Natasha stood in front of the mirror in the company restroom, adjusting the small gold necklace she rarely wore. Her reflection looked anxious, her eyes softer than usual, her lips pressed into an uncertain line.
Henrick’s invitation echoed in her mind.
“Natasha… can we have dinner tonight?”
His voice had been careful. Almost strained. As if every word he chose mattered.
Despite the worry clawing at her since the encounter with Beatrice earlier that day, Natasha found herself saying yes.
Her heart had a mind of its own.
By the time she reached the little restaurant Henrick chose—quiet, subtle, tucked away from the city’s noise—she felt the tension tightening every muscle in her body. She spotted him immediately at a corner table, seated upright, hands clasped together on the table, s
