Chapter 18

Harper's POV

The restaurant was beautiful.

Dim lighting shimmered off gold-accented chandeliers. A live pianist played something elegant and probably French in the corner. Crystal glasses sparkled. Silverware looked like it belonged in a museum. Definitely the kind of place where salads cost more than my monthly grocery bill.

I adjusted my jacket, stepping inside. My eyes swept the room—until they landed on a familiar tornado of jewelry

Across the room, I spotted Riley waving wildly at me, her jewelry flashing under the chandeliers.

"Harper! Over here!" she called.

I made my way over, trying not to trip on the fancy carpet.

"What's the occasion?" I asked, sliding into the booth. "Did you finally land the deal you were working on?"

She flinched.

"Uh, well... not exactly." She shoved a menu into my hands. “I just thought I owed you. Y’know. For everything.”

Her voice cracked halfway through the sentence.

My eyes narrowed.

"Thank me? For what? I already paid my dues — remember the last blind date you threw me into?"

She laughed. It was high-pitched. Desperate. "Still! I just felt like I should do something nice for you, you know?"

I eyed her carefully.

"You're acting weird."

"M-Me? Weird? Haha! I'm always weird!" she chirped, practically vibrating out of her seat.

I slowly opened the menu, eyes widening at the prices.

"You're seriously treating me? Like... seriously seriously?"

"Of course!" Riley chirped, although a bead of sweat rolled down her temple.

"Order whatever you want! Anything!"

I narrowed my eyes suspiciously.

"Take out your wallet."

Her smile twitched.

"W-Why?"

"Because if I'm ordering veal off this menu, I want to make sure you can actually pay for it."

"Harper, you wound me," she gasped dramatically, grabbing my hand. "What kind of best friend would doubt me?"

"The kind who knows you," I deadpanned.

She squeezed my hand tighter.

"So. Um. About that blind date you asked me for..."

I stared at her. “Yeah?”

"Well... funny story... it's happening."

She beamed at me like she'd just told me I won a cruise.

My head whipped around.

"Wait, what?"

"Right now!" she added cheerfully.

I slammed the menu onto the table.

"WHAT THE HELL, RILEY?!"

I wasn't mad, more like shocked, but then it was riley what could i expec

“Shh!” She frantically glanced around. “People are staring!”

“You think I care?!”

"He's amazing, I swear!" she rushed out. "Seriously! Handsome! Smart! Athletic! You'll love him!"

My eye twitched.

"And I didn't even do my makeup," I hissed, patting my bare face.

"That's why I came prepared!!" she announced proudly pulling a glittery bag from under the table. "Bathroom, Now."

My eyes narrowed. “You carried a full beauty kit into a five-star restaurant?”

“You always have to be prepared”

Before I could protest, she grabbed my arm and dragged me toward the women's restroom.

_____________________________________________________________________________________

The restroom looked so beautiful, like a bridal suite. Gold-framed mirrors. Velvet seating. The kind of lighting that made your pores disappear.

Riley dumped her entire makeup bag onto the marble counter. Lipsticks. Palettes. A setting spray the size of a fire extinguisher.

“Do you always carry this much around?” I asked, half-concerned. “Are you a makeup artist on the side?”

"Shh! Close your eyes!" she ordered, practically shoving me onto the stool.

I frowned but obeyed.

Maybe if I got this over with, I could leave early.

Riley worked fast, way too fast, brushing and dabbing and spritzing my face like she was racing a bomb timer. Every time I tried to peek at the mirror, she blocked me like a bodyguard.

“Stop squinting! I need symmetry!”

“I have nerves, Riley. You’re turning me into a sacrificial lamb.”

“I’m turning you into a goddess,” she said with a smirk, adjusting the lighting. “Also maybe a bait. But mostly a goddess.”

Twenty minutes later, she stepped back with a proud sigh. “Done.”

I cracked open one eye. “Do I still look like me?”

She beamed. “No. You look like a dangerous woman who eats CEOs for breakfast.”

I blinked. “What—why would I need to—?”

Then she shoved something soft into my hands.

"Here! Just... trust me!"

I looked down.

It was a dress. A mini white dress. Elegant. Expensive-looking. Way, way out of my budget.

"...Where did you even get this?"

"It's my gift!" she said brightly. "A celebration of your future happiness!"

"Gift?" I repeated suspiciously.

“Just trust me!”

“I haven’t trusted you since 2017.”

“Think of it as an early apology.”

I stared at her. “For what?”

Before I could protest more, she pushed me into a changing stall.

_____________________________________________________________________________________

When we returned to the table, the waiter was already there, pouring wine into two tall glasses.

I sat down cautiously, the tightness of the dress making it impossible to relax.

"You really went all out, huh?"

Riley only smiled awkwardly, fiddling with her napkin.

I was about to ask another question when thump—

A small glittery bag fell out of her lap and hit the floor, flipping open.

A pink wig rolled out.

My jaw unhinged.

Because I knew that wig. Knew it like I knew my own secrets. Because that exact shade of bubblegum pink had stared back at me in every mirror the last time Riley conned me into impersonating her.

Riley's face paled like a ghost caught in headlights.

"I—I’m sorry!" she yelped, grabbing the bag—and sprinting away without another word.

I blinked.

Then slowly turned to follow her frantic figure—

And that's when I saw him.

Entering the restaurant.

Dark hair. Cold, sharp gaze. Impeccable black suit.

Ethan Reynolds.

His eyes scanned the restaurant with military precision.

My blood turned to ice.

No. No. No. Not him. Not here!

I ducked.

Too late.

He saw me.

Panic scrambled through me. I fumbled for the wig Riley dropped, yanked it onto my head, shoved stray strands under it, and tried to look casual.

Spoiler alert: I didn’t.

I tucked my chin down, praying to every deity I could think of.

I could feel his steps approaching.

Steady. Inevitable.

Then his shadow fell over the table.

"Miss Bennett," he drawled, his voice dipped in mockery.

I slowly raised my head, heart pounding, face burning.

He was smirking slightly.

Mocking. Teasing. Dangerous.

Because we both knew —

I wasn’t Riley Bennett.

Not really.

Not at all.

Fifteen minutes later, I sat hunched over the table, wearing a ridiculous wig Riley had shoved into my hand 

Pink. It was pink.

Kill me now.

The veal was already on the table, the wine half-poured, and Riley?

Gone.

Vanished like smoke.

"This is how I die," I muttered under my breath. "Abandoned. Humiliated. Dressed like a discount pop star."

The restaurant’s low hum made everything feel ten times more dramatic.

And then 

“It’s been a while,” he said coolly. “Especially for people who are supposed to be getting married.”

My blood ran cold.