Page 9

The maitre-d’, with a demeanor as polished as the restaurant’s opulent surroundings, gestures for me to take a seat at the exquisitely set table.

His movements are graceful, almost theatrical, as he pulls out a chair for me, the soft scrape of wood against the floor echoing faintly in the grand room.

I lower myself delicately onto the plush seat, trying to mask the unease bubbling under my composed exterior.

“Would you care for something to drink while you wait, madam?” he inquires with an air of courteous precision, bending slightly toward me as though he is sharing a confidential secret.

I blink, momentarily caught off guard. “Oh, um, yes. A glass of white wine, please. Chardonnay, if you have it.”

“An excellent choice,” he replies, his smile widening just enough to suggest genuine approval. “Allow me to bring you our finest vintage.”

As he disappears to fulfill my request, I take a moment to absorb the scene around me.

The private room radiates luxury, with its gleaming tableware that sparkles under the soft amber glow of an ornate chandelier.

The napkins are folded into elegant fan shapes, and a vase of fresh orchids graces the center of the table, their petals a deep violet that contrasts beautifully with the crisp white linens.

The quiet hum of activity from beyond the door only accentuates the solitude of my surroundings.

It’s a strange juxtaposition—being alone in a room designed for grandeur, waiting for strangers who seem to carry significance far beyond my understanding.

My thoughts wander as I trace a finger along the rim of the crystal glass resting before me, its delicate craftsmanship an echo of the extravagance surrounding me.

The maitre-d’ returns with my wine, presenting it with a flourish that could rival a sommelier at the finest vineyard.

He pours the golden liquid with practiced elegance, its aroma wafting up to meet me as he sets the glass gently on the table.

“If there is anything else you require, madam, simply let me know,” he says with a warm nod before retreating toward the door, leaving me to my thoughts and the soft, lingering taste of anticipation.

For now, I sip the wine slowly, its smooth acidity grounding me as I wait for the unknown that lies ahead.

And I continue to wait.

And wait.

And wait.

Minutes stretch into an eternity as the ticking of the ornate grandfather clock in the corner becomes the only sound that anchors me to the moment.

The wine, once a perfect accompaniment to my anticipation, has grown warm and unappealing.

My fingers toy absentmindedly with the delicate stem of the glass, its smooth surface a flimsy distraction from the growing unease pooling in my chest. The luxury that surrounds me now feels like a gilded cage, the gleaming tableware and luminous chandelier mocking the solitude that has begun to weigh heavily on my shoulders.

Each creak of the door beyond the room sparks a flicker of hope, quickly extinguished as the sounds fade without anyone appearing.

I glance at my watch, its hands taunting me with their measured pace, and my mind churns with questions.

Did they forget? Did something go wrong?

Or is this delay meant to unsettle me, a calculated move to throw me off balance before the meeting has even begun?

The orchids in the center of the table, vibrant and full of life when I first arrived, now seem to droop under my scrutiny, their violet petals losing their allure.

I can't shake the feeling that I, too, am beginning to wilt in the suffocating stillness of the room.

My polished exterior—so carefully chosen for this moment—starts to feel like an ill-fitting costume, a mask that barely conceals the frayed nerves beneath.

By the time the door finally creaks open, my anticipation has curdled into a strange mix of irritation and resignation.

The figures that step inside carry an air of authority that immediately demands attention, yet their rigid postures and sharp gazes slice through the room like a cold wind.

I rise to greet them, nerves clashing with a flicker of defiance that I barely recognize in myself.

One of them looks like a polished lumberjack.

His beard, nearing his chest, was trimmed to perfection, the same as his perfectly coifed hair.

He’s large. Much larger than I anticipated.

He makes me look like a tiny waif of a woman.

His size seems to stretch the clothes over his body like a second skin, with each inch of clothing perfectly matching the contours of his muscles.

The second one looks like a cute little nerd. He has bottle cap glasses and a trim, fit body. He’s on the smaller side for an alpha but no less intimidating. His movements are like a swimmer, perfectly synchronized with the others.

And the last one, oh, he takes my breath away.

In his suit, he’s the epitome of perfection.

An Adonis. His broad shoulders lead down into a trim waist. His suit hugs him comfortably yet dips with every contour of his muscle.

It’s clear that he spends a lot of time on his body.

It’s gorgeous. But it’s his gray eyes that draw me in, seemingly bottomless in their depth.

All of these men are absolutely gorgeous. Mesmerizing. I’m in awe.

I stand up from the table, giving them a slight smile. I dry my hands on the front of my dress and hold out a hand toward the man in the three-piece suit.

“Hi, I’m Remi! Nice to meet you guys!” I say through the nerves jittering in my body.

I immediately see their smiles turn upside down. They stop just a few feet away from me and don’t move to take a seat. Instead, they’re stiff and unmoving.

Their eyes drag over my body, and I swear I can see hunger and heat swirling within their depths. But all too soon, my exuberance dies a horrible death.

“No,” Mr. Lumberjack says, but there’s something in his voice I can’t really articulate.

“Oh, god,” Mr. Nerd inserts, looking me up and down.

“You are so …” Mr. Suit intones, barely able to look at me, before then, as an afterthought, says, “... plain?”

Hurt, like never before, assaults me. Tears burn against the back of my eyes as I watch all three of them analyze me. The heat and hunger, I swear I saw, are no longer present, and in its place is a look of pure disbelief.

With their words, my smile drops completely, and I say the first thing that comes to me. “Well, aren’t you all a bunch of merry assholes?”

I knew it was too good to be true.