Claire had hesitated, glancing around the opulent interior as they were led to their seats. The grandeur felt both alien and strangely familiar, echoing the pervasive luxury of the Sterling estate. Sasha, oblivious to Claire's subtle apprehension, chatted animatedly as they settled into a cozy, dimly lit corner booth. Her voice, a comforting blend of exasperation and enthusiasm, filled the small space with life.
"And you wouldn't believe Professor Davies today," Sasha was saying, a dramatic sigh escaping her lips. "He assigned this group project for marketing, and my partners are utterly useless. One thinks 'synergy' is a magical spell, and the other just stares blankly when I mention a SWOT analysis. I swear, I do 90% of the work." She paused, taking a sip of water. "And then, of course, Dad called again. Another subtle hint about 'dating someone suitable.' Honestly, sometimes I think he believes my only purpose in life is to find a nice, boring accountant and settle down."
Claire nodded in understanding, a faint, sympathetic smile touching her lips. She knew Sasha's concerns all too well. Their own paths, despite their differences, were both heavily influenced by familial expectations. The weight of 'suitability' was something Claire understood on a visceral level.
Just then, the waiter arrived, a silent, efficient figure who placed their ordered dishes before them: a fragrant mushroom risotto for Sasha and a delicately grilled sea bass for Claire. The aroma was inviting, and Claire, remembering her uneaten breakfast, felt a genuine pang of hunger.
"Finally!" Sasha declared, digging into her risotto with gusto. "I'm starving. You too, Claire. Eat up! You need to get your strength back."
Claire nodded, picking up her fork and taking a tentative bite of the fish. The flavors were exquisite, a welcome distraction. She started enjoying the food, the simple pleasure of a good meal a rare luxury in her current emotional landscape. The warm, comforting taste began to soothe some of the lingering tension in her shoulders.
Her gaze inadvertently swept across the room as she ate, her spoon moving with rhythmic grace. Her eyes idly roamed over the various tables, the softly murmuring diners, the flickering candlelight. But her movement stopped abruptly, her hand freezing halfway to her mouth. Her gaze landed on a table in the middle of the restaurant, bathed in the direct, overhead light of a glittering chandelier. And there he was. Alexander Sterling.
Her eyes then landed on the girl sitting opposite him. From the back, the girl looked beautiful, with long, lustrous dark hair cascading over her shoulders and a figure that bespoke effortless elegance. The scene, framed by the subtle lighting and hushed atmosphere of the exclusive restaurant, looked remarkably intimate, a tableau of easy familiarity that sent a sharp, unexpected pang through Claire's chest. The way the girl leaned slightly towards him, the almost proprietorial glance she seemed to give him, the way Alexander, despite his usual stoicism, appeared to tolerate her close proximity, spoke volumes. This wasn't merely a business dinner.
Clarie moved her eyes swiftly, forcing them away from their table, focusing intently on her own plate, on the delicate flakes of fish, willing herself not to look again, not to meet his eye, even from across the room.
Meanwhile, at their table, Stephanie, emboldened by Eleanor's strategic departure and the relaxed atmosphere, pushed a charming smile across the table, leaning in, her posture subtly shifting to convey a desire for more than just a partner in a project. She tried to move more closer, her hand subtly nearing his arm. She even reached for the wine bottle, her fingers hovering, offering to pour for him, her eyes subtly questioning, trying to bridge the professional line he had drawn. But Alexander, ever guarded, remained perfectly composed. Before her fingers could even brush the bottle, he subtly, almost imperceptibly, shifted it just out of her reach. His gaze remained polite, but firm, clearly delineating a boundary. "Thank you, Stephanie," he said, his voice even, "but I can manage." He then picked up the bottle himself, pouring his own glass with a deliberate, controlled motion. He listened patiently to her attempts at banter, but his responses were minimal, polite, yet clearly putting her in a line, establishing the professional distance he preferred to maintain, even with a former confidante.
"What happened?" Sasha asked, her voice laced with concern, her own fork pausing. She had seen the subtle changes in Claire's demeanor: the sudden stillness, the way her gaze had snapped away, the faint tremor in her hand as she tried to continue eating.
Claire forced a calm she didn't feel. She took a deliberate bite of her food, chewing slowly, allowing herself a moment to compose her thoughts. "Nothing," she murmured, her voice a little too flat. She continued eating, focusing intently on the act, hoping her mundane actions would deflect Sasha's sharp intuition. Sasha, distracted by her own hunger and Claire's seemingly normal resumption of eating, didn't press further, though a flicker of curiosity remained in her eyes.
At that moment, a familiar voice, cheerful and distinctly male, rang out from behind their table, causing both Claire and Sasha to jump slightly.
"Well, well, well, what a coincidence! Mind if I join you guys?"
Claire and Sasha looked up at the same time, their eyes widening in unison. Standing beside their table, a wide, easy smile on his face, was Zane Harrington.
"No, you can't," Sasha said instantly, her voice sharp and uncompromising.
"Okay," Zane said, a good-natured puff of his shoulders, completely unperturbed by Sasha's blunt refusal. He simply pulled out the chair next to Claire, sliding it back with a confident ease that spoke of their long history, and settled himself comfortably beside her, a little too close for Claire's already heightened nerves.
Claire slightly recoiled, taken aback by Zane's swift action. Her heart gave a nervous flutter, and she quickly glanced across the restaurant, a sharp, almost involuntary movement of her eyes towards Alexander's table. She hoped, desperately, that he hadn't noticed Zane's arrival, or the casual intimacy of his proximity.
Zane, perceptive as always, felt the subtle tension radiating from Claire. He noticed her uncomfortable face, the way her shoulders stiffened, the almost imperceptible flinch as she subtly tried to create more space between them. A pang of something akin to sadness, or regret, flickered through him. This was not the Claire he knew. This was not the girl who always greeted him with a genuine smile, her eyes lighting up at his presence. Everything had changed. He remembered his earlier intentions, his desire to turn things around for her, to make up for his mother's disrespect towards Claire. He had wanted to help, to offer support, to perhaps even confess his long-held feelings, before she had been swept away, irrevocably taken by a man whose name now carried the weight of fate itself. The situation felt wrong, impossibly unfair, and he knew, with a sinking heart, that the carefree dynamic they once shared was now a fragile ghost of the past.
Sasha, ever the firecracker, broke the tense silence. "Honestly, Zane, you're like a bad penny, always turning up when you're least expected and usually when I'm trying to have a civilized conversation. Did you miss being told 'no' so much you had to come all this way?"
Zane leaned back in his chair, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Oh, Sasha, my dear nemesis. It's not my fault the universe conspires to bring us together. And besides, I heard the call of desperate souls needing a third, more charming, conversationalist. You two looked like you were discussing the existential dread of bland risotto."
Sasha scoffed playfully. "Bland risotto? My risotto is a culinary masterpiece! Unlike your attempts at wit, which are usually as dry as stale toast."
"Stale toast?" Zane feigned shock, clutching his chest. "Such vicious slander! I'll have you know my wit is finely aged, like a good single malt. You, on the other hand, are as fresh and sharp as a newly sharpened pencil – prone to breaking under pressure."
"At least I have a point, unlike some people I know who just ramble aimlessly!" Sasha shot back, a grin tugging at the corner of her lips despite herself.
Claire, who had been listening to their rapid-fire banter, felt a bubble of laughter escape her lips. It was a genuine sound, light and freeing, a sound that hadn't graced her ears, or her own voice, in what felt like an eternity. The tension that had been coiling in her stomach began to loosen, replaced by a warm, familiar ease. Sasha and Zane, with their endless, playful sparring, were a constant in her life, a comforting reminder of a world where things were simpler, more genuine.
Zane's eyes, which had been fixed on Sasha in mock battle, softened as he heard Claire's laughter. He turned to her, a genuine, delighted smile spreading across his face. The easy comfort in her eyes, the simple joy of her mirth, felt incredibly good. It was a small victory, a flicker of the old Claire, and he treasured it.
At their table, Stephanie felt a subtle tightening of her charming smile, a brief flicker of annoyance at Alexander's unyielding boundaries. She excused herself, her voice smooth and apologetic. "Please excuse me. I'll be right back." Her eyes, though still holding a professional warmth, contained a hint of frustration as she rose and made her way towards the washroom.
Alexander gave a curt nod, his attention already elsewhere. As Stephanie's elegant figure disappeared from view, he pulled out his phone, the familiar weight of the device a comfort in his hand. He scrolled to a contact and dialed. It was Noren. The call connected instantly, and Alexander began speaking in low, clipped tones, discussing a critical market fluctuation.