Chapter 4

The message arrived mid-afternoon: brief, coldly formal, unmistakably David. > Dinner. 7 PM. Delphine’s. Dress appropriately. Lily hadn't expected the invitation. She stared at the text for a long moment, thumbs hovering. Delphina's? The five-star restaurant he’d once said he’d take her to after the successful completion of the Aether Project. He never had. Business got busy. Delays piled up. Marina’s return took priority. But now, months later, it was happening. Why now? Perhaps it was his idea of a farewell meal. She didn't answer the message. She just showed up at 7 sharp, dressed in a sleek black dress she'd bought two years ago on impulse, back when she still hoped he'd take her somewhere nice without a reason. She'd left the tag on until tonight. The waiters greeted her with reverent familiarity, guiding her through the quiet restaurant to a table near the tall windows. The place was empty. Every seat, every table, every candle belonged to them. A romantic, candlelit dinner for two. Lily couldn’t help but frown. What was his game? An apology? She might as well believe the sun would rise in the west. The public humiliation he’d dealt her today was the real David Hardison. He was already seated, waiting, in an impeccable charcoal suit, his tie loose, his expression inscrutable. He didn’t even look up as she approached. She also said nothing, taking her seat across from him. A glass of wine already waited beside her plate. He poured himself a drink, swirling it like this was a routine thing. "You booked a whole restaurant," she said flatly, "for a woman you don't love." He paused, the glass halfway to his lips. “This dinner is what you earned. You handled the Aether Project flawlessly. Better than any of my executives.” “So this is… a professional bonus?” He finally met her gaze. "Why? Are you expecting something else too?" A humorless laugh escaped her. Of course. She should have known better. “Of course not. If this is payment for my work, I intend to enjoy it.” A waiter materialized, stiff and silent, bringing course after exquisite course as if this were any ordinary anniversary dinner. But it wasn’t. The air between them was thick with unspoken cuts. David didn’t speak, and Lily made no effort to fill the silence. She used to be the one weaving conversation, straining for his attention. Now, all she wanted was to finish this meal and disappear, clean and final. He watched her eat. She wasn’t picking at her food as she used to; she ate with a focused, almost defiant pleasure, her manners impeccable yet alive. He found it irritatingly fascinating—this new, untamed version of her who seemed to look right through him. She’d grown far too unruly lately. “About the divorce you mentioned—” he began, just as dessert arrived—a dark chocolate ganache with spiced raspberry coulis. Lily’s phone buzzed softly on the linen. It was a message from Noa. "Stocks dropping. Marina scandal is everywhere. Someone leaked the gala photos." "He's using the dinner to delay the divorce announcement. Protecting his company. Not you." Lily's stomach turned. The chocolate turned to ash in her mouth. Of course. This wasn't romance. It was damage control. She set her spoon down. "You could've just asked me to cooperate. You didn't need this elaborate dinner." David's expression shifted, just slightly. "I thought you'd appreciate the gesture." "I might've, if it were genuine." He leaned back in his chair, watching her. "So. You've heard." "I have eyes, Mr. Hardison, and ears too." The flicker of tension darkened his gaze. "You want to discuss this here?" Lily folded her napkin carefully. "You can delay the public announcement. I won't go to the press. I'll play along if that helps. But the divorce goes on." His jaw flexed. "Why are you in such a rush now?" His voice was low, tightly controlled. "You were perfectly fine being my wife for five years. Knowing I loved someone else, you slept with me and married me. Willingly." "I was a fool," she said quietly. "No," he snapped, "you were desperate. Don't act like this was some noble sacrifice. You wanted something. And you got it." Her eyes narrowed. "What exactly do you think I wanted?" "You tell me," he said coldly. "Power? Status? Money? You knew I wasn't offering love. You still signed that contract. So don't give me this teary victim act now." She stood, slowly, deliberately. "I stayed because I hoped," she said. "Hoped one day you'd see me. Not as a placeholder. Not as a secretary. But as a person. A woman who gave you everything she had, even when you never asked." His laugh was bitter. "Spare me the monologue. If this is about money, my lawyers can increase the settlement." Lily's fingers curled into fists. The anger built like a storm breaking in her chest. "You think everything's about money," she whispered. "That's the only language you understand, isn't it?" David didn't flinch. "It's the only language that gets things done." Without thinking, without warning, Lily slapped him. The crack of palm against cheek echoed through the empty restaurant like a gunshot. The waiter dropped a fork somewhere behind the bar. A candle flickered dangerously. David didn't move. His head stayed turned, a red mark blooming on his cheek. His expression unreadable. Lily's breath came in fast, ragged pulls. Her pulse throbbed in her temples. "I'm done," she hissed, grabbing her clutch. "This time, for real." She turned too fast. Her elbow knocked the tall glass vase beside her. It teetered, then toppled, water and orchids spilling toward the floor. Before she could flinch, David lunged. His arm wrapped around her waist, yanking her back just as the vase shattered inches from her feet. Shards bounced off his forearm, slicing through fabric and skin. "Shit," he muttered through gritted teeth. Lily stared at him, stunned. "You're bleeding..." "I've had worse." He looked down, checking her legs, her hands. "You okay?" She nodded, still breathless. He let her go a second later, stepping back like the moment never happened. A waiter approached with a towel. David flicked his gaze toward him—a silent dismissal. Blood soaked through the cuff of his white shirt, a dark red trail winding down his wrist. Lily grabbed a napkin and reached for him. “Let me—” “I said I’m fine.” “David…” He caught her wrist, his grip firm but not harsh. His eyes held hers, intense and unyielding. "You don't get to slap me and then play the caring wife," he said. "You don't get to accuse me of gold-digging and then throw yourself in front of a flying vase." They stood like that—frozen, tethered by years of silence and buried truths. Then David’s hand fell away. “If you truly care,” he said, his voice low, “then accompany me one more time.”