Chapter 106
Serena
The first course arrived with flawless timing—an amuse-bouche of Hudson Valley foie gras, presented on delicate porcelain with microgreens arranged like tiny works of art. I watched Isabella's face light up with genuine delight as she admired the presentation, her enthusiasm natural and unaffected in a way that made my chest tighten with something ugly and sharp.
"This is incredible," she breathed, turning to Lance with that same warm smile I'd been cataloging for the past twenty minutes. "I've heard so much about their tasting menu, but seeing it in person..."
"Wait until you try the duck," Lance said, his voice carrying that easy confidence I'd only heard in business meetings. "Chef Humm sources it from a farm upstate. It's extraordinary."
The way he said it—like he'd been here before, like he knew exactly what would impress her—made my stomach twist. I forced myself to look down at my own plate, mechanically cutting into the foie gras while my mind raced through calculations.
"So, Yuna," Isabella said, pulling my attention back with that bright, curious expression that seemed to be her default setting. "What brings you to New York? Are you working on a new album? I heard AURORA might be doing a collaboration with some American artists—is that true?"
I felt Vincent go rigid beside me, his knee pressing against mine under the table in what I assumed was either a warning or a plea for help. My mind went blank for a half-second before I managed to pitch my voice back into that stilted, faintly accented English I'd been butchering all evening.
"Ah... yes. New music. Very exciting." I took a sip of water, buying time. "Many... many projects. Very busy."
It was a terrible answer—vague and unconvincing—but Isabella seemed satisfied, nodding enthusiastically before launching into a story about attending an AURORA concert in Seoul last year.
I let her words wash over me, offering occasional nods and murmurs of acknowledgment while my real attention stayed locked on Lance.
The second course came—seared scallops with cauliflower puree—and I watched him lean forward slightly as the server explained the preparation.
His posture was relaxed, open, completely different from the controlled rigidity I'd seen in board meetings or the barely-contained tension from our encounters. With Isabella, he looked... comfortable. Natural. Like this was exactly where he wanted to be.
And then he did it.
Without being asked, without any visible prompting, Lance reached for the wine bottle and refilled Isabella's glass first, the movement so smooth and practiced it had to be instinct. Then, as she murmured her thanks, he used the serving spoon to transfer a piece of perfectly seared scallop onto her plate, his movements precise and attentive in a way that made my throat close up.
"Try this one," he said, his tone almost gentle. "It's from the eastern side of the pan—slightly more caramelized."
Isabella's laugh was soft, pleased. "You're very observant."
"I pay attention to details that matter."
The words hit me like a physical blow. I'd heard him say similar things in business contexts—always about contracts, acquisitions, market analysis. But this wasn't business.
Something hot and acidic rose in my chest, burning through the careful composure I'd been clinging to. My fingers tightened around my fork, and before I could stop myself, the words tumbled out in perfectly unaccented English.
"Isabella." My voice came out sharper than intended, cutting across their quiet conversation. "I have to say—and forgive me for being forward—but I've been watching you two for a while now, and you really are a perfect match. Handsome, beautiful, clearly compatible... It's almost poetic, really."
The table went silent. Vincent's knee slammed into mine again, harder this time, but I ignored him. Isabella blinked, a faint blush rising to her cheeks, while Lance's expression shifted into something I couldn't quite read—amusement mixed with warning, maybe, or surprise.
"Oh," Isabella said, her smile turning slightly shy. "That's very kind, but... well, this is only our first date. I don't think anyone can make those kinds of declarations so early."
Only our first date. The words echoed in my head, emphasizing the future tense, the implication of more dates to come. My jaw clenched so hard I felt my teeth grind together.
I forced myself to meet Lance's eyes over the rim of my sunglasses. "What about you? What's your opinion?"
For a moment, he just looked at me, his expression unreadable. Then, slowly, deliberately, he set down his wine glass and leaned back in his chair with that infuriating calm that made me want to throw something.
"I think Isabella is exceptional," he said, his voice measured and sincere. "Intelligent, accomplished, gracious. I can't find a single flaw. Anyone who has the privilege of spending time with her would be drawn to her—it's inevitable."