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𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐖𝐄 𝐏𝐔𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐃 𝐔𝐏 𝐓𝐎 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐔𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐓, my breath caught in my throat.
This wasn't just any expensive place. It was one of the most exclusive restaurants in the city—the kind with a six-month waiting list, velvet curtains, and private dining rooms where billionaires signed deals over $10,000 bottles of wine.
Of course, we didn't need reservations.
The valet rushed to open my door before I even reached for the handle, bowing slightly as he murmured, "Welcome, Cameron."
I stepped out, ignoring the way Rafe's hand immediately found the small of my back, guiding me forward—a silent but a clear message to everyone watching.
The host at the entrance barely even looked at the reservation book before motioning for us to follow him, leading us through the dimly lit restaurant to a secluded, private table near the back.
The air itself felt expensive. Crystal chandeliers cast a golden glow over the polished mahogany tables, reflecting in the pristine wine glasses. Soft music hummed in the background, drowned out by the quiet murmur of conversation.
Rafe pulled out my chair like a gentleman-waiting for me to sit before taking his own.
The second we were alone, his eyes flickered over me again, dark and burning.
"I don't think I've ever seen you look this good," he murmured, his voice lower than before.
I twirled a strand of hair around my finger, smiling lazily. "You should take me out more often, then."
His lips twitched, but his gaze never left mine. "You'll get spoiled."
I shrugged, tilting my head. "I already am."
He let out a quiet chuckle. "That's true."
As the waiter approached, I barely paid him any attention—until something felt... off.
His gaze lingered on me just a little too long.
Not in a professional way. Not in the way waiters sometimes admired beautiful customers.
This was different.
When he poured my water, his fingers brushed against mine.
Deliberate. Unnecessary.
I didn't react, but I felt the shift in the air instantly.
Rafe tensed.
At first, he didn't say anything. He simply leaned back in his chair, silent, unreadable, calculating. His arm draped over the back of my seat, his fingers finding my wrist, playing idly with the Cartier bracelets stacked there.
