Chapter 15

       Seranna no longer wore the navy dress. Instead, a soft beige blouse—something that complimented her natural tones with effortless grace. Her steps were measured as she approached, calm and deliberate, until she stood before Lorcan. He rose to meet her, his gaze locking with hers.

       A beat of silence stretched between them.

       Her eyes moved briefly to the bouquet—then to the other items beside it. A subtle lift of her brow betrayed the only flicker of reaction.

       “I apologize,” he said quietly.

       Lorcan kept his posture straight, shoulders squared beneath the clean lines of his coat. His voice had been quiet, but not uncertain—measured, precise, like everything else about him. Professional to the bone, even in apology.

       He didn’t fidget. Didn’t look away. But deep beneath the surface, something prickled—something dangerously close to guilt. He had calculated poorly. And for a man like him, that was enough to sting.

       Seranna said nothing.

       Her gaze didn’t return to him. It lingered—steadily—on the Nailongs. Their round yellow faces smiled up at her like a chorus of idiots. Plush limbs outstretched. Gleaming eyes stitched on in joyful ignorance.

       Still, she didn’t speak.

       Lorcan’s jaw flexed subtly, “If you find them insulting,” he said, tone clipped but even, “you’re welcome to burn them.”

      That earned him nothing.

       Not a flinch. Not a twitch of her lip.

       Only the slow shift of her gaze—from the plush toys to the roses, then finally, back to him. Cold light spilled across her face, drawing sharp edges beneath her eyes. And yet, her expression remained unreadable.

       Unmoving.

       He resisted the urge to speak again.

       Seranna stepped closer and, without a word, reached for the bouquet. Her fingers brushed lightly against the wrapping as she began to inspect the contents—one Nailong at a time.

       Each plush was different. One with tiny heart-shaped sunglasses. Another holding a miniature coffee cup. A third dressed in what appeared to be a knight’s helmet. And the others, dozens of Nailong. She examined them in silence, her touch slow, deliberate—like she was dissecting the absurdity rather than admiring it.

       And then—

       Her lips betrayed her. Just slightly. Just enough.

       A quiet, involuntary curve at the corner of her mouth. Not quite a smile, but not nothing either. Her gaze never left the Nailongs as she murmured, “Apology accepted.”

       Seranna stepped back, her gaze lingering on the Nailongs for a moment longer before she placed them down carefully. The soft curve of her lips was the only indication of her true reaction—just enough to show that the absurdity hadn’t gone unnoticed, but it wasn’t quite amusement.

       Lorcan, still standing with his hands loosely at his sides, watched her without saying anything for a beat longer than necessary. It wasn’t that he didn’t feel a small sense of relief, but the weight of the silence between them still pressed on him.

       She didn’t acknowledge the effort beyond the brief acceptance. There was no grand gesture of forgiveness or even a flicker of warmth in her eyes, only the practiced professionalism that Seranna was known for.

       “Not all apologies need to be grand gestures or perfectly executed,” she said after a pause, her voice calm, almost measured. “Sometimes, the thought behind them is what matters.”

       Lorcan didn’t respond right away, choosing instead to absorb the meaning of her words, letting them settle. There was no smile, no indication of ease from Seranna. She had acknowledged the apology, but in her usual way—distant, controlled.

       “Noted,” he replied quietly, his tone steady. It wasn’t an agreement, exactly. But it was acknowledgment. A simple acknowledgment of the small crack in her facade, and perhaps, a step toward something more than this carefully composed silence.

       “Thank you, Lorcan,” Seranna said, her tone even and precise.

       She lifted the bouquet again, selecting three Nailongs with the same clinical care one might use when reviewing items for inventory. One looks silly and cheeky, with its tongue sticking out and eyes looking up in different directions, gives off a playful and teasing vibe, like it’s mocking him. Another o wide, unblinking eyes locked straight ahead, small frown barely visible, arms stiff at its side. The dino stands perfectly like it just heard something offensive and is holding back a response. The third one has a burnt or charred face, likely from some accident

       She extended them toward him without pause. “Keep these. As a reminder. Of me.”

       Lorcan accepted them with a slight nod, no expression betraying his thoughts. Didn’t say anything.

       They stood there for a moment, wordless. No warmth. No awkwardness. Just mutual recognition that the gesture had been made, received, and filed away.

       “Mind to have a dinner date?”

***

       “I haven’t seen your bodyguards,” Lorcan remarked, eyes on the road, his hand still loosely holding hers. The absence of the Bolden Drakar hadn’t gone unnoticed—those towering men were usually hard to miss.

       “They’re not here,” Seranna replied, her voice even, betraying no hint of explanation.

       Lorcan glanced at her, his curiosity piqued, but he didn’t push. A quiet understanding passed between them, the kind that needed no words. She wasn’t one to discuss such things, and he wasn’t the type to ask.

       Another few moments of silence stretched, the car gliding smoothly through the night.

      Seranna’s gaze remained distant, but something in her posture shifted slightly—an imperceptible change. Lorcan caught it but didn’t comment, respecting the quiet of the moment.

       The car slowed as they approached the restaurant, its exterior gleaming with the soft glow of ambient lighting. The grand doors of the building stood open, revealing the sleek interior—polished floors, high ceilings, and white tablecloths that seemed to shimmer under the delicate chandeliers overhead. This was no ordinary place; it was a statement.

       Lorcan parked and cut the engine, his hand still resting on Seranna’s for a moment longer. He glanced at her, noticing the faintest shift in her expression, as though she had steeled herself for what was to come.

       “Ready?” he asked, his voice low but firm, a touch of warmth beneath the usual professional tone.

       Seranna nodded, her gaze steady. She withdrew her hand from his with a grace that almost seemed deliberate, the brief moment of connection gone as quickly as it came. They stepped out of the car together, moving in sync as they made their way to the restaurant entrance. The doorman opened the door for them with a respectful nod, and they entered, the soft murmur of conversation and the clink of fine china accompanying their steps.

       The maitre d’ greeted them by name and led them to a private corner table, away from the prying eyes of other diners. Lorcan held the chair for Seranna as she sat, his movements smooth and practiced. There was something almost familiar about the way they navigated the room, like a perfect couple slipping seamlessly into their roles.

       As they settled into their seats, a bottle of wine was uncorked and poured into two crystal glasses, the deep red liquid swirling before them. They exchanged no more words for a moment, each of them lost in the calm rhythm of the evening. The tension from earlier seemed to dissolve as they immersed themselves in the ritual of the meal, conversation flowing effortlessly as they fell back into their familiar dynamic.

       Seranna’s expression remained composed, but her attention was now on Lorcan, just a little more engaged than it had been before. She studied him for a moment, her gaze unreadable as she lifted her wine glass.

       “Your choice of venue is impressive,” she remarked, her voice steady. “You always know where to bring someone.”

       Lorcan raised an eyebrow, his lips curling slightly. “I’ve learned to be observant.”

       Another beat of silence followed, but it was comfortable now, charged with something more familiar than it had been before. A quiet understanding that neither needed to force.

       The soft hum of the restaurant continued around them, but for a moment, it felt as if everything else had fallen away, leaving only the two of them in their own little world.

       Seranna took a slow sip of her wine, her fingers tracing the rim of the glass as she considered him. Her eyes remained steady, but there was an edge to her focus, as if she were reading something between the lines.

       “Do you always get what you want?” she asked, the question hanging in the air between them. It wasn’t accusatory, just curious—a quiet probe into the man who sat across from her, the one who was never quite easy to read.

       Lorcan’s gaze didn’t waver. He studied her for a moment, weighing the question before answering. “Not always,” His tone was measured, careful. “But I make sure to get what matters.”

       The flicker of something almost imperceptible passed through Seranna’s eyes. She set her glass down, leaning back slightly in her chair. “And what matters to you, Lorcan?”

       His eyes met hers with a sharp intensity, but there was no answer immediately. Instead, he shifted his posture, folding his arms loosely across his chest. The silence that followed felt different now, weighted, as if they had both stepped into territory where words had to be chosen with care.

       “You know what matters,” he said finally, his voice low, deliberate.

       The corner of Seranna’s mouth twitched, a subtle expression of something unreadable. “I don’t think I do,” she replied, her tone almost a challenge, her gaze unwavering.

       Lorcan’s lips curled ever so slightly, though his gaze remained steady. “Maybe not,” he said, the words carrying a hint of something deeper, a truth buried beneath the surface. “But you will.”

       Seranna’s gaze never left him, but for a brief moment, the tension between them softened. The air felt charged, but not in the way it had been before—now, it was different. It was quieter, more certain, as if they had both slipped into a rhythm that was theirs alone.

       The waiter returned, placing the first course before them with a quiet efficiency, but neither of them moved immediately to touch their plates. Instead, they stayed locked in that moment, a quiet understanding passing between them. Neither of them needed to rush the evening, not with the unspoken agreement that hung in the air, unacknowledged but undeniably present.

       The clink of cutlery soon filled the space between them, but the conversation, when it resumed, was easy, flowing naturally from topic to topic. For once, there were no barriers. No walls between them. Just two people, navigating a night that felt less like a facade and more like a moment of something real, if only for tonight.

***