from a five-star Parisian-inspired restaurant tucked into Manhattan's heart—low lighting, the scent of roasted garlic and aged cabernet in the air, and walls whispering elegance through velvet drapes and delicate piano notes.
She sat at a corner table, her back straight, posture perfect, dressed in a deep navy silk dress that shimmered when she moved. A small, tense part of her still questioned why she'd sent that email. But the larger part—the braver, more curious part—was done hiding.
The maître d' approached. "Mr. Knight has arrived, Ms. Lane."
Of course he had.
She glanced toward the entrance. Aidan entered like he always did: calm, confident, magnetic. His tailored charcoal suit made him look more like a GQ cover than a business magnate. But what caught her wasn't the suit. It was the softness in his gaze when he met hers.
"Elina," he said simply, sliding into the seat across from her.
She exhaled slowly. "I hope you like duck confit."
He smiled. "I'd like anything if you picked it."
The waitress appeared, took their wine orders, and vanished like a shadow.
"I don't do this often," Elina said, fingers resting on the crystal stem of her glass.
"Dinner?"
"Inviting someone into my world."
"I know," Aidan said. "That's why I'm here."
Her lip twitched. "You say that like you already know how tonight ends."
"No assumptions. Just hope."
There was a silence—thick but not uncomfortable. Like two powerful chess players watching the board between them.
He leaned forward. "Why the change of heart?"
She tilted her head, playing with the edge of her napkin. "I needed to see if there was more to this…thing."
"And?"
"I don't know yet."
"I can live with that," Aidan said. "As long as we're not pretending anymore."
Elina took a sip of her wine, gaze never leaving his. "I'm not pretending. I'm terrified."
He didn't blink. "Good. That means it matters."
---
They talked over duck and risotto, the conversation shifting from business to travel, from memories to music. Aidan confessed he once wanted to be a writer.
"What changed?" she asked.
"My father. He thought literature was for soft men."
"Do you believe that?"
He shrugged. "No. But I do believe we become who we need to be to survive."
Elina nodded slowly. "That's true."
"Who did you need to be, Elina?"
She set down her fork. "Someone unbreakable."
Aidan looked at her long enough to make her skin warm. "You can be strong and still want someone."
"Wanting someone is a weakness."
"No," he said softly. "It's human."
---
After dessert, they stepped into the cool night air. The city hummed around them—car horns, footsteps, laughter. But within their bubble, it was quiet.
He held her gaze. "Walk with me?"
She hesitated, then nodded.
They wandered down a nearby path, passing boutique windows and corner bookstores, neither of them saying much until Aidan broke the silence.
"You still don't trust me."
"I don't trust anyone."
"That's exhausting."
She didn't deny it.
"Let me earn it," he said.
She turned to him, eyebrows slightly lifted. "Why are you really here, Aidan? I mean, beyond the power games and stock acquisitions. Why me?"
He stopped walking. "Because you're the first person who's made me question the way I've done everything."
A taxi honked nearby. A couple laughed as they passed. Elina barely noticed.
"That's a dangerous thing to say," she said quietly.
"But true."
She felt the pull of something deep—an ache she hadn't felt in years. Not since her mother died. Not since she promised herself she'd never let anyone in deep enough to hurt her again.
Aidan reached out, brushing a thumb across her jaw. "You don't have to decide tonight. I just needed you to know."
Her voice came out lower than she intended. "And what if I can't give you what you want?"
"Then I'll still want what you can give."
The sincerity of it stunned her.
A long beat passed before she stepped back. "Goodnight, Aidan."
He nodded. "Goodnight, Elina."
And she walked away—not because she didn't want him—but because she did.