Closer

Chapter 4：Dinner

Fifteen minutes later, I stood in front of a full-length mirror and briefly didn't recognize myself.

The deep green gown shimmered under the lights like a still lake. It hugged my waist and fell to my ankles. The saleswoman had pinned up my hair, revealing the faint red marks on my neck. She had covered them with concealer, but I could still see them, like cracks hidden beneath beautiful wrapping.

"Dr. Moore, this dress truly suits you. The deep green makes you look elegant. Mr. Rosso has excellent taste."

I said nothing. Damian Rosso had not only decided where I would eat tonight, but even knew what color suited me.

That was very much his style.

The high heels made me feel uncomfortable. When I took a step forward, my ankles immediately reminded me that the ER's non-slip shoes were the true pinnacle of human civilization.

"Would you like to try a different pair?" the saleswoman asked carefully.

I looked at myself in the mirror and slowly shook my head.

If I wanted to get close to Damian, I couldn't make every step feel like resistance.

I needed him to be interested in me, to lower his guard. It would be perfect if he fall for me and even love me. Only then might I be able to borrow his power to go after the ones who truly needed to pay.

Lorenzo's name flashed quickly through my mind.

Getting close to Damian couldn't be rushed, nor could I be too compliant. He had probably seen too many utterly obedient women. A woman who resisted him at every turn would simply be removed from his world.

I had to learn to resist when I should, and comply when I should.

And right now, putting on the dress he had chosen that was compliance.

The car drove toward the highest point in the city. Street lamps flashed past the window one by one. I looked down at the soft, expensive hem of my dress cascading over my knees. It wasn't just a dress. It was like the first rule Damian had handed me, and I was already wearing it.

The restaurant was on the top floor.

A waiter led me through the quiet hall. The sound of a piano drifted over from somewhere nearby. The window table offered an expansive view.The entire city spread out beyond the glass and the car lights like flowing rivers of gold.

Damian was already waiting there.

He stood by the window in a dark suit, his white shirt unbuttoned at the collar. The night sky stretched out behind him, but the first thing I saw was those nearly black eyes as he looked up.

At that moment, I suddenly understood why so many women, knowing full well how dangerous he was, still chose to get close to him. Because sometimes danger isn't so terrifying.

Sometimes he wore a suit and pulled out a chair for you. Sometimes he paused for half a second just by seeing you.

"Good evening, Elena," he said.

I walked over, holding my skirt. "If you say I'm ten minutes late, I'll walk right back out."

His gaze moved from my face to the dress, then quickly back to my eyes. "I'll only say that my taste hasn't failed me."

"You always compliment yourself so subtly?"

"Not tonight."

He pulled out my chair. As I sat down, the skirt tangled stubbornly around my ankles. He bent down and gently brushed the fabric aside with his fingertips, the gesture controlled and almost polite, yet my ankles still felt as if his touch had burned them.

"You look beautiful tonight," he said.

I looked up at him. "And you're very good at making people uncomfortable tonight."

"Uncomfortable, or unaccustomed?"

"Is there a difference?"

"Yes." He sat down across from me, his tone as calm as if he were discussing business. "Uncomfortable means you want to run. Unaccustomed means you'll stay."

I gripped my water glass. The coolness against my palm suppressed the faint heat there. "You're so sure I'll stay?"

"You're already wearing it."

My heart sank slightly.

He saw it and knew that putting on this dress was not surrender. It was a choice.

I set the glass back on the table and gave a faint smile. "Maybe I just wanted to see how far you could arrange things."

"Then you might be disappointed." He leaned in slightly and lowered his voice. "Tonight, I've only arranged dinner."

That sounded very gentlemanly. But coming from Damian Rosso, it was like a blade hidden beneath velvet.

The waiter brought the menus, but Damian didn't even glance at them.

"No carrots for her. Fish should be seared, not grilled. Not too sweet on the dessert. Coffee with no sugar."

I looked up at him.

After the waiter left, only the piano and the night view remained.

"You investigated me."

"Yes."

He admitted it so readily that the accusation I had prepared got stuck in my throat.

"Most people would deny it at this point."

"You should know I'm not that kind of normal man."

"I've known that ever since you threatened me while lying on my operating table."

His gaze deepened, and he smiled. "You hold grudges."

"Doctors have good memories for medical histories."

"Then you should also remember that I owe you my life."

I cut into the fish on my plate. The heat was perfect, even the side dishes followed my habits. I hated this feeling of being seen through. Even more, I hated that for a moment I actually felt cared for.

"You don't owe me anything," I said. "I saved you because you were my patient."

"A perfectly ordinary patient?"

My knife and fork paused. He still remembered that.

"You don't seem very ordinary right now," I said and lifted my eyes. "Ordinary patients don't take their doctors to restaurants like this, and they don't investigate what she eats for dinner."

Damian said slowly. "In this world, the only women who have sat across from me, just the two of us, are my mother and now you."

I was stunned because that sentence surprised me more than any flirtation could.

"You don't have a wife?"

"No."

"A fiancée?"

"No."

"But you don't look like a man without women in his life."

He said evenly, "I've had many women. But I've never been married."

I shouldn't have kept asking.

But I needed to know how he viewed close relationships, how he viewed women, and what he considered weaknesses. Every c***k in Damian's armor was a potential path for me to get closer to him.

"Why?"

The waiter served the next course. Silverware clinked softly against the table. Damian waited until the man had left, then said quietly, "You've seen me bleeding and close to death. You've seen Lorenzo lose control at the banquet. No smart woman would willingly walk into that kind of marriage."

"So you only go after the not-so-smart ones?"

He looked at me. "I don't marry them."

It wasn't gentle and it was even a bit cruel. But it was honest.

He continued, "There's another reason. Once a man loves someone with his whole heart, he hands his weakness to his enemies."

My hands stopped moving.

Weakness.

At his words, I suddenly thought of that rusted pocket watch under my pillow, of the name almost swallowed by the sea on its back.

So in his world, love wasn't a promise. It was an exposed vulnerability.

And I was planning to make him expose his weakness.

"So what about tonight?" I looked at him and asked, "You brought me here. Are you trying to make me just another one of those women who spent a brief time with you?"

Damian didn't answer immediately.

He looked down and cut his steak, his movements steady and elegant. But I noticed his knife paused for a second.

That second was so brief it could have been swallowed by the piano music.

"You're different," he said.

My heartbeat quieted for an instant.

I hated that those three words could make me hold my breath.

"What?"

He looked up at me and said, "You're afraid of me, but you don't try to please me. You want to get close to me, but you're still trying to leave yourself an escape route."

My fingertips curled slightly beneath my napkin.

"That doesn't sound like a compliment," I said.

"It is." He paused. "I don't like things that come too easily."

"I'm not a thing."

"That's why I'm sitting here having dinner with you, instead of having you sent to my room." He said it very calmly.

The air suddenly grew quiet.

That sentence crossed the line, but it didn't feel vulgar. It felt like a finger, gently pressing on the thin boundary between us.

I looked at him and slowly set down my knife and fork.

"Damian, if this is your idea of gentleness, I suggest you learn it again."

He looked at me for two seconds, then suddenly laughed. And that laugh made this dinner no longer feel like a transaction or an interrogation. It became dangerously close to a real date and nd that was the worst part.

I couldn't forget why I was sitting here.

When Damian pushed my coffee cup closer and said no sugar, for just a moment, I thought if he weren't Damian Rosso, this night might have been truly enchanting.

"What are you thinking about?" he asked.

"I'm thinking you're very good at putting people at ease."

"Are you at ease?"

"No."

"Then I need more practice."

"You've practiced enough for tonight."

"But you're still sitting here."

I looked up at him and said, "Because I haven't decided yet whether to give you a second chance."

Damian looked at me. The smile in his eyes faded slightly, replaced by something deeper and quieter.

"Then I'll wait for your decision."

The dinner ended more smoothly than I expected.

No guns, no threats, no suddenly bursting-in enemies. Just the night view, the piano, perfectly prepared food, and a man who was dangerously overwhelming but knew when to fall silent.

When the waiter brought our coats, Damian's body guard in black were already holding the car door open at the entrance.

But Damian didn't go to the car. Instead, he asked, "Would you like to take a walk?"

"Now?"

"The beach isn't far from here."

The word beach made my body tense slightly.

I should refuse. But I remembered that night at the estate, the cold and irritated tone he used when mentioning Lorenzo. I remembered what he said tonight, that no smart woman would want to marry him. Maybe the seaside night made it easier for a man to say things he shouldn't

I needed to know how he truly saw Lorenzo.

So I lifted my head and gave a smile that was calm enough. "Alright. But if these shoes make me fall, I'm holding you responsible."

Damian looked at me and reached out his hand.

This was not an order. Nor was it a request. It was more like a path he knew I would hesitate on, yet still choose to take.

The night wind rushed in through the restaurant doors, lifting the hem of my dress. I looked at his hand and suddenly couldn't tell whether I was walking toward an opportunity or toward danger.