ZEE.
We arrived at the restaurant, which looked very quiet and intimate.
There weren’t many people inside, but even if there had been, you wouldn’t have noticed. The whole space was dimly lit and cleverly designed—every booth separated with tall partitions, music low, conversations hushed. It felt like a secret waiting to be kept.
Denver had requested a private booth, tucked into the far corner, away from the windows and the other couples.
He looked… dangerous. In a crisp black shirt rolled at the sleeves, tattoos peeking from beneath the fabric, his gold rings catching the light as he twirled his wine glass slowly, eyes focused entirely on me. Predatory. Calm. Possessive.
We ordered food and it was served minutes later, and we both ate in silence, talking only when it was necessary.
