The restaurant he chose wasn’t on any influencer’s list. No flashing signage. No velvet rope. Just a discreet slate facade tucked between marble high-rises and fountains that danced quietly in the shadows of the city’s wealth.
A rooftop space. Low light. Dark wood. A jazz quartet playing something soft and aching in the background.
It was the kind of place that didn’t need to scream luxury.
It whispered it.
Sebastian arrived early. Sat near the edge of the rooftop where the skyline curved like a secret. He wore a dark suit, no tie, the top button of his shirt undone just enough to suggest comfort—but not carelessness.
He didn’t look at the menu.
Didn’t check his phone.
Didn’t touch his drink.
He just waited.
And when she walked in—
Every muscle in his body went still.
Isabelle.
