CHAPTER 9

The café hums with the usual midday rhythm—coffee machines whirring, quiet chatter filling the space, the occasional clatter of ceramic cups. Chloe keeps her head down, focusing on her tasks, but her hands tremble slightly as she wipes down the counter.

Nicholas is coming.

She repeats it in her mind like a warning, like a storm she can’t outrun.

The bell above the door chimes, and her stomach twists.

She forces herself to look up.

It’s not him.

Just another customer.

Chloe exhales, relief and dread tangling in her chest. How long until he arrives? Until she has to face him, knowing what she knows?

The hours drag. She busies herself, refilling sugar containers, adjusting pastries in the display case—anything to keep her hands occupied. Her mother comes and goes from the backroom, unaware of the war raging inside her.

Then the bell chimes again.

This time, it’s him.

Nicholas strides in like he owns the place, like he owns the very air in the room. His presence is overwhelming, commanding. Dressed in dark slacks and a tailored coat, he looks effortlessly powerful. Dangerous.

Chloe grips the counter, her nails digging into the wood.

His eyes find hers immediately.

And he smiles.

It’s slow, knowing—like he can see straight through her.

Her breath catches.

She can’t run. Can’t hide.

So she does the only thing she can.

She squares her shoulders, forces a smile onto her lips, and says, “The usual?”

Nicholas steps closer, resting his forearms on the counter.

“Do you even have to ask?”

His voice is smooth, edged with something she can’t quite place.

Her fingers fumble slightly as she reaches for a cup. She hopes he doesn’t notice.

“So,” he drawls, watching her intently. “Did you miss me?”

Her heart stutters.

She glances up, meeting his gaze. His blue eyes—piercing, unreadable—hold hers captive.

Continue from here and add he asked her on a date. She refuses and he said he’ll not leave until she accepts

A slow smirk tugs at Nicholas’s lips as he watches her hesitate. His presence is suffocating, his gaze a weight pressing down on her, stealing the breath from her lungs.

Chloe forces herself to break eye contact, focusing on the coffee machine as she prepares his drink. Stay calm. Act normal.

She feels him watching her, his amusement almost tangible. He knows he makes her nervous. He enjoys it.

“You know,” he muses, tapping his fingers against the counter, “I think it’s about time we had dinner together.”

Chloe’s hands freeze for a fraction of a second before she forces them to keep moving. “Dinner?” she echoes, pretending she hadn’t heard him clearly.

“Yes, Chloe. You, me, a table for two.” His smirk deepens. “You do eat, don’t you?”

She rolls her eyes, placing his coffee in front of him. “I’m not going on a date with you, Nicholas.”

He picks up the cup, taking a slow sip. His eyes remain locked on hers, unreadable. “That’s a shame,” he murmurs. “Because I’m not leaving until you say yes.”

Chloe blinks. “Excuse me?”

Nicholas leans forward slightly, his elbows resting on the counter. “You heard me,” he says smoothly. “I’ve cleared my schedule. I have nowhere else to be. So unless you want me sitting here, staring at you all day, I suggest you reconsider.”

Her fingers curl into fists beneath the counter. “That’s ridiculous.”

“Is it?” His voice is teasing, but there’s an underlying challenge in his tone.

Chloe glances around the café. It’s busy, but she can already feel a few lingering gazes. Nicholas Romanov sitting in the café all day? That would draw attention—attention she really doesn’t need.

She exhales sharply. “You’re unbelievable.”

“I’ve been called worse,” he says, completely unbothered.

Chloe glares at him. “Fine. One dinner.”

Nicholas grins, his satisfaction evident. “Smart choice, sweetheart.”

She doesn’t like the way his voice wraps around the pet name. Or the way her pulse betrays her with a sharp, quick beat.

He reaches into his coat pocket and slides a sleek black card onto the counter. “Seven o’clock. Be ready. I’ll pick you up.”

She eyes the card warily before picking it up. It’s an invitation—to an exclusive restaurant she’s only heard about in whispers.

Nicholas downs the rest of his coffee in one smooth motion before standing. “See you tonight, Chloe.”

And just like that, he walks out.

Chloe stares after him, her heart hammering.

What has she just agreed to?

As soon as Nicholas steps out of the café, the tension in her chest uncoils just a fraction.

She exhales shakily, gripping the counter as if it’s the only thing keeping her upright.

What the hell just happened?

She agreed to a date—no, not a date. A dinner. That distinction was important. But with Nicholas, everything felt like a game, like he was two steps ahead, playing a role she didn’t even know she had signed up for.

A fancy restaurant. Seven o’clock.

Her stomach twists.

Her mother walks out of the backroom, wiping her hands on a dish towel. “You okay?”

Chloe straightens, schooling her features into something neutral. “Yeah. Just a little… distracted.”

Her mom glances at the door Nicholas just walked out of and raises an eyebrow. “By him?”

Chloe hesitates. “He’s persistent.”

Her mother hums knowingly, but thankfully, she doesn’t press.

The rest of her shift drags. She tries to focus on work, on the comfort of routine, but her thoughts keep circling back to Nicholas.

What does he want from her?

Does he know?

The thought sends ice through her veins.

By the time she gets home, exhaustion presses down on her, but she doesn’t have time to rest. She has two hours before Nicholas arrives.

Her fingers tighten around the black invitation card as she stands in her bedroom, staring at her closet.

What does one wear to a dinner with a man who could very well be planning her downfall?

She sighs, rubbing a hand down her face. “This is ridiculous.”

Yet, she still finds herself sifting through her clothes, discarding casual sweaters and jeans until she finally settles on a dress—a sleek, midnight blue number that hugs her in all the right places without trying too hard.

Simple. Elegant. Impenetrable.

After a quick shower, she lets her blonde hair fall naturally in soft waves. A touch of mascara, a hint of lip gloss—nothing too bold. She doesn’t want to look like she put in effort.

Because she didn’t.

This wasn’t a real date.

Then why is your heart racing?

She ignores the thought as she steps into a pair of heels, glancing at the clock.

6:58 p.m.

A sleek black car rolls up outside her apartment, headlights slicing through the evening shadows.

Right on time.

Her pulse jumps as she grabs her bag, takes a steadying breath, and steps outside.

Nicholas leans casually against the car, dressed in a perfectly tailored black suit, looking like sin incarnate.

His blue eyes flick over her, slow and deliberate. Then he smirks. “You clean up well, Chloe.”

She folds her arms, tilting her chin. “Are we doing this or not?”

Nicholas chuckles, opening the passenger door. “Oh, we’re doing this.”

With a deep breath, she slides into the car.

Whatever this night has in store for her, there’s no turning back now.

The car glides smoothly through the city, the hum of the engine a quiet undercurrent to the tension in the air. Chloe keeps her hands folded in her lap, fingers gripping the silky fabric of her dress as she stares out the window.

She can feel Nicholas watching her.

Not just a glance. A steady, burning gaze.

Finally, she can’t take it anymore. She turns her head, meeting those piercing blue eyes. “What?”

Nicholas smirks, lazily drumming his fingers against the steering wheel. “Nothing.”

Her eyes narrow. “You’re staring.”

“I know.”

He doesn’t even try to deny it. Just like that, her pulse stutters, her skin prickling with awareness.

She exhales sharply, shaking her head. “This isn’t a real date, Nicholas.”

He tilts his head, amusement flickering in his expression. “Then what is it?”

She hesitates, crossing her arms. “You cornered me into saying yes.”

His smirk deepens. “And yet, you still got dressed up for me.”

Chloe scoffs, turning back to the window. “You’re insufferable.”

Nicholas chuckles, the sound low and rich. “And you’re avoiding the fact that you’re enjoying this.”

She clamps her lips shut, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a reaction.

The drive continues in thick silence, tension crackling between them like a live wire.

Then the car slows, pulling up in front of an elegant restaurant. Warm golden lights spill through the large windows, the soft murmur of conversation and the distant clink of glass floating through the night air.

Nicholas steps out first, rounding the car before she can even reach for the door handle. He opens it for her, offering a hand.

Chloe hesitates.

Accepting his hand feels like surrender. Like giving in.

But ignoring it would feel petty.

With a resigned sigh, she places her hand in his, and his fingers curl around hers, firm and warm.

As soon as she’s on her feet, she tries to pull away.

Nicholas doesn’t let go.

He lifts her hand, brushing a featherlight kiss across her knuckles. “Let’s enjoy the night, Chloe.”

Her breath catches.

Because for a second—just a second—his voice isn’t teasing.

It’s soft.

Dangerously close to something real.

Before she can process it, he leads her inside, his grip still gentle but unyielding.

The hostess greets Nicholas with a polite nod, barely sparing Chloe a glance as she guides them to a private table near the back. The restaurant is elegant, the air rich with the scent of fine dining, but Chloe barely notices.

Her focus is on the man sitting across from her.

Nicholas leans back in his chair, relaxed yet completely in control.

Like a king surveying his kingdom.

The waiter appears, handing them menus.

Nicholas barely glances at his. “The usual.”

The waiter nods, turning to Chloe. “And for you, miss?”

Chloe blinks, realizing she hasn’t even looked at the menu.

Nicholas smirks. “She’ll have the same.”

Chloe’s brows furrow. “Excuse me?”

His lips twitch. “Trust me.”

She huffs but closes the menu, handing it back. “Fine.”

Nicholas’s gaze lingers on her, a slow, assessing look.

“See? That wasn’t so hard.”

Chloe glares at him. “You’re used to getting your way, aren’t you?”

He leans forward, resting his elbows on the table. “You have no idea.”

Her stomach twists.

She knows exactly what kind of man he is.

And yet, she’s sitting here, sharing a meal with him.

Like prey dining with a predator.