Zack's pov
The moment they walked in, I knew exactly who she was.
Ariana Vale.
Dad had talked about her for months — the brilliant, stubborn daughter of Beckett Vale. "She's graceful, smart, and from a family like ours," he'd said. "You two would make a perfect match."
He made it sound like she was some business merger waiting to happen, but I didn't care much for his matchmaking. I'd told him over and over that I wasn't interested in marrying into anyone's empire. Still, when I saw her, I couldn't lie — she caught my attention instantly.
Her father stepped in first, all confidence and authority. Beckett Vale looked every bit like the man who built an empire from concrete and pride. But then she followed behind her mother, and the air in the room shifted.
She was dressed in a simple black short dress that showed her cleavage. Her red heels clicked lightly on the marble floor as she moved, and when she brushed a strand of hair away from her face, I caught a glimpse of her eyes — calm, but distant, like she'd rather be anywhere but here.
Dad had shown me her pictures before, but they didn't do her justice. In person, she wasn't the kind of beauty that tried to impress you. She was the kind that made you look twice without knowing why.
I straightened in my seat as the Vales approached.
Dad stood up first, his smile big and formal. "Beckett! Christine! Always a pleasure."
Their handshake looked like a deal being signed.
Then his gaze flicked to Ariana. "And this must be your lovely daughter."
Beckett Vale's hand rested lightly on Ariana's back, guiding her forward. "This is Ariana."
She smiled politely — just the corners of her lips — and I swear, for a second, the whole room felt too quiet.
"Zack," Dad said, motioning to me. "You remember what I told you."
"Of course," I said, getting up and extending my hand. "Nice to finally meet you, Ariana."
She shook my hand, making her breasts rise and fall under her scant black dress. Her fingers are cool and delicate. "Nice to meet you too," she said, her voice soft but steady.
Her mom smiled approvingly, and I could feel my dad watching me, probably taking mental notes on how "well" this meeting was going.
We all sat down around the long dining table. The housekeepers brought in the appetizers, and the air filled with the quiet hum of small talk — our dads discussing business, our moms exchanging polite compliments, the usual wealthy-family chatter.
I couldn't stop glancing at her though. She sat across from me, barely saying a word, but I could tell her mind was somewhere else. She kept turning the ring on her finger, not nervously, just… absently. Like she was counting down the minutes until this dinner ended.
"So, Ariana," I said finally, breaking the silence. "Hartwell must be boring compared to Welens, huh?"
She looked up from her plate. "You live in Welens?"
"Yeah," I said. "Own a small private equity firm there. I couldn't handle Dad's version of 'management training,' so I started my own company."
Her lips curved into a small smile. "Rebel son?"
"Something like that," I said with a shrug. "You?"
She leaned back in her seat slightly. "I'm just… figuring things out."
It wasn't the kind of answer I expected, but something in her tone made me curious. There was weight behind her words — something she wasn't saying.
Before I could ask, Dad's voice cut through. "Zack, why don't you show Ariana around the estate after dinner? There's a new rose garden she might like."
I smiled politely. "Sure, Dad."
Ariana's mother chimed in. "That would be lovely."
But Ariana didn't look thrilled. She just nodded, her eyes dropping back to her plate.
I wanted to tell her she didn't have to if she didn't want to. But before I could, one of the servers came by with the menu.
Dad gestured grandly toward it. "Everyone, please order whatever you'd like. The buffet's in the kitchen, but our chef can prepare anything on the list."
Beckett Vale ordered steak and wine. My mom chose grilled salmon. I asked for something simple — roast chicken and potatoes.
Then it was Ariana's turn.
She scanned the menu slowly, the corner of her lip caught between her teeth. Then she looked up, her tone casual but confident. "I'll have seafood paella, garlic bread, and mixed green salad."
I took a sip of water just as she said it — and choked.
I wasn't expecting that. Every girl I'd met in these dinner setups usually ordered something tiny — a salad, some soup, maybe a bite of fish if they were feeling bold. Ariana didn't even hesitate before naming three full dishes like she actually wanted to eat.
Dad shot me a disapproving glance, and I quickly coughed into my napkin. "Sorry," I muttered.
Ariana's eyes flicked toward me, and for the first time that evening, she looked amused. "Are you okay?"
"Yeah," I said, clearing my throat. "Just wasn't expecting that."
She tilted her head, curious. "Expecting what?"
I smiled faintly. "Most people don't order half the menu at these dinners."
She raised a brow. "Well, most people don't starve themselves before a dinner they didn't want to attend."
That made me laugh — quietly, but genuinely.
She smirked a little, clearly pleased she'd caught me off guard.
"Touché," I said.
Her mother gave her a look, probably warning her to behave, but Beckett Vale didn't seem to mind. He and my dad had already fallen back into their business talk, throwing around words like "merger" and "board position."
As the food arrived, Ariana thanked the waiter and dug in without pretense. She wasn't pretending to be someone else. No fake smiles. No careful posturing. Just… herself.
I kept watching her, even when I tried not to. There was something about the way she sat there, calm and unbothered, that made everyone else in the room feel loud.
I found myself wondering what she was thinking. Why did she look so distant?. Why she felt… sad, maybe.
Dad's voice broke my thoughts. "So, Zack," he said, "I hear you've been expanding the firm in Welens. Beckett, maybe your daughter could visit sometime, see what he's built."
Ariana's eyes met mine again, briefly. There was a flicker there — interest, maybe. Or just politeness. But whatever it was, it made me want to keep talking to her.
"Yeah," I said lightly. "Maybe she should."
For the rest of dinner, our parents kept talking business, but my attention stayed on her. Every now and then, she'd glance at her plate, or at her mom, or anywhere that wasn't me. But when our eyes met, even for a second, it felt like she saw right through me — not the son of Andrew Quinn, not the heir, but just Zack.
And for the first time in a long while, I wanted to be seen exactly like that.
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