“That dress,” I murmur, voice low and intent, “was a very dangerous choice.”
The words settle between us, heavy with promise.
And for the first time in a very long time, I realise something that should terrify me,
I don’t just want her in my world.
I want to build one where she never has to leave.
Emmy
I stand at the threshold, eyes drawn to the open balcony doors, to the table waiting beyond them, candles lit, linen stirring softly in the night breeze, the city stretched out beneath the stars like it’s holding its breath for us.
I feel him.
Khai behind me, close enough that the space between us feels deliberate, curated. Not touching. Not yet. His presence settled at my back, solid and inescapable, sending a shiver straight down my spine.
He leans in, mouth near my ear, his voice low and unhurried.
“Shall we,” he murmurs. “Little Heaven.”
His hand lifts, gesturing toward the table, not demanding, not asking.
Inviting.
And somehow, that feels far more dangerous.
White linen flutters in the night breeze, candles throwing soft light across glass and steel. The city stretches endlessly below us, a constellation I could fall into if I leaned too far. Khai pulls my chair out, quiet, deliberate, and waits until I sit before taking his place opposite me.
The wine is already poured.
Of course it is.
I wrap my fingers around the stem, grounding myself in the cool glass. “You didn’t have to do all this,” I say, even as my gaze drifts back to the view.
“I wanted to,” he replies simply.
The chef appears and disappears like a shadow, plates arriving without interruption. The food is exquisite, but it’s hard to focus on anything except the man across from me, the way candlelight sharpens his features, the way his attention never really leaves me even when he lifts his glass.
I take a sip. Courage, liquid and red.
“So,” I say lightly, because if I don’t start somewhere, I’ll never start at all. “What do you do, Khai?”
His mouth curves, slow and unreadable. “I manage problems.”
“That’s… vague.”
“Intentionally so.”
I huff a soft laugh, undeterred. “And your family? I’ve met your father.”
Something shifts. Not alarm, control tightening.
“He’s… influential,” Khai says after a beat. “Powerful. Used to getting what he wants.”
That should worry me more than it does.
“Anyone else?” I press. “Siblings?”
