The restaurant was effortlessly refined—the kind of place that whispered luxury rather than shouted it. Soft candlelight flickered against the polished mahogany tables, the quiet hum of conversation blending seamlessly with the gentle clinking of crystal glasses.
It was the perfect setting for a night of indulgence. A night to breathe. A night to forget.
And yet, Isabelle felt like a stranger in her own evening.
Across from her, Marcus swirled his wine, watching her with the same easy confidence that had always been his trademark. He was perfectly put together—crisp suit, a faint trace of cologne that smelled expensive but never overpowering. Everything about him spoke of control, of steadiness, of the kind of life that should have felt safe.
But safe had never made her heart race.
“Y
