ng on her tasks, but her hands tremble slightly as she wipes down the counter. Nicholas is coming. She repeats it in her mind like a warning, like a storm she can't outrun. Th

et name. Or the way her pulse betrays her with a sharp, quick beat. He reaches into his coat pocket and slides a sleek black card onto the counter. "Seven o'clock. Be ready. I'll pick you up." She eyes the card warily before picking it up. It's an invitation-to an exclusive restaurant she's only heard about in whispers. Nicholas downs the rest of his coffee in one smooth motion before standing. "See you tonight, Chloe." And just like that, he walks out. Chloe stares after him, her heart hammering. What has she just agreed to? As soon as Nicholas steps out of the café, the tension in her chest uncoils just a fraction. She exhales shakily, gripping the counter as if it's the only thing keeping her upright. What the hell just happened? She agreed to a date-no, not a date. A dinner. That distinction was important. But with Nicholas, everything felt like a game, like he was two steps ahead, playing a role she didn't even know she had signed up for. A fancy restaurant. Seven o'clock. Her stomach twists. Her mother walks out of the backroom, wiping her hands on a dish towel. "You okay?" Chloe straightens, schooling her features into something neutral. "Yeah. Just a little... distracted." Her mom glances at the door Nicholas just walked out of and raises an eyebrow. "By him?" Chloe hesitates. "He's persistent." Her mother hums knowingly, but thankfully, she doesn't press. The rest of her shift drags. She tries to focus on work, on the comfort of routine, but her thoughts keep circling back to Nicholas. What does he want from her? Does he know? The thought sends ice through her veins. By the time she gets home, exhaustion presses down on her, but she doesn't have time to rest. She has two hours before Nicholas arrives. Her fingers tighten around the black invitation card as she stands in her bedroom, staring at her closet. What does one wear to a dinner with a man who could very well be planning her downfall? She sighs, rubbing a hand down her face. "This is ridiculous." Yet, she still finds herself sifting through her clothes, discarding casual sweaters and jeans until she finally settles on a dress-a sleek, midnight blue number that hugs her in all the right places without trying too hard. Simple. Elegant. Impenetrable. After a quick shower, she lets her blonde hair fall naturally in soft waves. A touch of mascara, a hint of lip gloss-nothing too bold. She doesn't want to look like she put in effort. Because she didn't. This wasn't a real date. Then why is your heart racing? She ignores the thought as she steps into a pair of heels, glancing at the clock. 6:58 p.m. A sleek black car rolls up outside her apartment, headlights slicing through the evening shadows. Right on time. Her pulse jumps as she grabs her bag, takes a steadying breath, and steps outside. Nicholas leans casually against the car, dressed in a perfectly tailored black suit, looking like sin incarnate. His blue eyes flick over her, slow and deliberate. Then he smirks. "You clean up well, Chloe." She folds her arms, tilting her chin. "Are we doing this or not?" Nicholas chuckles, opening the passenger door. "Oh, we're doing this." With a deep breath, she slides into the car. Whatever this night has in store for her, there's no turning back now. The car glides smoothly t