His eyes, in a swift, almost unconscious sweep of the restaurant, drifted towards a dimly lit corner booth. His gaze, usually focused on profit margins and strategic alliances, snagged on a flash of familiar dark hair, and then, a distinctive, vibrant laugh. It was Claire.
He saw her leaning forward, her face animated, a genuine, unburdened smile lighting up her features – a smile he had never once witnessed directed at him. His gaze narrowed, cold and sharp, as he registered the presence of the two other figures at her table. One, a woman and the other... the man. Alexander's internal monologue, the discussion with Noren, abruptly ceased. He stopped mid-sentence, his voice trailing off, the carefully constructed facade of indifference cracking.
It was Zane Harrington.
Alexander's jaw tightened, a muscle ticking in his cheek. The name, the face, the accusation from Claire herself only yesterday – Zane was just my childhood friend. Yes, it's true that he confessed to me. But we are nothing more than a friend. Alexander had dismissed it as childish drama, a desperate attempt to deflect his own accusations. But seeing them now, Zane's easy smile, Claire's genuine, radiant laughter... it sparked something unexpected and unwelcome within him.
On the other end of the line, Noren's voice, calm and professional, broke through Alexander's abrupt silence. "Mr. Sterling? Are you still there?"
Alexander's eyes remained fixed on Claire and Zane, his grip on the phone tightening imperceptibly. He forced himself to take a breath, the cold rage a controlled fire in his gut. He brought the phone back to his ear. "No, Noren. I'll call you back in five minutes." His voice was flat, devoid of any discernible emotion, a clear dismissal.
Noren, accustomed to Alexander's terse commands, didn't question it. "Understood, Mr. Sterling." The line went dead.
With a swift, almost imperceptible glance, Alexander ended the call with Noren. Then, without a moment's hesitation, his thumb moved with chilling precision across his contact list. He found Claire's number, saved for a month under the cold formality of "Claire Hayes" after their forced union. He hadn't called it once. But now, without a second thought, he brought the phone to his ear and dialed. His gaze, dark and piercing, remained fixed on Claire's laughing face, a silent, possessive claim stretching across the crowded restaurant, a chasm of unspoken commands already forming between them.
Meanwhile, at Claire and Sasha's table, the playful banter between Sasha and Zane had filled the corner with warmth. Claire, feeling a genuine lightness, was still giggling softly, the sound bubbling up from deep within her. It was a rare, precious moment of uncomplicated joy.
Then, her phone, resting on the table beside her plate, began to vibrate insistently. Claire picked it up, her smile still lingering, but as she saw the incoming number, her expression instantly froze. The screen displayed one name: Alexander Sterling. The name he had used, deliberately, to save her contact.
Her breath hitched. She swallowed hard, her eyes widening in disbelief and a sudden, cold dread. The laughter died in her throat. Almost instinctively, her gaze darted directly towards the middle of the restaurant, towards the table that had held her captive moments before. Her eyes, wide and panicking, locked with Alexander's, who was watching her with an unnervingly intense, possessive stare. A shiver ran down her spine. He had seen them.
"Who is it?" Sasha asked, her voice light, noticing Claire's sudden rigidity. Her eyes followed Claire's terrified gaze towards the center of the room.
Zane, too, felt the shift in Claire's demeanor. He followed her eye direction, and his easy smile faltered as he recognized the formidable figure of Alexander Sterling.
Sasha's gaze finally landed on Alexander, her brow furrowing in confusion. She had never met him in person, but his face was instantly recognizable from countless society photographs. The powerful CEO, Claire's husband.
Claire, her heart pounding, was about to receive the call, her finger hovering over the screen, when the phone line abruptly went dead. The call had ended. Alexander had hung up. The abruptness of it, the chilling silence that followed, felt more menacing than if he had spoken. It was a silent warning, a definitive mark of his displeasure, delivered across the bustling restaurant without a single word. Claire looked down at her dead phone screen, then back at Alexander's table, feeling as though an invisible noose had just tightened around her.
She quickly composed herself, forcing a thin, almost imperceptible smile to her lips as she slipped her phone back into her purse. "Should we call for anything else?" she asked, her voice a little too bright, a desperate attempt to normalize the suddenly charged atmosphere.
Sasha, ever perceptive, sensed the shift in Claire. Her usual boisterous energy dimmed slightly as she took in Claire's forced smile and the tension radiating from her friend. She glanced at her watch. "I've had enough," Sasha said, her voice softer, understanding. "It's pretty late. Should we go?"
Zane, his gaze still holding a flicker of concern for Claire, caught the abrupt end of Sasha's dinner suggestion. He knew the silent cues, the subtle panic that had just flared in Claire's eyes. He stood up, giving a slight, knowing nod to Sasha. "Okay," he said, his tone unusually subdued. "We'll catch up later." He spoke generally, but his eyes were fixed on Claire, a silent promise in their depths.
Meanwhile, at Alexander's table, Stephanie returned from the washroom, her movements fluid and confident. She picked up her small, elegant clutch bag. "I'll settle the bill, Alexander," she offered smoothly, her hand already reaching for her wallet.
"No," Alexander's voice was crisp, immediate. He had already signaled the waiter, who discreetly presented the check. Alexander pulled out a card, his movements efficient and final. Stephanie's hand paused, then gracefully retracted. There was no argument. Alexander Sterling always paid. With the transaction complete, Alexander stood, and Stephanie followed suit. Without another word, they walked out of the restaurant, their departure a sleek, powerful exit that drew no overt attention, yet commanded the space they left behind.
A few moments later, Claire, Sasha, and Zane also got up from their corner booth. As they moved towards the exit, Zane, with a quick, decisive movement, veered towards the maître d' stand. "Our table, please," he said quietly, pulling out his own card before Sasha could even protest. He settled their bill, a subtle act of care that went unnoticed by Claire in her agitated state.
"Goodbye, Sasha," Zane said, turning to her with a warm smile. Then, his gaze lingered on Claire, a silent message passing between them. He didn't speak, didn't make a grand gesture. He simply held her gaze for a beat longer than necessary, a look filled with empathy, concern, and an unspoken regret for the complexities that now surrounded her. It was a look that promised he wouldn't forget her. Then, he turned and walked out, disappearing into the bustling city night, leaving Claire and Sasha to navigate the aftermath of their unexpectedly eventful dinner.
The cool night air of the city hit Claire and Sasha as they stepped out of the warm, hushed confines of Le Fleur. The street was alive with the distant hum of traffic and the soft glow of streetlights, but for Claire, the world felt strangely muted, distant.
"I'll drop you off," Sasha offered immediately, her voice laced with a subtle sadness. She could see the lingering tension in Claire's posture, the way her shoulders were still slightly hunched, despite the evening's fleeting moments of laughter. Sasha knew her friend, knew the suffocating reality Claire was now forced to inhabit.
Claire remained silent for a moment, her gaze fixed on the bustling sidewalk.
"What?" Sasha prompted gently, sensing Claire's quiet turmoil. "Are you concerned about him?" Her voice softened further, betraying her own heartache for her friend's "stuck life," a life she saw as being dictated by Alexander Sterling's cold, powerful world.
Claire shook her head, though the gesture was small and lacked conviction. "No," she murmured. She reached into her purse, pulling out her phone. Her fingers hesitated over the contact list for a fraction of a second, a silent battle raging within her.
"Wait," Claire said to Sasha, her voice tight with anticipation. She found the contact "Alexander Sterling" – the name he had used to save his number on her phone. She swallowed hard and pressed dial.
The phone rang twice. Claire's heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic drumbeat against the silence of the night. Then, a voice, deep and crisp, answered.
"What is it?" Alexander's tone was curt, devoid of warmth, a clear indication that he was busy, perhaps even annoyed by the interruption. There was no greeting. It was a demand for efficiency.
Claire forced herself to speak, her voice a little shaky, but firm. "Alexander," she began, the name feeling foreign on her tongue in this context. "Are you already leaving? Can you come and pick me up? I'm in front of Le Fleur restaurant." It felt like an audacious request, a desperate reach across the chasm of their relationship, but the words were out.