her in it.

But he didn’t let go.

Didn’t pull away.

He drank her in, held her tighter, devoured her through every wave, every tremor. His hands still firm on her, his mouth still taking, still tasting her, like he needed this.

The thought alone made her shudder.

By the time he finally lifted his head, she was gasping—dazed, body buzzing, mind spinning. She couldn’t believe it. Couldn’t believe she had come that hard from just his mouth. But even now, in the aftershock, she still wanted more.

Needed more. Needed him inside her.

Her body ached for it, her skin prickling as she forced her eyes open, searching for him—

And there he was. Standing at the edge of the bed. Watching her. A satisfied grin on his face. But there was something else there, too.

Something darker.

He was pleased. Pleased with what he’d done to her. But also—

He was unbuttoning his trousers. Not breaking eye contact as he did it. Her breath hitched. Watched as the fabric slid down his legs. As his boxers followed. 

And—oh.

Her stomach tightened. Her thighs pressed together. He was hard. Very hard. Large, thick, standing tall between his strong, toned legs—so ready for her, so aching for her. Her mouth watered.

She could already imagine the stretch of him, the feel of him inside her, filling her, ruining her.

Richter smirked.

“Like what you see?”

His voice was deeper now. No teasing, no usual playfulness—just hunger. Just want.

Annette swallowed.

“You know I do.”

His smirk widened. And then he slowly  crawled back to the bed. Back to her. She was ready for him. She could still taste herself on his lips when he kissed her again, but she didn’t care. Didn’t mind.

She just wanted him.

And he kissed her back with the same raw, desperate need. She could feel it—his heart pounding, his body pressing into hers, the heat of him, the weight of him, all of him.

He reached behind her, fingers deft as he unclipped her bra.

A whisper of fabric, a soft slide—

Then it was gone.

She barely had time to process before he pulled back, gaze sweeping over her—

And then, voice rough, eyes dark—

“Beautiful.”

Then his mouth was on her again. Kissing down her chest, trailing heat in his wake, until his lips closed around her nipple. He sucked, bit, his teeth grazing just enough to make her gasp, to make her arch, to make her moan his name.

But that wasn’t all. His fingers slid between her legs, brushing over her heat, finding the swollen bud at her centre.

A soft, teasing circle.

Testing.

She whimpered.

And then he pushed a finger inside her, slowly, carefully.

Her head hit the pillow. A sharp cry left her throat.

“Richter—”

He didn’t stop. Didn’t even hesitate. Pulled out. Thrust back in. Set a slow, deliberate, pace. Coaxing her open, stretching her. Then, when she was used to it, he added another finger.

She sobbed.

Her nails dug into his shoulders as he kissed her again, tongue sliding against hers, lips drinking in her every moan, every sound of want.

She was so close.

She could feel it coming, that sharp, unbearable pleasure curling in her stomach, ready to snap—

And then he stopped. Ripped his fingers away. Annette whined into his mouth, desperate, frustrated, aching.

“Shh,” he murmured, voice rough, breathless. “I know, I know. I’m sorry. But I want to be inside you when you release this time.”

Then he pulled back, hands moving to the waistband of her underwear.

And she helped him. Tore it down herself, impatient, lifting her hips, wanting nothing between them anymore. Now she was bare. Now she was his.

Richter exhaled, long and slow, his eyes devouring her.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmured, voice almost reverent. “So fucking gorgeous.”

His hands traced the curve of her thigh, his gaze memorising every inch of her like he would never forget. Then his fingers twitched toward the nightstand.

Reaching for something. But she stopped him. “I want to feel you,” she said, no hesitation, no doubt. “All of you.”

Richter’s eyes darkened. Surprise flickered across his face, but only for a moment, because then she saw it.

The hunger. The want.

His cock twitched at her words, and she nearly laughed.

“Yeah?” he rasped.

“Yeah,” she confirmed, voice softer now, but firm. Certain. “I want this. And I trust you to pull out.”

She smirked, then pulled him down, parting her legs in invitation.

Richter swore.

His breath came out in a sharp exhale as he settled between her thighs, his body pressing into hers. He kissed her. slow and deep. Then aligned himself.

For the first time since they started, he hesitated.

Just for a second.

Like he needed a moment. Like he couldn’t believe he was finally here, about to have her like this. Annette felt the tension in him, the breath he held.

And then—

He pushed in. She gasped. He groaned.

The stretch was good.

Richter buried himself inside her, inch by inch, filling her, pressing deeper, deeper until he was fully seated, until she felt him everywhere.

Her legs tightened around his waist. Her hands gripped his back.

He shuddered.

“Fuck, Annette—” His voice broke. “You feel so good.”

She could only nod, breathless, dazed, her body adjusting to him, clinging to him. She wanted him to move. Rocked her hips, desperate for friction, desperate for more. Richter hissed at that. But he obeyed. Pulled out and thrust back in. And then again. And again. Until he set a rhythm. One that was deep, strong, perfect.

The sound of it filled the room.

The wet, slick noises of him moving inside her. The sharp, steady slap of skin against skin. The ragged, breathless moans she couldn’t hold back. He kissed her hard as he fucked her, their mouths swallowing each other’s gasps, their bodies tangled, burning, melting into each other.

And it was—

God.

She had never had it like this before. Never like this. Never like him. The way he moved, the way he touched her…it was everything. Each kiss, each thrust, was a revelation, better than anything she had ever imagined. All those dreams and thoughts paled in comparison to the reality of him filling her, consuming her.

Her moans echoed through the room, loud and unabashed, mirroring his as he kissed her breathless, his lips pressing against hers with a wild desperation that sent shivers down her spine. He was relentless, pulling away only for a moment to whisper sweet praises, his voice thick with desire, then crashing back into her like he couldn’t bear the thought of being apart for a second.

His pace was frantic now, and she reveled in it. She could feel the heat pooling in her stomach, every nerve ending alight with sensation. Annette used her hands to cup his ass, pushing him deeper, urging him on, her fingers digging into his skin as if she could pull him closer, make him feel everything she felt.

“Harder,” she begged, the words spilling from her lips before she could think to hold them back.

And he responded.

They met each other halfway, bodies moving in perfect synchrony, a rhythm born of desperation and need. Annette took control of the kisses, guiding him with her mouth, sucking him in with a fervour that mirrored the frantic pace of their bodies. She needed him to understand—needed him to know how much she wanted this, how much she wanted him.

The tension inside her built, coiling tighter and tighter, threatening to snap at any moment. She could feel her peak approaching, could feel it making her hotter, more desperate, almost to the point of screaming. Richter seemed to sense it, too; she could feel his fingers moving lower, circling her, teasing her clit with a deftness that made her body shake.

That was it.

Her world exploded.

Annette’s back arched off the bed, her body quaking with pleasure, the wave crashing over her so intense it nearly blinded her. Everything shattered. Her thoughts, her focus until all that remained was the sheer ecstasy of release.

In the mess of it, she barely registered his voice whispering in her ear, “I love you, I love you,” each word spilling from his lips like a spell, anchoring her in the moment.

And then Richter followed her, pulling out and spilling himself on her stomach, the warmth of his release painting her stomach, and she couldn’t bring herself to respond, couldn’t form words, because she was still floating, still reeling from the intensity of what they had just shared.

A few moments passed, and then she felt a soft towel against her skin. Richter was cleaning her up, the gesture so tender it made her heart swell. As he wiped away the remnants of their passion, she finally started to come back to reality, blinking up at him as he settled beside her.

He held her close, their breaths mingling in the stillness of the room, his heart racing against her chest. “Annette…”

She opened her eyes to meet his gaze, and there it was—a deep smile, pure and radiant. “I love you, Annette,” he repeated, as if he needed to ensure she heard him properly this time.

Her stomach curled at his words, warmth flooding through her. Of course he felt the same way; he had never hidden it. Her voice was hoarse, but she managed to say it back. “I love you too, Richter.”

And when she leaned in, attempting to bridge the gap between them, he met her halfway, capturing her lips in a tender kiss. It was soft, lingering—filled with everything they had just shared. When they finally pulled back, he held her tighter, her head resting against his chest as she listened to the steady thump of his heartbeat. His thumb brushed soothingly over her back, their naked, sweaty bodies tangled together in a cocoon of warmth.

“How are you feeling?” he asked softly, pressing a kiss to her hair.

“I feel good,” she replied, her voice muffled against him. “Better than good…amazing, really.”

Richter chuckled, a teasing glimmer in his eyes. “I guess I did impress you after all, huh?” His gaze was filled with so much love and care, even amid the silliness, that Annette couldn’t help but laugh.

“Of course, you’d have to be an idiot right now,” she teased, playfully swatting his chest.

“Only for you,” he shot back, then sighed, the weight of his words settling between them. “You know, believe it or not, this is the first time I’ve ever felt like this for someone…Fallen in love. You make it so easy to love, and I- I couldn’t imagine doing this with anyone else.”

Her heart pounded at his confession, echoing her own hidden thoughts. It was both sweet and vulnerable, and in that moment, she realised just how alike they were, despite their differences. She searched his eyes, sincerity reflected in their depths. “Me too, believe it or not.”

A smile tugged at her lips, and she tapped his chest gently. “Though I do wonder how you’re going to top this. My 20th birthday is coming up in a few weeks. A weekend away in a fancy hotel sounds impossible to beat,” she joked, but Richter’s expression turned serious.

“I’m a Belmont. Never underestimate me when it comes to this stuff.” He leaned in, kissing her wrist. “We thrive best under a challenge.”

“Mmhm, I actually believe you, funny enough.” She sighed, filled with happiness. “I never would have imagined we’d be spending a weekend in a place like this. A whole weekend of fucking, because what else is there to do, right?”

He laughed, a genuine sound that warmed her heart.

Richter flushed, then started rambling, “I—mean, it wasn’t just about hoping we’d have sex. I mean, I did hope, but I would have been fine if—if we didn’t do it—”

Annette pressed a finger to his lips, silencing him with a soft smile. “Stop talking. You’re always such a good boy.”

His cheeks deepened in colour, and she could feel the excitement radiating from him as he twitched against her thigh. “Ooh, someone has a praise kink, I see,” she smirked, watching his reaction with delight.

“I—” he stuttered, caught off guard, but the words were cut off by her lips on his.

The kiss quickly turned passionate, her body instinctively moving to ride his thigh as he gripped her tightly, their bodies igniting with every touch, every caress.

In that moment, Annette felt a surge of joy. When she had chosen to come to school here, she had never imagined she would fall in love—let alone with someone like Richter. But the universe worked in mysterious ways, and she was happy. That was all that mattered.

“Mmmh, suddenly I’m in the mood for another round,” he murmured, a knowing smile dancing on his lips.

She looked at him, warmth blooming in her chest, and he nodded, that deep smile growing. “Me too.”

“I love you, Annette. Always know that” 

“I know, I love you too, Richter” 

With that, they dived back into each other, their bodies moving together, filled with the deep love and passion they felt for one another, lost in a world where nothing else mattered but the two of them.