Chapter 4
1094 Words
Elena's POV
Morning light came through the blinds and woke me from a shallow sleep. For a moment, I forgot. I was just Elena Park, a girl in her bed, not yet thinking about the world outside.
Then I rolled over and saw my phone blinking on the nightstand, and I remembered everything suddenly.
The app. The stranger. Dinner.
My stomach hurt badly. I pulled the blanket over my head, trying to hide, though I knew the only real threats were reporters and photographers. Last night, agreeing to dinner felt daring. Defiant. Today, it felt like a mistake I wasn't ready to admit.
Still, I reached for my phone, the screen lighting up with a new message from Faceless.
[Andre]: Morning. Hope your night ended softer than it started.
I laughed before I could stop it. Soft. My night was spent tossing, turning, and hearing Marcus's voice at my door over and over. But the message made me feel warm in a way I hadn't expected.
[Me]: Morning. And no, it didn't. But thank you.
The reply came almost immediately.
[Andre]: Then let's fix today instead. 8 PM. Don't keep me waiting.
[Me]: Thought you said you would be busy today
[Andre]: Well, plans changed, so yeah, let's do this.
[Me]: Errmmm, okay, let's do this, but how do I even identify you? I don't know you, remember?
[Andre]: I will be putting on a black suit.
My heart beat faster. He was bold, sure of himself, but not arrogant the way Marcus always was. It was different. And maybe that was what scared me most, that I wanted to believe in this faceless man.
I tossed the phone aside and sat up, pressing my palms into my eyes until I saw stars. It's just dinner, I told myself. A distraction. A solution. A choice.
But even choices felt terrifying when your heart was already broken.
By noon, I started doubting everything.
What if he were creepy? What if he was worse, ordinary? What if the entire thing was some elaborate setup and I ended up on TMZ again, this time with headlines screaming "Elena Desperate Enough to Date Strangers"?
I almost uninstalled the app twice. I almost texted Andre that this was a bad idea and that I wasn't interested in going for the date anymore. But then I remembered Taylor's face yesterday, his binder full of numbers and names, and his panicked voice. And my mother, her cold tone, her disapproval in every word.
None of this felt like mine anymore. Except maybe this.
This was my choice, reckless or not.
***
By late afternoon, I stood in front of my closet, arms folded, staring at dresses and wishing they could tell me what to do. Sequins looked desperate. Black silk looked vengeful. Soft pastels looked apologetic. Nothing felt right.
Finally, I settled on a dress I hadn't worn in months, a deep crimson slip that fit perfectly without looking forced. It wasn't a costume for the cameras. It wasn't protection. It was simple and honest.
I pulled it on, smoothing the fabric over my hips, and for the first time in days, looking at myself didn't hurt. Makeup came next, subtle and controlled. Not the smoky eyes Isabella used to tease me for, not the polished gloss Marcus always said looked "photogenic". Just me, putting myself back together, one brushstroke at a time.
My phone buzzed on the counter. Another message.
[Andre]: Don't be nervous. You're already the best part of my day, and I haven't even seen you yet.
I stared at it, holding my breath. How did he know? How did he know I was standing here, heart pounding, hands shaking around my lipstick tube?
[Me]: Who says I'm nervous?
[Andre]: Let's call it a lucky guess.
I smiled before I could stop myself. Damn him.
By six, Taylor called, demanding updates.
"You are going, right? You didn't chicken out on me?"
I rolled my eyes, balancing the phone between my cheek and shoulder as I slipped on heels. "Relax, Dad. I'm going."
"Good," he said, breathing out hard, relieved. "Remember, this is just optics. Be seen. Be photographed. Show strength."
"Right," I muttered, though in my chest, it didn't feel like optics. It felt like something else entirely.
After we hung up, I grabbed my bag and headed downstairs. My driver opened the car door, but I hesitated before sliding in, feeling the cool city air on my skin. For a moment, I considered running back upstairs, locking the door, and hiding until the scandal stopped being news.
But then I remembered Marcus knocking on my door. My mother's voice telling me to save face. Taylor's binder of numbers, contracts, and consequences. And the stranger's words: You're already the best part of my day.
I climbed into the car.
***
The city passed by outside, neon signs reflecting on glass, and couples laughing on sidewalks. I pressed my forehead to the window, feeling my nerves knotting in my stomach. What if he didn't show? What if he was someone I knew, someone cruel enough to toy with me?
But what if he wasn't?
What if he were real?
The car slowed in front of the restaurant, a place so elegant its name alone would end up on social media within minutes of me stepping inside. Cameras waited across the street – two, maybe three photographers, pretending to scroll their phones.
I took a deep breath.
"You've got this," I whispered to myself, though my hands shook as I clutched my bag.
The driver opened the door. I stepped out, heels clicking against polished stone, feeling everyone's eyes on my back.
Inside, the restaurant glowed with golden light and quiet voices. Waiters in black suits moved smoothly between tables. My heart pounded louder than the low jazz playing from hidden speakers.
The hostess smiled politely. "Reservation?"
"Park," I said quickly. "Table for two."
Her eyebrows lifted slightly, but she nodded. "This way."
I followed, each step harder than the last, my pulse racing as we walked through tables. My eyes scanned the room: silhouettes of men in crisp shirts, women in satin dresses, the clink of glasses, and the murmur of laughter.
And then
I stopped moving.
Across the room, in the dim light, a figure waited at a corner table. Broad shoulders, dark suit, sitting straight but restless, as if he'd been watching the entrance all night.
For a heartbeat, my chest hurt with something I couldn't name.
Because for a split second,, I thought it was Marcus.
- Writer
