After the tension at the bookstore, Ethan finds himself reluctantly preparing for his first official outing with Isabella—an evening he never agreed to, at a place he definitely didn't choose.
Ethan had worn a tie maybe three times in his life.
Graduation. A funeral. And now... this.
He adjusted it for the third time in the mirror, then gave up. It wasn't sitting right. None of this felt right.
Downstairs, his dad gave a low whistle when he walked into the living room.
"Sharp look, son. You going to propose again tonight?"
Ethan shot him a flat look. "Not helping."
His mom peeked around the corner, holding up a wrapped box. "She sent this over earlier. Said it was 'a formality.'"
Ethan took the box with mild dread.
Inside was a black envelope. The card read: Tonight's venue has a dress code. I've taken the liberty of covering that detail for you. See you at 7:00. — I
He stared at it for a moment. Then sighed.
Isabella Wynn didn't plan evenings.
She staged them.
6:58 PM
The restaurant was the kind of place with no signage. Just a dark wood door, an imported orchid at the entrance, and the faint smell of money in the air.
Isabella was already seated by the window.
She wore a deep blue dress, understated yet elegant, with her hair tucked behind one ear, as always. She didn't wave when he approached. Just looked up, smiled faintly, and gestured toward the chair across from her.
"You're on time," she said.
"You're terrifying," he replied.
"That too."
The waiter appeared as if summoned by thought. He didn't hand them menus.
"You already ordered?" Ethan asked, sliding into his seat.
"I know what you like," she said simply.
"That's unsettling."
She tilted her head. "Would you rather I guessed?"
Ethan paused. "...No."
They sat in silence for a moment.
Not awkward, exactly. Just... heavy. Like the room was holding its breath.
Isabella finally spoke.
"I heard from Sophie Park."
Ethan blinked. "The journalist?"
"She says you're 'accidentally magnetic.' I found that phrasing irritating."
Ethan leaned back. "Sophie's just nosy."
"She's observant," Isabella corrected. "And dangerously aware of your growing relevance."
He frowned. "Relevance?"
"You're beginning to matter to people. Not just me."
Ethan didn't know how to respond to that.
Before he could try, the first course arrived—immaculately plated, perfectly balanced, completely unrecognizable.
Isabella picked up her fork. "Don't worry. I didn't poison it."
He stared at her.
"...That's something only people who poison food say."
She smiled without looking up. "Eat. You'll need the energy."
"For what?"
"For everything that's coming next."
He wasn't sure if this was a date, a trap, or the start of something he wouldn't be able to walk away from.