90 Days in London

Chapter 5:First day in London

Left standing on the sidewalk, Clarence scratches her head in bewilderment, her throat tight with a jumble of emotions. What just happened?

She shakes her head vigorously to clear the foggy thoughts swirling around in her mind. Okay, focus. She walks toward the entrance of her new apartment building, trying to shake off the confusion. The neighborhood of Shoreditch is buzzing with life, full of quirky shops, colorful murals, and an artistic energy that feels almost contagious.

After a brief chat with the landlord, she’s shown to her apartment on the third floor—no elevator, but it has a certain quaint charm to it. As she climbs the narrow staircase, her heart flutters with a mix of excitement and nerves. The flat is at a corner, with large windows that promise all the natural light in the world, and she can already imagine it bathed in sunshine.

It’s 3 p.m. and, despite the excitement, Clarence feels the overwhelming urge to curl up in bed and take a nap. Her eyelids are heavy with exhaustion. But then again, she’s too polite to turn down the landlord’s generous offer of a tour. It’s just a lot to take in—especially after Albert’s little stunt. Tampering with her personal information and upgrading her flight without asking? Rude. But still, she can’t bring herself to completely hate him. In fact, she can’t even muster any real dislike for him, no matter how much she tries.

Conflicted emotions swirl inside her, leaving her feeling both grateful and unsettled. The luxurious treatment Albert’s given her is undeniably enchanting, but it feels just a little off, like there’s something she can’t quite put her finger on. She presses her fingers against her temple, trying to sort through the tangled mess in her head.

The refreshing breeze of spring floats in through the windows, so she decides to pull out a red cashmere sweater, a grey skirt, and some 30-denier pantyhose. She stands in front of the mirror, debating whether to wear kitten heels or loafers. Kitten heels? No, that’s too much. She doesn’t want to look like a high schooler. A pair of loafers it is. Now she just has to figure out how to survive this day without completely losing her mind.

As planned, Clarence steps out, and Shoreditch is buzzing with energy, even on a Tuesday night. The streets are alive with a vibrant mix of art, music, and the delicious scent of global cuisine floating through the air. It’s all so alive, and she can’t help but feel caught up in the pulse of the city.

The Audi glides smoothly through the streets, and the scenery shifts from Shoreditch’s quirky charm to the more polished elegance of White City. Clarence peers out the window, taking in the blend of modern architecture and lush green spaces. Her heart races with anticipation, and she can practically feel the city’s energy pulsing through her veins. She’s nervous—excited, but definitely nervous—as they approach their destination.

Finally, the Audi pulls up at Endo at Rotunda, and Clarence takes a deep breath. Okay, she thinks, this is it. She’s about to meet a man she’s only ever spoken to through voice. The thought makes her stomach do a little flip.

Inside the Japanese restaurant, the atmosphere is serene and welcoming, with soft lighting casting a warm glow over the wooden accents and minimalist decor. The delicate aroma of fresh fish and subtle spices fills the air, creating a calm ambiance that almost feels like a hug.

"Do you have a reservation?" asks the maitre’d, her chic nude linen uniform giving off an effortlessly sophisticated vibe.

"Uh, yeah," Clarence stammers, her nerves suddenly on full display. "Huang, uh, Albert Huang."

The maitre’d’s face lights up instantly, as if Clarence had said the magic words. "Oh!" Her posture shifts, and she becomes immediately more attentive. "This way."

She leads Clarence to a private dining area behind the sushi counter, where a chef is working his magic, preparing the evening’s offerings with expert precision. Clarence is handed water, a warm towel, and a menu card, but her anxiety starts to ramp up. She looks around.

"Clarence," comes a deep, gravelly voice that seems to command attention, stopping her in her tracks. She looks up, her mouth parting slightly as their eyes lock.

He has a square, chiseled face with sharp cheekbones and dark, penetrating eyes that seem to analyze everything in a single, sweeping glance. His gaze is intense and unyielding, deep-set under a defined brow, making him look both powerful and unapproachable. His hair is buzzed on the sides and slicked back on top, giving him a crisp, formidable look, as though he’s always prepared for anything.

Dressed in a perfectly tailored charcoal three-piece suit with a royal blue pinstriped tie, he stands with an aura of controlled strength. His lean, muscular frame carries an intimidating confidence, as if he’s used to being in charge and having people listen. In that moment, Clarence feels both drawn in and slightly overwhelmed by his presence.

Clarence can’t speak for a moment, her mind scrambling for the right words. Finally, she manages the most polite thing she can think of. “Who... who are you?” she asks, her voice lifting just a bit at the end, betraying her uncertainty.

The man doesn’t flinch, his expression remaining utterly unreadable. “Mind if I sit beside you?”

Before she even has a chance to reply, he’s already pulled out the mahogany bar stool with an effortless confidence.

“You’re Mr. Huang, I assume?” she ventures, hoping she sounds more assured than she feels.

“Albert’s fine. We don’t need to be so formal,” he replies, his voice calm, with a strange mix of friendliness and authority.

Clarence extends her hand. “Apologies, I just get a little... uneasy meeting people from online.”

Albert raises an eyebrow but says nothing. He takes her hand, and she’s immediately struck by the smoothness of his grip—not at all what she expected. Their handshake lasts a second longer than it should, his hold gentle but firm. His hand practically engulfs hers, and she’s suddenly aware of her own delicate, nimble fingers, shaped by years of violin, piano, and guitar. It’s... different, and it sends an unexpected flutter of nerves through her.

Clarence’s eyes flicker downward as she pulls her hand back, trying to compose herself. It’s just another guy, she tells herself, even though her heart feels like it’s staging a drum solo. Still, Albert’s face is already etched in her mind—a sharp, stoic visage straight out of the Hong Kong action films she used to watch on VHS. The kind with brooding, misunderstood anti-heroes who rarely cracked a smile.

She swallows hard, feeling a tingle of nerves travel up her spine. Her throat feels tight, her body betraying her. The only way to manage this kind of jittery energy is to fake confidence. And so, she does.

“How was the trip, Clarence?” Albert asks, his deep voice smooth but commanding, as he motions discreetly to the sushi master. The chef bows politely before beginning his precise preparations.

“Very comfortable,” Clarence replies, her gaze drifting to the chef’s hands expertly molding rice. “Thanks to your generosity.”

She tries to continue, but Albert cuts in, his tone lowering, drawing her focus back to him. He leans slightly closer, his words carrying a quiet intensity. “You’re lucky you arrived at the right time,” he says, his eyes glinting as though sharing a secret. “The chef’s special today—Matsukawa. It’s a seasonal flounder, served maybe once or twice a year. He caught it himself. Delicate, sweet... it’s a game changer, trust me.”

Clarence blinks, momentarily distracted by the richness in his voice. Game changer? She nods, hoping her response doesn’t sound as breathless as she feels.

Clarence swallows the words bubbling on the tip of her tongue. She’s dying to ask how he knows about her flight, but Albert doesn’t give her the chance. Instead, he carries on seamlessly, as though he hasn’t just orchestrated her entire arrival.

The sushi master, dressed immaculately in a white uniform, moves with the precision of an artist. He slices the first piece of saba (mackerel) into thin, translucent ribbons that catch the light like tiny jewels. Each slice is arranged meticulously on a sleek black ceramic plate, garnished with freshly grated daikon r****h and a sprig of shiso leaf that adds a pop of green and an herbal aroma.

“You’re lucky you showed up at the perfect moment,” Albert says, leaning in slightly, his voice dropping to that calm, unhurried tone that feels impossibly self-assured. “The chef’s special tonight is Matsukawa—seasonal flounder. It’s ridiculously rare, only served once or twice a year. The chef personally selects it at the market. It’s delicate, sweet… trust me, it’ll blow your mind.”

He gestures to the next plate being set before them, the fish arranged so artfully it could be mistaken for a painting. A delicate drizzle of yuzu sauce glistens across the fillet, and tiny green microgreens add a touch of vibrancy. The whole thing screams luxury, and Clarence, despite herself, feels a flicker of excitement.

She picks up the wooden chopsticks, sliding them out of their neat little paper wrapper. Her hand hovers for a second as she debates the wasabi, but she decides against it. She carefully dips the slice of fish into soy sauce and lifts it to her mouth.

The moment it hits her tongue, her eyes flutter shut. The fish is so tender it practically dissolves, the sweetness of the Matsukawa mingling with the sharp tang of the sauce. It’s strange. Unexpected. Utterly delightful.

She opens her eyes to find Albert watching her, his expression unreadable. “Good, right?” he says, the faintest hint of amusement in his tone. She nods, unable to deny it, even as her heart pounds a little harder under his gaze.

“How is it?” Albert asks, his steady gaze fixed on her, the corner of his mouth curling as if her reaction is the evening's entertainment.

“It’s good. Really good,” Clarence manages, determined to sound composed even as her taste buds do a little dance.

“Then you’re in for a treat,” he replies, tapping his fingers lightly on the cool granite table. Like clockwork, an assistant dressed in sleek black glides over, pouring warm sake into their tiny cups with a precise swirl.

Before Clarence can fully recover, the next dish arrives: kampachi (yellowtail). The fish gleams under the soft light, each thick, pale pink slice arranged on a plate so dark and glossy it might as well be a mirror. A tiny dollop of wasabi sits atop each piece, accompanied by a delicate sprinkle of toasted sesame seeds that gives off a subtle nutty aroma. Clarence inhales deeply, her nostrils tingling from the wasabi’s sharpness, and braces herself before taking a bite.

By the time she reaches her third piece, she notices Albert hasn’t touched a single thing. He’s turned slightly toward her, watching her with a calm, almost too-intense focus.

“Are you not going to eat?” she asks, tilting her head and narrowing her eyes at him in disbelief.

“Nah, I’m good,” he replies, shaking his head with that maddening air of nonchalance. “I’d rather watch you enjoy the whole experience.”

Clarence sets her chopsticks down, staring at him like he’s just grown an extra head. “It feels a bit odd that I’m savoring these exquisite pieces and you’re not.”

Albert raises an eyebrow, his faint smirk deepening. “Some pieces are best appreciated visually.”

Her cheeks flush instantly—though she tells herself it’s probably just the sake. Only one sip, and it’s already working its magic… right?

They both watch as the sushi master carefully prepares the next course. He slices the kani salad with such precision, the bright orange of the crab meat contrasting beautifully with the crisp green cucumbers. A light drizzle of ponzu sauce sparkles under the soft lighting of the restaurant. The salad is presented in a delicate glass bowl, its vibrant colors almost too pretty to eat.

“Do you like fishing?” Clarence asks suddenly, trying to break the silence. Albert, however, seems completely at ease in the awkwardness, while she grows increasingly fidgety.

“Sometimes,” he responds, still watching her with that intense focus. “Do you?”

“No,” Clarence admits in a knee-jerk reaction. “It’s boring.”

Albert chuckles, though there’s no real warmth in it. “Can’t blame you for that.”

Finally, the main course arrives: the matsukawa, elegantly arranged on a handcrafted wooden platter. Its pale flesh is fanned out beautifully, topped with a bright green wasabi flower and tiny edible flowers for that extra pop of color. A drizzle of yuzu ponzu sauce glistens in the warm light.

“Now, this is art,” Clarence says, eyes wide in amazement. She turns to Albert. “I just want to look at it. You were right; some things are best left admired.”

“I know,” he mutters, a subtle pride in his voice.

Clarence swallows the sushi whole, chewing carefully, as if to give the dish the appreciation it deserves. Another set of sushi arrives, while Albert, seemingly unaffected by the pace of the meal, has already polished off half the bottle of sake. The amber liquid catches the soft glow of the restaurant’s lighting, making it look almost magical.

Their conversation is sparse. The experience itself is enough. Clarence can’t help but marvel at the sushi presentation, while Albert seems to be enjoying watching her reactions, as if he’s witnessing a captivating performance.

Clarence takes a sip of sake to clear her palate, smiles in satisfaction, and then turns to Albert. “We haven’t really talked much. Strange, isn’t it?”

“Good company doesn’t always need a lot of chatter,” he replies with a casual shrug. “We don’t have to share everything to enjoy ourselves. But now we do.”

“And what’s that?” she asks, her curiosity piqued.

“Pleasure,” he says, his lips barely curving into a subtle smile. “In one way or another.”

Clarence looks at him, her expression flat, then forces a smile and looks away, reaching for a towel to dab her lips. As she does, a streak of rouge stains the disposable towel.

The night air in White City is crisp and refreshing as Clarence and Albert step out of Endo Sushi. The restaurant’s facade glows softly under the street lamps, its sleek, modern design a stark contrast to the historic buildings around it. The distant hum of traffic blends with the rustling leaves, creating an unexpectedly peaceful urban backdrop.

Outside, an immaculate Audi is parked at the curb, its shiny surface reflecting the warm glow of nearby restaurants and shops. Mr. Bailey, the elderly driver in his sharp suit, stands waiting, radiating quiet professionalism—just another part of Albert’s polished world.

Albert walks ahead with that effortless grace he always seems to have, his leather loafers tapping lightly against the cobblestones. He spins on his heel, one hand casually tucked into his pocket, the other briefly checking his watch, a move so smooth and practiced that it’s almost too perfect.

“So, where are we going next?” Clarence asks, trying to sound casual as she hurries to keep up. The height difference between them is glaring—her head barely reaches his chest, making her feel a bit small and childlike beside him.

“I’d like to meet you again, Clarence,” he says, his tone cool and precise, like he’s reciting something he’s said a million times before. “But I have some things to wrap up at the office.” A hint of disappointment flickers in his voice, but it’s quickly masked by his usual composure, like he’s just stating a fact rather than sharing a feeling.

“Oh, I don’t want to take you away from that,” she says quickly, trying to sound breezy.

“Mr. Bailey will take you home,” Albert adds, nodding toward the driver. His words are smooth, but there’s no warmth in them, creating an odd distance between them that feels both close and far at the same time.

“Thank you again, Mr. Huang—Albert,” Clarence says, her voice trailing off as Albert turns, his broad shoulders casting a shadow against the Bentley parked just behind them, the car’s luxury a silent testament to his wealth.

“Wait, do you need to be lulled to sleep tonight?” she calls after him, trying to add a bit of humor to the moment.

Albert pauses for a fraction of a second, a small smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. His eyes flicker with amusement, briefly breaking through his usual stoic mask. “Not particularly, but I appreciate the sentiment,” he replies, his voice as detached as ever before he continues toward the Bentley, leaving Clarence with a strange mix of wonder and confusion.

Mr. Bailey opens the car door for her, and Clarence slides into the back seat, the soft leather welcoming her as she settles in. As the door closes with a quiet click, she casts one final glance at Albert, who’s already inside the Bentley, his expression unreadable as the car begins to pull away.