By the time Elara finished her shift, exhaustion weighed heavy on her. She just wanted her tiny apartment, a shower, and sleep. But when she stopped at the front desk to clock out, the receptionist handed her an envelope.
"It's for you," the woman said with a knowing smile.
Elara frowned. The paper was thick, expensive, her name written in elegant script. Inside was a single card:
You intrigue me. Dinner tonight. My driver will collect you at seven.
No signature. But she knew.
Lucian.
Her heart hammered. She should tear it up, laugh at the arrogance, and forget about it. But her hands trembled as she folded the note back into its envelope.
At seven? That was only hours away.
The air outside the hospital felt colder than usual. Every shadow seemed to lean closer, every sound sharper. Elara's mind screamed danger, but another part of her whispered curiosity.
She had never been pursued like this before—not by anyone, let alone a man like him.
And though she hated to admit it, beneath her fear was a spark of something far more dangerous.
Anticipation.