CHAPTER TWO

I was already regretting this by the time I stepped out of the cab. 

I checked my phone.

Ten minutes late.

I exhaled slowly and stirred my coffee for the fifth time while pretending to read the menu pasted on the glass while really watching the street. I didn't know what I was expecting. A flashy car. A driver. Something dramatic.

What I got was a black sedan pulling quietly to the curb. 

The door opened, and he stepped out.

Dorian Wellington looked exactly like his photo— and not at all like it at the same time. Taller than I imagined. Broader. Well polished in person. He wore a dark coat over a crisp shirt, his hair neatly done.

He walked towards me, unhurried.

“Amara,” he said when he stopped in front of me 

My name sounded strange in his mouth.

“You're late,” I blurted.

“Work,” he said, like he owed me no explanation. “Shall we?”

I nodded, even though I wasn't.

The ride to his place was quiet. I fiddled with my phone, while stealing glances at him.

“So,” I said finally. “Your family believes Thai is real?”

“Yes.”

“And they won't… interrogate me?”

“They won't,” he said.

I glanced at him. “You sound very sure.”

“I am.”

That didn't comfort me.

When we arrived, the building alone surpassed my imagination. Everything was glass and soft lights and doormen who smiled like they were trained to.

The door opened before he even rang the bell.

A girl with dark hair and bright eyes stood there, already smiling.

“You must be Amara,” she said.

Before I could respond, she pulled me into a hug.

"I'm Isabel, Dorian's little sister,” she said, pulling away. “I've heard so much about you.”

I glanced at Dorian.

He said nothing.

Isabel grinned. “Well, nothing actually. My brother is terrible at sharing details. But still. I'm happy to finally meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too,” I said.

A man stepped forward from the dining area.

“Welcome,” he said warmly. “I'm Marcus. Dorian's father,”

I smiled. “Amara.”

He shook my hand gently. “We're glad you could join us.”

Dorian stood slightly behind me, close enough that I could feel him.

Dinner was already laid out. The table was long, but they made me sit close to him.

Too close.

Isabel took the seat across from us, watching me with open curiosity.

“So,” she said, resting her chin on her palm. “How did you two meet?”

Dorian spoke before I could.

“Isabel.”

“What?” she said innocently. “I'm curious.”

He looked at her. A warning in his eyes.

She lifted her hands. “Fine. I won't pry.”

I cleared my throat. “ We met at a restaurant,” I said.

“The rest, they say… is history.”

Isabel laughed. “That's it?”

“That's it,” I said.

She leaned back, studying me. “You're… not what I expected.”

“Is that good or bad?”

“Good,” she said. “Definitely good.”

Food was served, and for a moment, the conversation drifted to neutral things— work, the city, nothing that mattered.

Then Mr Wellington, Marcus, looked at me.

“So, Amara. Where did you grow up?”

“In the city,” I said.

He nodded. “And your parents?”

My fingers tightened around my fork.

“I don't have a dad,” I said. “He died when I was ten.”

“Oh” Isabel said softly.

“It's fine,” I said quickly. “It was a long time ago.”

Dorian hadn't said a word, but I felt his attention sharpen.

“And your mother?” Isabel asked.

I hesitated.

“She's… around,” I said. I wasn't about to spill my problems to rich folks. Not that it mattered.

“What do you do?” I work at a club.”

Isabel blinked. “Oh.”

“Not like–” I stopped myself. “It's just work.”

Dorian set his fork down.

“That's enough questions,” he said.

Isabel frowned. “ I wasn't judging.”

“I know,” he said. “But you're making her uncomfortable.”

I hadn't even realized I was.

Isabel looked at me. “I'm sorry.”

“It's okay,” I said.

I shifted in my seat and decided to change the subject.

“What about your mom?” I asked.

Three faces turned to me.

Isabel blinked. “What?”

“Your mom,” I said, looking at Dorian. “I haven't seen her.”

Silence.

Dorian's jaw tightened.

Isabel's expression softened. “She passed away when we were younger.”

“I'm sorry,” I said.

“She was sick for a long time,” Isabel added. “It was… hard.”

I nodded. I knew what that felt like.

Dorian hadn't said a word.

I glanced at him. “You don't talk about her?”

“I don't need to,” he said.

The table went quiet.

Isabel sighed. “ You're always like this.”

“Like what?” he asked.

“Closed,” she said.

I watched him carefully.

He finally looked at me.

For the first time that night, his gaze lingered.

And I felt it.

Not warm. Not cold.

Just… intense.

“So,” Marcus said, trying to ease the tension. “How long have you two been seeing each other?”

Dorian answered without hesitation. “Long enough.”

I blinked.

Isabel smirked. “Mysterious.”

Dinner continued, but something had shifted.

Dorian barely spoke.

He watched.

Every time I laughed.

Every time I looked away.

When I stood to help clear the table, he stood too.

“I'll do it,” he said.

“You don't have to.”

“I want to.”

Our hands brushed.

I pulled away.

His eyes darkened slightly.

Isabel pretended not to notice.

When it was time to leave, Marcus hugged me.

“You're welcome here anytime,” he said.

Isabel squeezed me again. “ Don't disappear.”

I smiled. “I won't.”

Dorian walked me out. 

The hallway felt too quiet.

“You said I won't be Interrogated,” I said.

“You handled it,” he replied.

“Well, your family is nice and… fun.” I said when we stopped in front of his car. “Lucky you.”

Something flickered in his eyes. Admiration? Surprise? I couldn't quite place it.

We stood there,

inches apart.

Not touching.

But close enough.

“Get in the car,” he said.

I did.

And as the door closed behind me, I realized something terrifying.

This wasn't just a job anymore.

And whatever this was…

It was only beginning.

I felt it.