The restaurant buzzed with quiet clinks of cutlery and soft jazz curling from hidden speakers. Candlelight flickered on every table, casting golden reflections in wine glasses and polished silverware. Valentine's Day had brought couples from every corner of the city, the air rich with roses and expectations.
Catherine sat alone at her reserved table near the window, her hands folded neatly in her lap.
She looked breathtaking — a vision of grace in her red dress, its fabric catching the light like it had been stitched from starlight. Her hair flowed in soft waves down her shoulders, and a touch of warmth bloomed in her cheeks. The gold earrings from her mother dangled just enough to catch the eye. She had ordered sparkling water, untouched.
Every now and then, she glanced at the entrance.
And then, finally — almost an hour later — he arrived.
Maverick rushed in, breath slightly uneven, jacket wrinkled from the hurried cab ride. He scanned the room and found her. When their eyes met, a strange mix of guilt and awe passed over his face.
"Cath," he said, leaning down to kiss her cheek. "I'm so sorry you had to wait. The traffic was crazy."
It wasn't a great excuse.
But her smile — quiet, tired, and still warm — forgave him anyway.
"It's okay," she said, rising to hug him. He came empty-handed, no rose, no gift, not even a card. But her arms wrapped around him like she had been waiting for the man he used to be.
And for a little while, they were fine.
They talked. About work. About memories. About things that didn't matter too much. Maverick was charming again, slipping into old jokes and light touches, and Catherine laughed a few times — not because they were hilarious, but because she missed the sound of herself being happy.
Then came the voice.
Silky. Sharp. Laced with venom and faux delight.
"Well, well… what a coincidence to see the two of you here."
Catherine turned first, but Maverick went rigid before he even looked.
There she was.
Rose.
She stood like a storm wrapped in black silk. A knee-length dress clung to her curves in all the places a man's gaze would land first. One long slit ran up her thigh, and the neckline dipped low enough to suggest more than it showed. Her lipstick was the color of danger — deep crimson — and her long blonde hair cascaded over her shoulders like liquid gold.
But it was her smile that struck the room like a match.
A wicked, knowing grin that didn't pretend to be anything less than calculated.
On her arm was a man — tall, clean-cut, clearly expensive. He looked around with disinterest, but offered a polite smile when Rose tugged him forward.
Maverick stood slowly. His pulse was a war drum in his ears.
"Rose…" he said, eyes wide. "What are you—?"
"Oh please, don't look so surprised," she purred. "It's Valentine's. I thought I'd treat myself to a beautiful dinner… and this just so happened to be the place I chose." Her eyes danced. "Imagine my delight when I saw you two."
She turned to Catherine and tilted her head. "Hi Catherine. What a coincidence right?"
Catherine didn't speak — only offered a stiff, confused smile. Her gut was tightening, every alarm in her soul ringing quietly. Rose's presence was overwhelming, like perfume sprayed too thickly in a closed room.
Rose's date stood beside her, expression unreadable.
"Mind if we join you?" Rose asked, not really asking. "The tables are all full."
Before anyone could answer, she pulled out the chair across from Catherine and sat down, her date following suit like a trained actor.
Maverick remained frozen.
Catherine looked at him, searching for answers.
He gave none.
Throughout the meal, Catherine tried to focus on her food, on breathing, on staying polite. But every time Rose laughed — that overly sweet, cruel laugh — Catherine flinched internally.
Rose rested her hand too often on Maverick's arm. She whispered things that weren't meant to be heard. And Maverick, for all his earlier charm, seemed shaken, distracted. His eyes would drift to Rose when he thought Catherine wasn't looking.
But she was.
She saw everything.
As the final course was cleared and wine glasses were drained, Maverick pushed his chair back.
"I'm going to step out for a smoke," he said softly.
Rose's lips curved. "Still addicted to the old habits, I see."
Catherine didn't respond. Just nodded, her heart feeling oddly distant.
As soon as he left the table, Rose leaned toward her companion, her voice low but distinct.
"Follow him. Around the corner. Wait for my call."
The man gave a curt nod, stood, and disappeared into the crowd.
Catherine caught the exchange, even if she didn't understand it.
Rose turned back, now alone at the table with Catherine. Her smile softened — eerily sweet, almost sisterly.
"Poor thing," she said. "You really don't know anything, do you?"
Catherine blinked, startled. "I'm sorry…?"
Rose leaned in, resting her chin delicately on one hand. "You're beautiful, Catherine. Really. You are. But sometimes beauty isn't enough to keep someone." Her voice was syrupy and low. "Especially when they're already kept."
Catherine didn't respond. Her throat was dry.
Rose sat back, sipping her wine, completely unbothered.
"Shame, really. He could've just chosen one of us."
Her phone buzzed. She looked down, read the message, and smirked.
Then she stood up and left.