Hannah, ever the reserved type when it came to strangers, sat stiffly in the passenger seat, her gaze glued to the window like the trees outside held the answers to life's deepest mysteries. Not once did she try to break the silence that had settled thickly between her and the man behind the wheel.
The silence, however, wasn't one-sided.
The so-called "driver," still simmering from the humiliation of being mistaken for someone's personal chauffeur, clenched the steering wheel with a white-knuckled grip. His jaw twitched every now and then, as if he were biting back the thousand sarcastic comments itching to escape.
Not a single word was exchanged until the car rolled to a stop in front of a high-end restaurant.
"We're here," the man announced sharply, his tone clipped—like someone about to peel off and leave tire marks on her pride.
"Thanks," Hannah replied coolly, completely missing the tension in his voice. Without so much as a glance in his direction, she shoved a crisp hundred-dollar bill into his hand as he reached back for his coat.
"What the hell—Hey!" he shouted, stunned, waving the money like it was on fire. "I'm not a cab driver, lady! Take your cash back!"
But Hannah had already bolted from the car, heels clicking rapidly against the pavement as she hurried toward the entrance like a woman on a mission—or fleeing a crime scene.
Unbeknownst to the man yelling behind her, she wasn't trying to be rude. The delay caused by helping that old man on the highway had completely thrown off her schedule, and now she was thirty minutes late for a formal meeting with the heir of her brother's business partner.
And so, with every hurried step she took, Hannah mentally cursed traffic, time, and whatever cosmic force had decided she needed to be a hero today and save an old man.
Inside the dimly lit restaurant, where soft candlelight flickered against the glossy wood and classical violins whispered through the air, Hannah stepped through the doorway with a quiet urgency.
Her eyes scanned the room with precision, darting past couples mid-conversation, waiters gliding past with silver trays, and clinking wine glasses. She was searching for one face—a distinctly Italian-looking man she had never met in person but whose name now carried a weight of expectation.
Though her face remained composed, a practiced calm etched into her features, her heart pounded like a drum beneath her silk blouse.
She was late. Not obscenely late, but late enough for guilt to claw at her composure.
And the thought that her brother's professional reputation hinged delicately on her ability to handle this evening with charm and poise made her feel even more pressure for the date.
She hadn't expected the traffic jam nor the fender-bender that stalled the freeway. And now, standing here alone in unfamiliar surroundings, she couldn't shake the sensation that she'd already ruined everything before it even began.
Fortunately, she needn't search long. Her presence, radiant and magnetic, despite the swirl of self-consciousness around her, quickly caught the attention of a nearby man who whispered something to a passing waiter.
"Good afternoon, ma'am. Your date asked me to lead you to him," the waiter said as he approached her with professional grace, dipping his head slightly and gesturing forward. "Please follow me."
Hannah offered a quick, grateful nod, adjusting her posture as she followed him between tables, aware of every step, every glance from nearby diners. Her palms were damp. She resisted the urge to wipe them on her skirt.
At a secluded corner of the restaurant, she spotted a man seated alone, his back turned, his dark curly hair catching the soft glow of the overhead pendant light. There was no mistaking it—he had to be the one. After all, he's the only one in there.
The waiter stepped aside, and Hannah took a deep breath before approaching. She paused, smoothing a strand of hair behind her ear, then spoke, her voice steady despite the tight knot in her chest.
"Sir Racca?"
The man turned slowly, momentarily surprised, as if pulled from his thoughts or a message on his phone. His eyes met hers—sharp yet warm—and the lines of tension on her face began to blur into something softer.
"Please, call me Alfonzo," he replied with a disarming smile, rising from his seat. "You must be Miss Salvador, right?"
She managed a smile, though her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. "Yes, but… please, just Hannah. I—I'm so sorry for being late. That's incredibly rude of me. There was an accident on the road, and I tried to get here as fast as I could, but—"
Alfonzo raised a hand gently, his smile unwavering as he pulled out a chair for her. "It's fine. Truly. Don't worry about it."
Hannah sat down slowly, gripping the edge of the table as if to ground herself. She could still feel the sting of her own nerves, the pressure of being here on someone else's behalf, and the fear that one slip could unravel more than just a first impression.
Alfonzo took his seat again, adjusting his cuff and gesturing toward the menu. "Would you like something to eat?"
***🦋***
Author's Note
Well, well... it looks like our elegant little heiress has finally stepped right into trouble—and she doesn't even know it yet. Late to her mysterious date and flustered with embarrassment, Hannah had no idea what the night truly held for her. But who is this so-called gentleman waiting for her?
Could this mysterious stranger be her long-awaited prince charming? Or is the idea of love born from a blind date between the heirs of two powerful business empires just a beautiful illusion? Sparks may fly, but in a world driven by ambition and legacy, can romance truly bloom—or is something far more complicated about to unfold?
Secrets are beginning to unravel, and the game is just getting started.
Curious to know what happens next? Turn the page and dive deeper—because trust me, the truth is far more dangerous than you think.
Happy reading, darlings... but don't get too comfortable. Things are about to take a very dark turn.