Rose applied the final touch of lip gloss and gave her reflection a confident nod, though deep down she wasn't sure if this dinner was a bold move or pure madness. Her long black gown flowed elegantly around her like dark silk water, hugging her figure at the waist and flaring subtly toward her ankles. The gown had a subtle shimmer under the hallway light, the off-shoulder neckline revealing her collarbones like delicate sculpture. She had tied her blonde hair into a sleek low bun, letting a few wisps frame her face with calculated softness.
She stepped out of her room—and there he was.
Daniel, still in his favorite hoodie, slouched on the couch like he had been preparing for this ambush.
"Where are you going?" His voice sliced the hallway silence, his brows already forming a suspicious arch.
Rose blinked. "I…uh," she started, realizing she hadn't told Daniel—or Adeline—anything about this dinner.
"I hope you're not going to meet a stranger at night again."
"I never said anything about it being a stranger," she replied, forcing a casual shrug as she grabbed her purse.
"You didn't say anything at all," Daniel shot back, sitting up straighter. "Who is it?"
"Someone," she said quickly.
"'Someone'? Rose—"
"I know it's not safe, but Laurence is probably waiting for me outside already," she cut in, avoiding his eyes.
Daniel groaned, standing up. "Rose, you always do this. You act like I'm the dramatic one when you're the one tiptoeing out of the house like a teenage spy."
"Because if I tell you anything, you'll flip!"
They went back and forth, the usual verbal ping-pong match of siblings who loved each other too much to stay quiet but argued too loudly to admit it. Finally, with Daniel still ranting behind her, Rose shut the door and exhaled as Laurence's car came into view.
He was parked just outside, hands on the steering wheel, his sharp jawline catching the glow of the dashboard.
Without hesitation, she got into the car.
"I'll be at the parking lot," Laurence said smoothly as the car stopped in front of the grand Velluto Noire entrance. "Text me when you're ready to leave."
He handed her his number, which she saved while stepping out and giving a quick, awkward smile.
The restaurant was like a dream stitched in velvet and dim gold. The chandelier above looked like frozen stars, and the hostesses were dressed better than most guests at galas. As Rose entered, unsure who exactly she was looking for, a waitress in a neat black uniform approached.
"This way, please," the woman said with a warm smile.
Rose blinked. He saw me already? That was either sweet… or creepy. Or both.
The waitress led her through the main hall into a quieter, more refined section. It wasn't empty—far from it—but the atmosphere was different. People spoke in hushed tones, wore clothes that whispered old money, and smelled like subtle perfume and understated power.
Then she saw him.
He was seated at a table near the large window, dressed in a crisp suit with no tie, the top button undone like he owned the air around him. His eyes locked with hers instantly, and he rose to his feet with a graceful smile.
Jonathan Flon.
She had seen his name printed clearly on the card he gave her.
He pulled her chair for her, and Rose sat.
"Well, aren't you quite the gentleman," she said with a teasing smirk.
"Oh come on, how can I let you do that yourself?" he replied, his smile disarming.
As they sat, Rose's internal panic flared. Please just order water. Water and maybe…a toothpick. That's it.
Jonathan began chatting. He explained that he ran a small but passionate nonprofit for orphaned children—"Nothing huge, but it means the world to me," he said, his eyes softening. "Children deserve better beginnings. I had a rough one myself. I guess I'm just trying to pass on a little light."
Rose listened, impressed despite herself. It wasn't just what he said—it was how he said it. He really meant it.
"And what about you?" he asked. "What do you do?"
Rose blinked as if the question had been asked in Portuguese. "I'm…a nanny," she said flatly, sipping her water.
"A beautiful nanny with mystery in her eyes?" he said with a grin, clearly flirting now.
Rose resisted the urge to make a face. God, this is awkward.
Then came the waitress. She hovered—stared—at Jonathan like he was on the cover of a romance novel.
Jonathan, seemingly unaware or very aware, ordered with the confidence of a man who thought menus were merely suggestions.
"I'll take the Pierre Zero Chardonnay," he said, gesturing toward the wine list. "Non-alcoholic, of course." Then he glanced at Rose. "Do you drink?"
She shook her head quickly. "No."
"Then we'll keep it classy and dry," he smiled. "For the meal… I'll have the truffle-stuffed duck breast with saffron butter risotto."
Rose blinked.
"And for dessert… the raspberry-rose mille-feuille."
Rose blinked again.
Who orders like this? Is he on Death Row? Did someone tell him this is his last meal ever and Velluto Noire is heaven's waiting room?
The waitress finally turned to her. "And for you, miss?"
Rose took the menu like it had offended her personally. She stared at the prices like she was doing mental calculus. If I cut off electricity for two days and don't buy deodorant for a month…nope, still not enough.
Back at her father's house, she never even looked at prices. The audacity of poverty!
"I'll just have a bottle of water for now," she mumbled.
Jonathan chuckled. "Come on, order whatever you want. I'm paying."
She froze. "Wait, I thought I was paying for the coffee accident?"
He smiled. "You being here already makes up for it."
After a pause, Rose grinned, suddenly liberated. "In that case…I'll take the lobster ravioli with basil cream sauce."
"Attagirl," he said.
The conversation resumed, lighter now. Jonathan kept trying to charm her, and Rose deflected his attempts with the grace of a fencing champion. She wasn't buying it, but she wasn't leaving either.
Meanwhile…
Outside Velluto Noire.
A sleek black car pulled up. Julian Carter stepped out in a tailored suit that screamed old money and barely restrained violence. Beside him was Alex, his ever-stressed right-hand man, already briefing him like a man trying to stop a train with duct tape.
"These people we're meeting," Alex muttered, "they're high-end. This deal can really put us on a better map. So please, Julian—don't fuck it up."
They entered the glass elevator that rose slowly through the restaurant, giving them a perfect view of the luxurious floor below.
Then Alex's eyes caught something. "Isn't that Rose with a man?"
Julian's eyes snapped toward Alex, then followed his line of sight.
Sure enough, it was Rose—dressed in black, glowing like moonlight—and she was smiling. Smiling at a man Julian didn't recognize.
His jaw tightened. That wasn't Daniel. That wasn't anyone he had approved.
"That man…" Julian muttered. "He looks familiar."
As the elevator dinged at the VIP level, Julian turned and walked back down the stairs.
"Julian, no! We have a meeting!" Alex shouted, chasing him.
Julian didn't stop.
Alex groaned and whispered to himself, "Guess I'm doing the pitch alone again."
Two bodyguards followed Julian, silent and grim.
Downstairs, as Rose laughed at something Jonathan said, unaware that a storm in a tailored suit was about to walk right into her dinner.