Red trench and Soft girl

chapter Two : Red trench and Soft girl

The email came at 2:43 a.m.

No emoji. No greeting. Just a sentence written like a whisper:

[ “I want to learn what adult love feels like. Not the soft kind. The real kind.” ]

—Vivienne Blackwood

Christopher stared at the screen. The name didn’t match the tone.

He opened the attachment. A clean bank receipt. Full payment. No questions.

He leaned back in his leather chair, one hand tracing the scar over his brow.

"Vivienne."

He said the name out loud, testing the sweetness of it.

It sounded like candlelight.

It sounded like someone he’d ruin.

And that’s what made him say yes.

The café was too bright for his taste. Everything smelled like cinnamon and effort.

He walked in anyway—black boots, blood-red trench coat, cigarette tucked behind his ear like a warning.

His eyes swept the place. Two exits. One camera. Three liars and one girl who didn’t belong.

She sat by the window, legs crossed like a nervous ballerina.

Pink sweater. White ribbon. A softness that didn’t belong in his world.

"Vivienne Blackwood ?"

She looked up. Big eyes. Fragile mouth. She nodded.

He slid into the booth, the trench coat folding like a sigh.

" No offense ," he said, voice low and blunt, "but you look like the kind of girl who still cries at Disney movies."

She blinked. "I do."

His eyebrow twitched.

"cute."

She held out the envelope like it was cursed. He took it, didn’t even count the cash. Money wasn’t what he needed. Time was.

"Three rules," he said, tossing the envelope into his coat.

"You want real love-- the adult kind-- not the pastel breakup story your ex gave you?"

He leaned forward, voice like smoke.

"Then listen close."

She nodded. He watched her like prey learning to nod before she learned to bite.

"Rule one : I don’t kiss you unless you ask. Clearly.”

“Rule two: I’ll touch, but never take.”

“Rule three: You can quit anytime. But if you stay—”

He smiled for the first time, but it wasn’t warm.

“I’ll break the girl you’ve been.”

The air thickened.

He leaned close, not touching her, just near enough to test her.

“And Vivienne?”

His voice dipped near her temple, velvet over glass.

“That girl—the one who cries pretty and leaves notes in gift boxes—she’s the reason you keep getting left behind.”

Her throat fluttered. She didn’t speak.

He liked that. Silence meant she was listening.

“Still want this?” he asked. Not cruel. Not gentle.

She looked at him then—really looked.

At the man who didn’t come with flowers.

At the man who might teach her how to stop being left.

She nodded again.

Slower.

He leaned back. Smirked like it was the beginning of a game only he knew the rules to.

“Good. Lesson one starts tonight.”

He reached into his coat, pulled out a lighter. Set it on the table.

“Burn the dress you wore when he dumped you.”

She blinked. “What?”

“You heard me, baby deer. I said burn it.”

He lit the cigarette tucked behind his ear, not waiting for her to catch up.

“We’re not dressing wounds anymore. We’re burning what made them.”

***Download NovelToon to enjoy a better reading experience!***