Chapter 4

The message arrived mid-afternoon: brief, coldly formal, unmistakably David.

"Dinner. 7 PM. Delphina's. Dress accordingly."

Lily hadn't expected the invitation.

She stared at the text for a long moment, thumbs hovering.

Delphina's?

The same five-star restaurant he had once mentioned taking her to after the successful completion of Project A.

He never did. Business had gotten in the way. Marina's return had taken priority. But now, here it was months later.

Why now?

She didn't answer the message. She just showed up at 7 sharp, dressed in a sleek black dress she'd bought two years ago on impulse, back when she still hoped he'd take her somewhere nice without a reason. She'd left the tag on until tonight.

The waiters greeted her with reverent familiarity, guiding her through the quiet restaurant to a table near the tall windows. The place was empty. Every seat, every table, every candle belonged to them.

A candlelit dinner, booked exclusively for two.

David sat waiting, impeccably dressed in a charcoal suit, tie loose, eyes unreadable.

He didn't even look at her when she arrived.

She also said nothing, taking her seat across from him. A glass of wine already waited beside her plate.

He poured himself a drink, swirling it like this was a routine thing.

"You booked a whole restaurant," she said flatly, "for a woman you don't love."

He paused, lifting the glass to his lips. "You earned this dinner. You handled Project A flawlessly. Better than my executives."

"So this is… professional gratitude?"

He finally met her gaze.

"Why? Are you expecting something else too?"

Lily laughed to herself. Did she have the right to expect anything from him?

The waiter came, stiff and silent, serving course after course as if this were any ordinary anniversary dinner. But it wasn't. The air between them hummed with things unsaid.

David talked a little about work—brief updates, short remarks. She responded with polite nods, eyes scanning the flickering candlelight like it held answers.

When dessert came—a dark chocolate ganache with spiced raspberry coulis—Lily's phone buzzed.

It was a message from Noa.

"Stocks dropping. Marina scandal is everywhere. Someone leaked the gala photos."

"He's using the dinner to delay the divorce announcement. Protecting his company. Not you."

Lily's stomach turned. The chocolate turned to ash in her mouth.

Of course.

This wasn't romance. It was damage control.

She set her spoon down. "You could've just asked me to cooperate. You didn't need this elaborate dinner."

David's expression shifted, just slightly. "I thought you'd appreciate the gesture."

"I might've, if it were genuine."

He leaned back in his chair, watching her. "So. You've heard."

"I have eyes, Mr. Hardison, and ears too."

The flicker of tension darkened his gaze. "You want to discuss this here?"

Lily folded her napkin carefully. "You can delay the public announcement. I won't go to the press. I'll play along if that helps. But the divorce goes on."

His jaw flexed.

"Why are you in such a rush now?" His voice was low, tightly controlled. "You were perfectly fine being my wife for five years. Knowing I loved someone else, you slept with me and married me. Willingly."

"I was a fool," she said quietly.

"No," he snapped, "you were desperate. Don't act like this was some noble sacrifice. You wanted something. And you got it."

Her eyes narrowed. "What exactly do you think I wanted?"

"You tell me," he said coldly. "Power? Status? Money? You knew I wasn't offering love. You still signed that contract. So don't give me this teary victim act now."

She stood, slowly, deliberately.

"I stayed because I hoped," she said. "Hoped one day you'd see me. Not as a placeholder. Not as a secretary. But as a person. A woman who gave you everything she had, even when you never asked."

His laugh was bitter. "Spare me the monologue. If this is about money, my lawyers can increase the settlement."

Lily's fingers curled into fists. The anger built like a storm breaking in her chest.

"You think everything's about money," she whispered. "That's the only language you understand, isn't it?"

David didn't flinch. "It's the only language that gets things done."

Without thinking, without warning, Lily slapped him.

The crack of palm against cheek echoed through the empty restaurant like a gunshot. The waiter dropped a fork somewhere behind the bar. A candle flickered dangerously.

David didn't move.

His head stayed turned, a red mark blooming on his cheek. His expression unreadable.

Lily's breath came in fast, ragged pulls. Her pulse throbbed in her temples.

"I'm done," she hissed, grabbing her clutch. "This time, for real."

She turned too fast. Her elbow knocked the tall glass vase beside her. It teetered, then toppled, water and orchids spilling toward the floor.

Before she could flinch, David lunged.

His arm wrapped around her waist, yanking her back just as the vase shattered inches from her feet. A shard bounced off his forearm, slicing through fabric and skin.

"Shit," he muttered.

Lily stared at him, stunned. "You're bleeding..."

"I've had worse." He looked down, checking her legs, her hands. "You okay?"

She nodded, still breathless.

He let her go a second later, stepping back like the moment never happened.

The waiter appeared with towels. David dismissed him with a glance.

Blood soaked through the cuff of his white shirt, dripping along his wrist.

Lily grabbed a napkin and reached for him. "Let me..."

"I said I'm fine."

"David..."

He caught her wrist, firm but not harsh. His eyes locked onto hers.

"You don't get to slap me and then play the caring wife," he said.

"You don't get to accuse me of gold-digging and then throw yourself in front of a flying vase."

They stood like that—motionless, bound by years of silence and buried truths. Then David's grip loosened.