I swirl my glass of Cabernet wine, plastering an interested smile on my face as my date continues droning on about the monotonous and uninspiring life of a corporate office worker.

The man’s pathetic, really. He’s been complaining about his boss and his job for the past hour, never once asking me a question or even noticing my waning attention. I can tell he’s the kind of guy who lacks the drive to change things, the type who goes through life blaming the world for not bending to his will.

I glance at my phone, willing it to ring—praying for some call to rescue me with a solid, undeniable excuse to leave. But, of course, it never comes.

Just my luck.

I sigh and look around the restaurant, noting the intimate atmosphere most people seem to be enjoying. Couples share candlelit conversations, their whispers blending with the faint jazz music playing in the background. The marbled floors gleam under golden chandeliers, and the windows lining the walls frame a glittering view of the city skyline. Everything about this place screams romance—except for my table, where my date continues to drown in his own self-pity.

I glance back at him as he drones on about his latest grievance with his coworkers. He’s not entirely bad-looking. Blond hair frames sharp blue eyes, and his suit—tailored, expensive—hints at someone who should have charm to spare. But his handsome features are wasted on his hollow personality. He has that dead-inside look, a man going through the motions of life without ever really living.

I brush invisible dust off my belted black jumpsuit, which I’d paired with gold accessories and heels. It compliments my tanned skin and curly hickory-colored hair, which I had taken far too much time styling for this mediocre evening. As he continues to ramble, I suppress a yawn, picking at the remains of my filet mignon and sipping my wine.

At some point, I excuse myself, claiming I need to use the ladies’ room. Not that he hears me. He’s too absorbed in his own narrative. My heels click against the polished floor as I walk away, and for the first time tonight, I feel a semblance of relief.

I turn the corner and nearly crash into something—or rather, someone. I stumble back, my balance faltering, but before I can hit the ground, a hand shoots out and wraps around my waist, steadying me.

My heart does a little tumble as my green eyes widen, meeting the gaze of the man who caught me.

Oh. My. God.

Standing before me is, without a doubt, the most striking man I’ve ever seen. He towers over me, easily over six feet tall, with slightly curled jet-black hair and piercing obsidian eyes. His chiseled features are so perfect they seem almost unreal—like they were carved by the hands of a master sculptor. He looks down at me with an amused expression, a low chuckle rumbling from his chest.

“Careful now, darling,” he says, his voice smooth as velvet. “A beauty like you should never be on the ground.”

I nod dumbly, unable to form coherent words. My brain struggles to process both his presence and the fact that he’s still holding me.

He releases me gently, stepping back as a faint smile plays on his lips. “Enjoy your evening,” he says, inclining his head before walking past me.

I watch him go, still rooted to the spot, my mind racing. Who was that?

I shake myself out of my daze and head to the restroom, splashing cold water on my face in an attempt to calm my nerves. By the time I return to my table, I’ve convinced myself it was just a random encounter—nothing more.

But when I glance toward the far end of the dining room, I see him again. He’s seated a few tables away, looking completely at ease as he sips his drink.

My date quirks a brow as I sit down. “Where did you go? You ought to know it’s rather rude to leave in the middle of a conversation, dear.”

“Apologies,” I say, forcing a polite smile. “I just needed a moment.”

“Never mind that,” he says with an exaggerated sigh, his eyes scanning the room. They settle on a young woman leaving the restaurant, and a strange expression flickers across his face—something between boredom and disdain.

“And sadly,” he continues, “I’ve grown bored of you as well. There really isn’t anything special about you, aside from your money.”

I nearly choke on my wine, my mouth dropping open as he rises from his seat. He grabs his coat, giving me one last condescending look. “I’ll be on my way. I’m sure you can handle the bill.”

And with that, he walks out, leaving me stunned and furious.

I take a deep breath, downing the rest of my wine in one gulp as I try to regain my composure. But before I can fully process what just happened, a commotion breaks out a few tables away.

I glance over to see a woman in a garish bubblegum-pink dress standing and yelling at her date, a bottle of sparkling water clutched in her hand. Before anyone can stop her, she dumps the entire bottle over his head, her laughter echoing through the room.

The man slowly rises, water dripping from his hair and suit, and I freeze. It’s him—the stranger who saved me earlier.

He doesn’t look angry, though. If anything, he looks mildly amused as he grabs a napkin and begins drying himself off. “Well,” he says, his tone calm but cutting, “It seems things won’t work out after all, Iliana.”

He tosses the napkin onto the table, pulls out his wallet, and leaves cash for the servers before whispering something to the woman. Whatever he says makes her go pale, and she stares after him as he strides out of the restaurant.

I don’t know what compels me to follow, but before I realize it, I’m on my feet, grabbing my bag and heading for the door.

The cool night air greets me once again as I step outside, scanning the sidewalk for any sign of him. I spot him a few paces away, his tall figure impossible to miss as he walks with purpose.

“Wait!” I call out before I can stop myself.

He pauses, turning slightly to look at me. His expression softens when he sees me, and he waits as I jog to catch up.

“Are you alright?” he asks, his voice tinged with genuine concern.

“Yes,” I say quickly, feeling my cheeks heat. “I just… I wanted to thank you. For earlier.”

A small smile curves his lips. “No need to thank me. It was my pleasure.”

I hesitate, unsure of what to say next. He watches me patiently, as though he has all the time in the world.

“I never got your name,” I say finally.

“Adrian,” he replies, his dark eyes gleaming under the streetlights. “And yours?”

“Kiara.”

“Kiara,” he repeats, the name rolling off his tongue like a secret.

We stand there for a moment, the noise of the city fading into the background. There’s something about him that draws me in, something I can’t quite put into words.

“Would you like to take a walk?” he asks, his voice breaking the silence.

I nod before I can overthink it.

As we stroll through the city, the conversation flows effortlessly. He’s charming but not overbearing, and there’s an intensity to him that’s both intriguing and intimidating.

By the time we part ways, the night feels like a blur—a surreal dream I’m not entirely sure I want to wake from.

As I watch him disappear into the shadows, I can’t shake the feeling that this isn’t the last time I’ll see Adrian. Something tells me our paths are destined to cross again.

For better or worse.