My mind immediately kicks into overdrive. This isn't just politeness. You don't ask someone to take a private walk if you're just being courteous. The way he's looking at me, the careful control in his voice, there's intention here.
"I'd like that."
Anton offers his arm with old-world chivalry. I slide my hand into the crook of his elbow, my fingers finding the solid warmth of his muscular forearm through the fabric of his suit jacket. I can feel the might of his arms.
He towers over me as we walk, my heels bringing me up to maybe his shoulder.
We slip away from the crowd, following a stone path that winds behind the venue into gardens illuminated by scattered solar lights. The reception feels like another world as we move deeper into the quiet space, the noise fading to a distant hum of music and laughter.
Anton's pace is measured, unhurried, like he wants to savor this moment as much as I do.
Say something, my mind urges. But I force myself to stay quiet, curious to see what he'll reveal first.
This feels different from our usual careful and brief conversations. There's weight to his silence tonight, purpose in the way he's guiding us away from everyone else.
Six months of observing him, studying him. I've seen he doesn't need many words when each one he chooses can stop a conversation, end an argument, or change someone's mind entirely.
We reach a small alcove tucked between flowering hedges, just far enough from the reception to give us privacy while still catching hints of the celebration beyond. Solar lights cast everything in soft, romantic shadows. Flowering jasmine perfumes the air around us alongside the distant sound of the string quartet.
Anton stops walking, and I feel the tension in his arm where my hand rests against him.
When Anton turns to face me, the careful control in his expression has softened into something I've never seen before.
"Fee." He pauses. "Would you have dinner with me tomorrow night?"
"Yes. I'd love to."
Something shifts in his eyes, a warmth breaking through. He steps closer, and I can smell his cologne again, that rich sandalwood.
He gets closer, so close that I'm tilting my head back to meet his gaze.
His eyes drop to my lips, and my breath catches. I let my own gaze drift across his features, taking in the sharp line of his jaw, the way the garden lights catch in his pale eyes.
My attention lands on the small teardrop tattooed beneath his left eye, and something in his expression shifts.
It's like watching steel doors slam shut. The warmth disappears, replaced by cold calculation. His jaw sets with finality, and he steps back with the same controlled precision he uses for everything else.
"This was a mistake." His voice carries that deadly calm I've seen him use in business meetings. No apology, no explanation, just a verdict delivered with brutal efficiency.
My heart crashes into my stomach.
"Why?"
His pale eyes meet mine directly, unflinching. "You don't know what you're getting into with me, Fee."
"I think I do." I fight to keep my voice steady. "I know what you do for a living, Anton."
"No." The single word cuts like a blade. "You don't."
He looks at me like he's memorizing my face, and something vulnerable flickers behind those steel-gray eyes. "I can't do this to you."
One tear escapes my eyes.
"I don't understand. Why ask me to dinner? Why dance with me? Why bring me out here for this?"
Silence. Anton Baev, the man whose few words carry the weight of life and death, gives me nothing.
"Go." I step back, crossing my arms. "Just go."
