I loved the restaurant for its silence. The kind of silence that forced you to listen to your own breathing, to the clink of forks in the distance, to the unspoken thoughts swelling between every line of conversation. It was intimate, yes... but not romantic. That was the trick. Soft enough to lower his guard, but sharp enough for me to stay in control. I sat by the window, the daylight washing over my skin, casting delicate shadows over the high collar of my beige silk blouse. My hair a bit darker now, with softer curls was styled into a low, elegant twist. Not a single strand out of place. My makeup was light, just enough to polish what was already carefully sculpted. This was lunch with the devil... not a date. Every part of me was a weapon, and he didn’t even know he’d already been disarmed. I watched the entrance through the reflection on my water glass. I recognized his stride before I even saw his face... confident, measured, a man used to owning whatever room he stepped
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