Chapter 2: The iceberg has manners

"The intelligence report?" I repeated, my voice barely a squeak. 

Alexander didn't blink. "My father mentioned you. Your father mentioned you. I prefer to gather my own intel." 

Before I could figure out how to respond to being treated like a military reconnaissance mission, the waiter returned. He practically vibrated with nervous energy as he set Alexander’s salmon down, followed by my pasta. 

Finally, with shaking hands, the waiter placed a small, steaming porcelain teapot directly in front of me. 

"Your chamomile tea, miss," the waiter murmured before speed-walking away. 

I stared at the teapot. I hadn't ordered it. Alexander had. 

I risked a glance up at him through my lashes. He was already cutting into his salmon with practiced, efficient movements. Did he order it because he noticed my hands were shaking? Did the Commander of the Armed Forces actually care about my anxiety? 

The warm, soothing scent of the chamomile drifted up, and surprisingly, the tight knot in my chest loosened just a fraction. 

"What are your plans after graduation?" 

The sudden question startled me. I swallowed my bite of pasta. "You... know I'm still in university?"

"I asked." 

Of course he had. "I'm studying nursing," I answered, keeping my gaze safely on my plate. 

"You enjoy it?"

"I do."

"Why?"

I hesitated. My fingers tightened around my fork. Most people asked what hospital I wanted to work at, or what the salary was. Nobody ever asked *why*. 

"Because," I said softly, my natural shyness making my voice quiet. "When someone is frightened or in pain, sometimes simple kindness helps just as much as medicine. I want to be the person who makes terrified people feel safe. It's why I specialized in pediatrics." 

Alexander stopped eating. 

He looked up.He looked directly into my eyes, as if he was weighing the absolute truth of the words I had just spoken. 

The rigid, intimidating tension in his broad shoulders softened by a millimeter. 

"That is a rare answer," he said quietly. 

A tiny, genuine smile slipped past my nerves. "What about you? Do you ever regret your path?"

His expression hardened instantly. "No."

The single word landed on the table like a brick. It wasn't arrogant. It was absolute, unwavering conviction. General Alexander Reeves did not waste words. If he said something, it was a stone-cold fact. 

I reached across the table for my water glass, my anxiety finally beginning to fade. 

Unfortunately, my hand misjudged the distance. The flowing silk sleeve of my dress caught the heavy crystal base. 

The glass tipped. 

Ice-cold water flooded straight across the pristine white tablecloth. It cascaded over the edge, splashing directly onto Alexander's wrist and completely soaking the expensive cuff of his tailored charcoal suit. 

"Oh my God!" I gasped. 

I shot up from my chair, my knees banging painfully against the underside of the table. Absolute horror washed over me. 

"I'm so sorry!" I practically squeaked, my hands hovering uselessly in the air. 

I braced myself. I expected him to scowl. I expected him to summon the manager. I fully expected the terrifying warlord to snap at me. 

Instead, Alexander didn't even flinch. 

Without the slightest change in his stoic expression, he calmly reached into his dry breast pocket. He pulled out a perfectly folded, navy-blue handkerchief and placed it gently on the dry side of the table right in front of me. 

"For your hands," he ordered softly. 

No sigh. No sharp criticism. Just quiet, grounded efficiency. 

I stared at the handkerchief, my cheeks burning with a fierce, unmistakable red blush. I slowly picked it up, drying my trembling fingers. "Thank you."

I looked at his soaked sleeve in despair. "You got wet because of me. I ruined your suit."

Alexander looked down at his arm, then back to me. 

"It washes." 

I paused. I stood there, looking at the most feared man in the country brushing off a ruined designer suit with two simple words. I couldn't hold it back. 

A tiny, nervous giggle escaped my lips. Then another. 

I quickly covered my mouth, horrified by my own reaction. "I'm sorry. Do you always answer with the fewest words possible?" 

"I have been told."

"Doesn't it make conversations difficult?"

"Sometimes."

"You could try talking more."

"I could."

I peeked at him through my fingers. "...Will you?"

"No."

For one heartbeat, I just stared at him. And then, I burst into genuine laughter. 

Alexander looked at me, his expression entirely unreadable. "I wasn't joking, Grace."

"I know!" I said, a shy smile breaking across my face as I sat back down. "That's exactly what makes it funny."

For the briefest, most fleeting second, something shifted in his sharp gray eyes. It wasn't quite a smile. But the cold, glacial edge around him melted away. 

Dinner continued smoothly after that. He asked about my dad's health. He asked about my classes. He never interrupted. I found myself talking more than I intended, simply because he was actually *listening*. 

When the leather bill folder finally arrived, I immediately reached for my purse. 

Alexander's massive hand clamped down on the folder before I could even unzip my bag. 

"I invited you," he stated bluntly. 

"I can pay for myself," I argued softly, my stubbornness battling my shyness. "I don't like feeling indebted to people."

His intense gray eyes locked onto mine. The air between us suddenly felt incredibly thick. 

"Then invite me next time."

I froze. 

*Next time?* 

Was that... an invitation? From the General himself?! 

Before my short-circuiting brain could process the words, Alexander stood up, walked around the table, and pulled my chair back for me. 

Outside, the evening air was cool and crisp. My father's personal driver was waiting for me at the curb. 

Alexander stopped beside the car door. I clutched his navy-blue handkerchief tightly in my hands, unsure of what to do. 

He turned his massive frame to face me. He looked down at me for a long, intense moment. 

"I enjoyed tonight, Miss Zane."

Five words. No flirting. No flowery promises. Yet somehow, spoken in that deep, gravelly voice, they sounded like the most sincere words I had ever heard. 

I opened the car door, my heart doing a complicated, terrifying flutter. 

"Thank you... General," I whispered. 

He gave a single, rigid nod. "Drive safely."

He turned and walked toward his own waiting armored SUV. He didn't look back. Within seconds, his vehicle disappeared into the city traffic. 

I climbed into the backseat. My father's driver glanced at me in the rearview mirror with a knowing smile. "How was it, Miss Grace?" 

I stared out the window, my thumb slowly tracing the soft fabric of Alexander's handkerchief. 

"I honestly don't know," I murmured. 

But as the city lights blurred outside, that low, commanding voice kept echoing in my mind. 

*Then invite me next time.*