Chapter Five

CLARA

The luxury car Edward had sent glided to a stop in front of the restaurant. Evening air, crisp and faintly fragrant with jasmine, brushed against my skin as I stepped out, adjusting the emerald-green dress he had insisted I wear. Every detail—the car, the dress, the timing—was meticulously orchestrated. Edward had been persistent about perfection, and while I rolled my eyes privately, I knew he meant well.

My heels clicked against the cobblestones as I walked toward the entrance. I was halfway there when a sudden movement caught my attention. A man—tall, broad-shouldered, dark hair slightly tousled—stood at a table on the restaurant’s patio, adjusting his jacket. Before I could sidestep, his elbow knocked a half-full glass of red wine, sending it spilling across my dress.

“Oh—oh my God!” I gasped, the warm liquid soaking into the fabric.

He glanced at me briefly, dark eyes sharp and unreadable. No apology. Not a flicker of humor. Just calm, precise, and undeniably intimidating.

“I’m fine, thanks for asking,” I said quickly, brushing at the stain, forcing my voice steady though my pulse raced. “Really. It’s just a dress. Don’t worry about it.”

He tilted his head slightly, studying me like I was a puzzle to solve. “Careful. Some accidents are costly,” he said, voice low, measured, ice running under the words.

Heat rose to my cheeks. “If by costly you mean spilling wine, yes, it’s very dramatic. Shall I send you the bill for your clumsiness?” I snapped, irritation flaring.

His lips twitched briefly, but his eyes never softened. “I can skip the theatrics,” he said. “But I will replace what I ruined. Give me your address. I’ll send you a new dress.”

I froze, incredulous. “I—I don’t give my address to strangers who nearly ruin my evening,” I said, cheeks warming.

He leaned slightly closer, posture deliberate, commanding. “Then you’ll remain in the dress you have.”

I clenched my fists, irritation and adrenaline rising. I wanted to glare, storm away, scold him properly. But under that control, that cold, untouchable presence, was a pulse of curiosity I couldn’t ignore. My heartbeat thudded in my ears, and my hands trembled slightly. I should have spilled the drink on him too, I thought irritably.

I turned sharply and walked toward the restaurant entrance, heels clicking, forcing my posture straight. He gave me one last unreadable look before returning to his seat. Just like that, he was gone from my immediate focus, but the memory of him lingered sharply, stubbornly, in the corner of my mind.

Inside, Edward’s voice followed me softly. “Claire! Everything alright? What happened to your dress?”

I pressed a hand to my chest, trying to steady my racing pulse. “Nothing serious. Just… some guy who spilled his drink,” I said lightly, keeping my tone measured.

Edward frowned, eyes narrowing. “Some guy? That’s rude! I should go talk to him,” he said sharply, concern and mild irritation in his voice.

I shook my head quickly, forcing a calm smile. “No, it’s fine. Really. Don’t worry about it.”

He hesitated, clearly frustrated, but relented. “Alright… but that’s just unacceptable,” he muttered, still frowning.

I exhaled, trying to push the memory away. “Don’t mind him. Let’s eat. I am hungry,” I said lightly, steering the conversation back to civility.

As we ordered, I kept glancing at the menu, forcing my mind onto Edward’s questions, his conversation, his carefully curated charm. But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t shake the image of the man outside—the spilled wine, the cold, unreadable gaze, his commanding presence.

How can someone be so infuriatingly calm? I thought. And that audacity… I can’t even believe he told me to give him my address. Who does that?

I pressed my lips together, trying to focus on Edward, but my mind refused to settle. Every few moments, the memory of that dark, icy stare returned, making my pulse flutter. Edward noticed my distraction and chuckled softly.

“You’re thinking about him again,” he said lightly, teasing, but I shook my head and forced a smile. “No… just a long week,” I said, keeping my tone calm.

Edward leaned back slightly, eyes glinting with amusement. “If you say so,” he murmured. “But you seem… unsettled.”

I nodded politely, answered his questions, smiled when prompted, laughed lightly at his jokes. Yet beneath the calm exterior, irritation and curiosity mingled in a way that made the evening feel unusually restless.

I should have made him feel the embarrassment he caused, I thought, biting the inside of my cheek to stop the smirk threatening to rise.

Finally, after what felt like hours, I pushed back slightly from the table, smoothing my dress and adjusting my hair. My chest felt tight, a mix of fatigue and lingering irritation fluttering through me.

“I want to go home,” I said, my voice soft but firm, my fingers brushing the edge of the table as though steadying myself.

“Already?” Edward asked, surprise and concern mingling in his eyes.

“Yeah,” I replied, exhaling lightly, forcing calm into my voice though my pulse thudded faster than usual.

He hesitated a moment, then leaned in slightly, eyes earnest. “Ok… let me drop you off.”

“No, please. I’ll order a ride,” I said quickly, smiling politely.

Edward’s eyes softened, and he reached for my hand gently. “Claire… let me do this. I love you. Let me show you how much I do.”

A wave of conflicting emotions hit me—gratitude, affection, and stubborn independence all tangled together. My chest tightened. I wanted to trust him, to let him take care of me, yet a part of me clung to control, to self-reliance. I pressed my lips together, heart hammering. “Alright… fine,” I said finally, the corners of my lips curving into a small, hesitant smile.

He settled the bill, and we left the restaurant together. The evening air hit me, cool and fragrant, but it did little to calm the restless energy still buzzing through me. The ride was quiet, the hum of the city surrounding us, but every time I tried to focus on Edward’s presence beside me—attentive, warm, caring—my mind slipped back to the man outside.

The one who had spilled the drink. The one whose gaze had been so cold, so precise, so infuriatingly unreadable. A shiver of irritation and curiosity ran down my spine. I should have spilled the drink on him too, I thought irritably, a small smirk tugging at my lips.

I clenched my fists lightly in my lap, trying to shake the thought away, but it lingered stubbornly, unwelcome and captivating all at once. Even with Edward beside me, even with his gentle reassurance and the warmth of his hand brushing mine.

Edward’s gaze softened, and he reached for my hands, covering them gently with his. “I love you, Clara, I hope you feel same way for me soon.” he said, his voice low and sincere, his warmth radiating through the touch.

" I hope so too." I faked a smile, pressing my lips together to hide the mix of emotions swirling inside me.