Fated to The Gorgeous

"That night... was it you?"

Eighteen-year-old Elena had imagined a thousand-no, ten thousand-ways to confess to the boy she liked. Yet she never imagined that when she finally gathered all her courage to stand before him, her first words would be, "That man from that night... was it you?"

Chasel leaned against the telephone pole with casual grace, his gaze downcast. When Elena's question reached him, he didn't even bother to lift his eyelids. Only the slightest furrow of his brow and a nearly imperceptible trembling of his eyelashes betrayed him, before his clean, striking features returned to their usual impassive calm.

Had Elena not been carefully studying every flicker across his face, she might have thought he hadn't heard her at all. She stared at him intently, waiting in silence for a moment. Seeing no sign of response, she pressed her lips together before speaking again-this time with certainty edging her question, "It was you that night, wasn't it?"

After Elena's second attempt, Chasel finally lifted his head. He lazily swept his gaze over her, his dark eyes void of any emotion or feeling. Then he straightened up and, without any acknowledgment, simply turned and walked away.

Elena watched his retreating figure, unconsciously clenching her fists.

It had to be him that night. It couldn't be anyone else...

The way he had kissed her that night, so tenderly... she couldn't be mistaken...

Though she couldn't understand why his attitude tonight differed so drastically from that night, she had finally summoned the courage to approach him. She couldn't give up halfway-she feared she might never find this kind of courage and confidence again.

With this thought, Elena darted after Chasel, taking two quick steps in his direction. "I know it was you that night, I-"

Before Elena could finish, Chasel quickened his pace.

The distance between them grew wider.