CH4: The first Dinner
1102 Words
The restaurant was quiet, almost unnaturally so. Only a few tables were occupied, each one carefully spaced to guarantee privacy. Crystal chandeliers hung overhead, casting soft golden light across polished marble floors.
Sarah took a deep breath, steadying herself as she entered. She had prepared for this meeting—her confidence was intact, her posture perfect—but nothing could erase the knot in her stomach.
Lorenzo De Santis stood at the table, hands casually resting on the chair backs, his dark suit tailored to perfection. He didn’t rise as she approached. He simply nodded once, acknowledging her presence.
“You’re punctual,” he said, calm, measured. “I like that.”
“Not for you,” Sarah replied lightly, sliding into her seat. “For me.”
A faint smile touched his lips, barely noticeable but enough to make her pulse quicken. There was no warmth in it, but there was attention. Focus. Something infinitely more dangerous.
The waiter arrived, presenting menus, but neither Sarah nor Lorenzo looked at them. They both knew what this dinner was about.
“So,” Sarah began, keeping her tone neutral, “why me? Why choose someone like me for… whatever this is?”
Lorenzo leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled. “Because you’re not like the others.”
“I’m guessing the others beg, obey, or flatter?” she asked.
He tilted his head. “They expect to be chosen. You… challenge that expectation.”
A shiver ran down her spine, one she refused to acknowledge. This was a game, and she was determined not to be played.
“Rules?” she asked bluntly. “You must have them.”
“Only one,” he said. “Thirty nights. You are free to leave anytime. No force. No obligation. And one condition: stay, observe, and decide.”
Sarah considered his words carefully. No obligation, no force… yet somehow, the weight of his presence felt like a chain around her freedom.
“And if I refuse?” she asked.
“You wouldn’t,” he said simply.
Her fingers tightened on the edge of the table. “I can refuse anything.”
He leaned forward, dark eyes locking with hers. “I know.”
The rest of the evening passed in quiet tension—small talk layered over sharp glances and subtle tests. Each word was deliberate; each pause carried weight. Sarah realized she wasn’t just being observed—she was being measured. And she didn’t mind.
Because the more she resisted, the more he seemed intrigued. And she… found that intrigue intoxicating.
By the end of the dinner, Sarah left with the rules clear, the offer made, and the tension unresolved. Every step back to her suite was haunted by one thought: Lorenzo De Santis was a man she should fear… and yet couldn’t ignore.
And somewhere in the city, Lorenzo watched the door close behind her, a faint, dangerous smile touching his lips. For the first time in years, someone had refused to play by his rule.
The waiter poured wine into two crystal glasses, but neither touched theirs immediately. The silence was deliberate, charged with an energy Sarah hadn’t felt before.
Finally, Lorenzo spoke. “I assume you’re wondering what this is really about.”
Sarah met his gaze evenly. “I’ve been wondering since I got your message.”
He leaned back slightly, steepling his fingers. “Very well. Consider this… an arrangement.”
“An arrangement?” Her tone was skeptical, guarded.
“Yes,” he said. “Thirty nights under the same roof. No force. No obligations. You are free to leave at any time.” He let the words hang in the air, watching her reaction carefully.
“And in exchange?” she asked, her voice steady, though her pulse quickened.
“A choice,” he replied simply. “You observe me. You live alongside me. And at the end… you decide.”
Her lips pressed together. “Decide what?”
“To stay… or to go,” he said, dark eyes unwavering. “Nothing more, nothing less. I make no demands. You have full freedom.”
A shiver ran down Sarah’s spine—not from fear, but from the sheer audacity of the offer. To call it an “arrangement” seemed almost casual for a man whose name carried power in every corner of Europe.
“I can refuse,” she said.
“You could,” he said, almost amused. “But you haven’t walked away yet.”
She met his gaze, refusing to blink. “Because I’m not intimidated by reputation.”
“Good,” he said. The faintest curve touched his lips. “Because I don’t intimidate. I observe. I wait. I don’t chase.”
For the first time, Sarah felt the slow burn of something she hadn’t expected—intrigue. Desire. A dangerous curiosity that made her pulse quicken.
“You expect me to accept your proposal because…?” she asked carefully.
He leaned forward, elbows on the table, his eyes darkening ever so slightly. “Because you’re intelligent. Independent. You don’t obey because you’re told to. And I find that… rare.”
Her heart beat faster at the weight in his words. She wanted to tell herself it was flattery. That it didn’t matter.
But his gaze was too steady, too precise. He wasn’t flattery. He was assessment. And she… found herself wanting to measure him back.
A faint smile tugged at her lips. “And what happens if I refuse?”
“Then you leave,” he said calmly. “And I forget your name.”
Sarah considered that. Freedom… or fascination? She realized she had already made a choice by being here.
She raised her glass. “Then we drink to terms.”
Lorenzo mirrored her, lifting his own. Their fingers brushed for the briefest moment as the glasses met—a spark that neither denied nor acknowledged, but both felt.
As they drank, the tension shifted slightly. Conversation flowed, carefully, sparingly. Each word was measured. Each glance was deliberate.
By the end of the dinner, Sarah had the full offer in her mind, the rules etched clearly:
Thirty nights.
Freedom to leave.
Observe. Decide.
And yet, the thought of leaving made her chest tighten in a way she hadn’t expected.
Across the city, in his penthouse, Lorenzo watched her leave. She had accepted—without words, without promises. And for the first time in years, someone had met him on her own terms.
That night, both were left with the same thought: this arrangement would be anything but simple.
- Writer
