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SLOANE
The restaurant was dimly lit, its soft golden glow casting flickering shadows over the white linen tablecloths.
Chandeliers sparkled overhead, catching the occasional reflection in the polished glassware, and a faint melody of a violin hummed in the background.
The scent of freshly baked bread and delicate spices wafted through the air, mingling with the low murmur of conversations around them.
I sat across from Aiden, my fingers resting lightly on the edge of the table, my polite smile firmly in place.
My eyes scanned the surrounding with sharp eyes and I could see the details—the single red rose placed beside my plate, the intimate corner booth away from the crowd, the wine already poured into our glasses.
This was no casual, friendly dinner.
I exhaled softly,
