The restaurant was hidden—literally. Down a narrow alley in the city's luxury quarter, behind an unmarked brass door, was a private rooftop dining space known only to a few. Reservation? Impossible. Entry? Only by personal invitation from someone with power.
Victor Blackwood didn't need reservations.
Isabella stepped out of the car and glanced around with visible hesitation. "This doesn't look like a restaurant."
"That's the point," Victor replied, offering her his arm.
She ignored it.
He smirked. "One day, you'll stop rejecting small gestures."
"One day, you'll stop offering them," she countered.
But she followed him anyway.
A discreet maître d' opened the door, bowed, and silently led them up to the rooftop where warm golden lanterns glowed against the night sky. The city lights below looked like fallen stars, and the table for two was set beside a low fountain.
"This is excessive," she muttered.
Victor pulled out her chair. "You saved my grandmother's life. The least I can do is feed you properly."
"She's fine now," Isabella said, settling into the seat, her fingers brushing over the embossed black menu.
Victor watched her. "You're not used to being appreciated, are you?"
She didn't answer.
Because the truth was too raw.
Instead, she studied the menu. "You brought me here for a quiet dinner, or to impress me with Blackwood privilege?"
"Neither," he said, pouring water into her glass. "I brought you here because it's the only place I can get two hours with you where you won't be in a lab, behind a screen, or running from me."
She looked up, caught off guard.
Victor's expression was calm—but his eyes were unflinching. Focused.
Serious.
"I'm not used to people chasing me," she said quietly.
"That's funny," he said. "Because I've never chased anyone before."
For a moment, the rooftop went still. The noise of the city faded. The air between them thickened.
Isabella looked away. "You don't even know me."
"I know enough," he said. "I know you carry more than most. I know you treat help like weakness. I know that you'd rather be alone than be hurt. And I know that's not going to stop me."
She opened her mouth to reply but was interrupted by the arrival of their server. Two courses followed—elegant, precise, clearly tailored to Victor's tastes. She ate quietly, thoughtfully, every now and then catching his gaze lingering on her.
When dessert arrived, she finally spoke again. "You act like this isn't just a dinner."
"It isn't."
She exhaled. "Then what is it?"
Victor leaned in slightly, eyes dark and intent. "It's a warning."
Isabella's brow arched. "Excuse me?"
"A warning that I don't give up easily," he said softly. "And the more I see you, the more I want to know everything. Even the parts you think you've buried too deep."
For once, she didn't deflect. Didn't mask. Didn't run.
She simply looked at him and said, "You're playing with fire."
Victor's lips curved. "Good thing I don't burn easy."
Next Chapter Teaser: Isabella receives an unexpected invitation from the Blackwood family—and finds herself face-to-face with someone who may know more about her than he should.