The Dinner.

BELLA.

I was in my room when my mother knocked on the door. She never knocked timidly it was always a sharp, brisk rap, like she was announcing a verdict.

“Bella,” she called, “we need to talk.”

I set down the book I hadn’t really been reading and sighed. “Come in.”

The door opened, and both she and my father stepped inside. The sight of them together in my doorway made my chest tighten. They only came as a pair when something serious was brewing.

My father cleared his throat. “It’s time.”

“Time for what?” I asked warily.

He exchanged a glance with my mother, then said, “You’re to have dinner at the Blackwoods’ estate this evening. You’ll meet the man you’re going to marry.”

My stomach dropped. I had known this moment was coming, but hearing it aloud made it real and final.

“This evening?” My voice cracked. “Already?”

“Yes,” my mother said, her eyes searching mine. “They’ve arranged everything. Their family will be expecting you.”

I rose to my feet, my palms sweating. “So that’s it? No details? No warning? Just… put on a dress and smile politely?”

“This is not the time for dramatics,” my father said firmly. “You will go. You will conduct yourself with grace. And you will remember that this dinner is not about you. It’s about saving the company.”

His words stung, but I bit down on my reply. Fighting was pointless. The decision had been made long before I had any say.

I forced a steady breath. “Fine,” I said, though the word tasted bitter on my tongue. “I’ll go.”

My mother softened slightly, stepping forward to brush my hair back from my face. “Wear something elegant. Something that shows respect. You only have one chance to make a first impression.” I nodded stiffly.

Hours later, I stood in front of the mirror, staring at my reflection as though I didn’t recognize the girl looking back. I had chosen a long midnight-blue dress, simple but striking, with a neckline that framed my collarbones. My hair fell in loose waves over my shoulders. My makeup was understated, just enough to say I tried, but not enough to feel like armor.

I told myself I looked ready. I told myself I could do this. But my hands wouldn’t stop trembling.

The Blackwoods’ estate loomed ahead like something out of a dream or a nightmare. The gates were tall and black, the driveway lined with trees lit by subtle golden lights. The house itself was enormous, glowing in the dusk like a palace.

As the car rolled to a stop, I pressed my palms against my knees, willing myself to breathe.

“This is just dinner.” I told myself. “Just dinner with strangers. You can handle that.” But my chest felt tight as I followed my parents up the marble steps. The doors opened, and warmth spilled out. A butler greeted us, guiding us through a grand foyer with ceilings so high they made me dizzy.

And then, as we stepped into the dining room, I froze. Because standing there, across the room, was Alexander. The last man I expected to see and the last man I wanted to see.

His dark hair was neatly combed back, his suit crisp, his posture exuding the same cold confidence he had always carried. But his eyes- his sharp, unflinching eyes locked on mine, and I felt the floor tilt beneath me.

“You?” The word slipped out before I could stop it, my voice cracking.

His gaze hardened. His mouth parted, then curved downward as though the very sight of me was an insult.

“You?” he echoed, the single syllable laced with disbelief and disdain.

The room seemed to shrink, the air between us charged like a storm. Of all the men in the world, it had to be him. And from the look on his face, he was thinking the exact same thing.