Lena Stewart's POV
As I stood in front of the mirror, the light blue sundress I had chosen for the evening felt soft against my skin. The soft fabric flowed around my legs, a gentle contrast to the nervous flutter in my chest.
I tugged at the sleeves, adjusting them slightly, but it did little to ease my discomfort. It had been so long since I'd felt this out of place.
I glanced at the clock on the wall, its ticking loud in the quiet of my room. The time was nearing, and with each passing minute, my reluctance grew.
My fingers traced the edges of the delicate fabric, the pale blue, I was more accustomed to darker shades, something that felt like it suited me better. But tonight, the dress was a compromise—a nod to the expectations of this new chapter.
"Deep breath," I muttered to myself, applying a winged eyeliner on my left eye.
My green eyes stared back at me, their usual sparkle dimmed by the anxiety of the evening ahead.
I wasn't sure what to expect, but the thought of facing another socially awkward evening with someone I didn't know—or particularly care to know—didn't help.
The final touch was a small pendant necklace my mother had given me years ago. It rested against my collarbone, the tiny blue tulip-shaped stone glinting softly under the lamp's light. I hoped it would offer a bit of reassurance.
I stepped out of my room, trying to ignore the fluttering in my stomach. The house was silent, save for the soft sounds of the staff moving around. I could hear the distant hum of the conversation from downstairs—the arrival of the driver meant my evening was about to begin.
As I made my way down the grand staircase, my father's voice drifted up from the foyer. "Lena, are you ready?" His tone was as formal as ever, lacking the warmth I wished for.
"Just about," I called back, trying to sound more enthusiastic than I felt. A part of me hoped that this blind date might, in some way, ease the transition back into this life, but another part of me was bracing for disappointment.
The driver was waiting by the car, his expression polite but impersonal. I climbed into the back seat, the leather seats cool against my skin.
As we drove through the town, the familiar sights of my childhood seemed both comforting and alien. The streets were bathed in the golden glow of the setting sun, casting long shadows that seemed to stretch back to a time when life had been simpler.
When the car finally pulled up outside the restaurant, I took a deep breath, trying to steady my nerves.
The restaurant's warm lights shone invitingly, but my apprehension remained. Tonight was about more than just a dinner; it was a step back into a world I hadn't been part of for over a decade.
With one last look in the mirror, I made a silent promise to myself: to face the evening with as much grace and poise as I could muster.
I stepped out of the car, smoothing my dress one last time, and walked toward the entrance, ready or not.
Greg was already waiting at the table when I arrived. As I approached, he rose with a smirk that did little to hide his self-satisfaction.
"Lena, right? I'm Greg. Greg Collins, Nice to finally meet you," he said, his voice smooth but lacking genuine warmth.
I offered a polite smile, trying to mask my discomfort. "Nice to meet you, Greg."
He gestured to the chair opposite him. "Please, have a seat."
As I settled into my chair, I glanced around the restaurant. It was an elegant place, with soft lighting and a warm ambiance that contrasted sharply with my nervous energy.
Greg was a handsome man, no doubt, but his confidence seemed to border on arrogance.
"Did you find the drive here alright?" he asked, leaning back in his chair, his eyes scanning me more than the menu.
"It was fine," I replied, glancing at the menu in front of me. I wasn't particularly hungry, but I was trying to make the best of the situation.
Greg picked up the menu and started to peruse it, not bothering to ask if I needed a moment. "You know, I don't usually do these arranged dates. They're not really my thing. But when your father called, I thought, why not?"
His casual mention of my father made me stiffen slightly. I had hoped the evening might be less about my family's expectations and more about finding some common ground with my date.
"Well, I appreciate you taking the time," I said, forcing a cheerful tone.
Greg's eyes flicked to me briefly before returning to the menu. "Of course. I suppose it's all about keeping the old man happy, right?"
I nodded, trying to ignore the way he spoke about my father. "So, what do you do for a living, Greg?"
He launched into a lengthy explanation about his career in finance, his words filled with self-praise. I tried to listen attentively, but his constant references to his achievements and his somewhat exaggerated stories made it difficult to engage.
"...and then I closed this major deal that put me on the map. People don't realize how hard it is to get to where I am," he finished, leaning back with a self-satisfied grin.
"That sounds impressive," I said, though the enthusiasm in my voice was forced. I took a sip of water, trying to redirect the conversation. "What do you like to do in your free time?"
Greg waved off the question with a dismissive gesture. "Oh, you know, just the usual. Parties, social events. Nothing too exciting. What about you?"
I started to answer, but before I could get far, a waiter approached our table to take our orders. Greg barely acknowledged him, his attention divided between the menu and me.
"Just bring me the steak. Make it rare. And don't forget the wine," Greg said, snapping the menu shut and not bothering to look at the waiter.
The waiter, visibly uncomfortable, nodded and took the order before retreating. I tried to catch the waiter's eye to offer a polite smile, but Greg's tone had already created an awkward atmosphere.
"So, Lena," Greg said, leaning forward with a smirk. "I heard you've just returned from college. What's that been like? I remember my college days, oh! The good days I must say!"
I tried to keep the conversation light, but Greg's self-centered nature made it hard. The minutes dragged on, and my attempts to steer the conversation away from his constant bragging were met with little success.
I glanced around the restaurant, my thoughts drifting as Greg continued to talk about himself. The restaurant's ambiance seemed to fade into the background, replaced by a sense of boredom and unease.
As Greg continued to speak, his voice raised in frustration over the tardiness of the waiter, I found myself tuning him out completely.
Greg's irritation grew with each passing minute, his annoyance bubbling over as the waiter returned with his steak.
He cut into it and immediately scowled, dropping his knife and fork with a clatter. "What is this?" he snapped, his voice sharp enough to cut through the ambient noise of the restaurant. "It's practically mooing still!"
The waiter, a young man who couldn't have been older than twenty, looked flustered as he attempted to apologize. "I'm so sorry, sir. I'll have the chef—"
"No," Greg interrupted, his tone dripping with condescension. "You'll take this back and bring me a properly cooked steak. Is that too much to ask?" His voice carried across the room, drawing the attention of several diners.
I cringed inwardly at his tone, wishing the floor would open up and swallow me whole.
Can I stuff the steak in his mouth to shut him up?
Or will that be too much?
He should have a mute button on him.
"Lena, are you even listening?" Greg's voice jolted me back to reality. He was looking at me expectantly, his irritation with the waiter now redirected toward me.
Before I could respond, he reached across the table, taking my hand in his. "I'm sorry for the interruption, careless waiter," he said smoothly, his earlier anger replaced with an almost predatory charm.
Careless waiter or self-centered customer? I vote for the latter.
He began to caress my hand, his touch warm and far too familiar. "Let's not let a little thing like that ruin our night."
I forced a smile, trying to ignore the uncomfortable flutter in my stomach as Greg lifted my hand to his lips.
He pressed a kiss to the back of it, his eyes locked onto mine in what I assumed was supposed to be a seductive gaze.
Just as his lips left my skin, the sharp sound of shattering glass broke through the room's murmur. I turned my head, searching for the source of the noise.
And then, I saw him.
Our eyes locked across the room. His gaze was dark, intense, glowing with an almost unnatural light. There was a hint of longing in his eyes and a hunger there, a deep, unspoken desire that sent a shiver through me.
Wine and blood dripped from his clenched hand, staining the white tablecloth beneath him.
But all I could see were his eyes, holding mine captive, filled with emotions I couldn't begin to name.