The late afternoon sun filtered through the tinted windows of the luxury restaurant as Isabella stirred the soup in her bowl, her expression unreadable. Across the table, Victor Blackwood leaned back in his seat, his gaze fixed on her like she was a particularly unsolvable equation.
She hadn't spoken more than a few sentences since they arrived. The waiter, sensing the tension, kept his distance after taking their orders.
Victor wasn't used to silence. Not this kind.
Not the kind that screamed.
He cleared his throat and offered a smile—warm, teasing. The kind that made most women lean in.
She didn't.
"You don't like the place?" he asked, sipping his drink.
"It's quiet," Isabella said coolly, eyes still on her soup.
"Too quiet?"
"Just quiet enough to hear intentions."
Victor arched a brow. "And what do mine say to you?"
Isabella looked up, meeting his gaze for the first time since they sat. "That you're used to people bending for you. I'm not that kind of person."
He grinned. "You've made that very clear."
"I didn't come here to play games, Mr. Blackwood."
"Then what did you come here for?"
She paused. There were a hundred answers she could give: because her biological parents asked her to be civil, because it was part of the engagement arrangements, because she needed to understand the man trying to insert himself into her life without knowing who she really was.
But none of those were answers she wanted to share.
"I came to eat," she said instead, lifting her spoon again.
Victor studied her for a moment, then set down his glass.
"You saved my grandmother twice. That alone demands my respect. But this"—he gestured between them—"is more than just courtesy. I want to know you."
"I'm not interesting."
"You're the most interesting person I've ever met."
She didn't respond.
Victor leaned forward slightly, the intensity in his eyes softening. "I know I kissed you without permission that night. And I know that might've crossed a line."
Her hand stilled mid-air.
"I haven't stopped thinking about it," he admitted, his voice quieter now. "Not because of the kiss—but because of how you looked at me after. Like I didn't matter."
She slowly set her spoon down.
"I don't trust people easily," she said. "And physical affection doesn't make me forget that."
Victor nodded. "Then I'll earn it. Your trust. Your time. And maybe... one day... your affection too."
For the first time, something flickered in her eyes. Not warmth. But not indifference either.
A faint, almost imperceptible curiosity.
"You're persistent," she said.
"I'm Blackwood," he replied with a crooked smile. "We don't know how to quit."
Isabella picked up her spoon again. "Try not to choke on your ego. It's bigger than your wine glass."
Victor laughed—low and genuine.
And in that rare, unexpected moment, Isabella allowed the corner of her mouth to twitch.
Not a smile.
But not far from it either.