## Chapter Two: The Invitation

The following day, a tiny part of me hoped the previous night had been a figment of my very active imagination.

The hundred-dollar bill, still softened from being balled up in my apron pocket as I worried over it all night, felt like a weird coincidence. Maybe Lucian Blackwell, or whatever alias he was going by, took one look at me and thought, Nope, not worth it, and just moved on.

That’s what I desperately wanted to believe.

Then I arrived at work.

Rowe’s was already jumping. The usual morning rush was in full swing, with people buzzing about, fueled by coffee and gossip.. Every table was lit up by laptop screens, and the constant hiss of the espresso machine filled the air. I tied my apron, gave Marcus, the morning barista, a quick smile, and did my best to bury the nervous feeling in my gut.

I was halfway through a caramel latte when I felt it.

That weight, that unmistakable feeling of being watched.

It was like the rumble of thunder before you see the lightning strike.It feel some bad thing is going to happen.

I didn’t need to look up. I just knew he was here.

Lucian.

My hands trembled as I pushed the latte across the counter. The customer mumbled a thank you, but I barely registered it. Slowly, painfully slowly, I raised my head.

He was standing at the end of the line.

Same black suit. Same perfect, unyielding posture. The same unreadable face I remembered. But his eyes weren't filled with coldness now. They were focused on me, intense, unwavering.

My stomach did a nervous somersault.

He was waiting. For me to serve him.

When he was finally at the front, I didn’t even try to paste on a fake, friendly smile. “What do you want?” I asked him directly.

“Good morning, Charisse.” His voice was velvet, slow, like he had all the time on this planet.

I crossed my arms, wanting to wrap myself in some kind of protection. “Seriously, what is it you want? Why are you here?”

He leaned in close, his voice low so nobody else could hear. “Because I wanted to see you, and nothing can prevent me from doing it.

My jaw tightened. “You need to leave. Seriously, get out of here now.”

The corners of his lips tilted, not quite a smile, more of a hint of a smirk. “I’ll take the same as yesterday.”

“Whatever he wants”.I turned to the coffee machine, annoyed and frustrated that my hands were shaking. Black coffee. Simple. Classic. Yet I was all thumbs, as if I was handling coffee for the very first time.

When I put the coffee on the counter, he placed a smooth, black card next to it. Not a hundred this time. A business card.

Lucian Blackwell.

No title. No job. Nothing but his name, engraved in silver.

“What is this?” I asked, my voice sharp.

“It’s something you need. He said it simply.

I blinked, confused. “Like what?”

His eyes shone, reflecting the light, but impossible to read. “I have something for you.”

My throat went dry, and I felt a weird nervous. “That’s not how things works.”

“Things change from person to person”. He slid the card across the counter with two fingers. “Call me when you are ready.

And before I could say a word, he picked up his coffee and left.

I told myself I’d throw the card away. Any woman in her right mind would. In the trash it goes, I’d wash my hands of him, and forget those eyes ever bore straight through me.

But it stayed in my pocket all day. The weight of it was hard to forget.

By the time my shift was over, I was tired. My feet screamed from being on them all day, and my hair was escaping my bun. The city lights were coming on, and the streets were getting crowded, the usual rush of people either heading home or getting ready for a night out.

And then, of course, he was there. Like something from a bad dream.

Parked right at the curb in that expensive car. Leaning against it like he didn’t have a care in the world.

“Are you kidding me?” I muttered under my breath, rolling my eyes.

When he saw me, he straightened up, his face lighting slightly. “Charisse.”

I groaned. “Do you just… hang out on sidewalks now for fun?”

“Just for you.” His tone was so casual, like stalking was just a normal everyday kind of hobby.

I glared at him, trying to find the backbone I knew I had somewhere. “You don’t even know me.”

“But I will soon.” He took a step closer, each one planned. “I want to know everything.”

There was something in his eyes that made me stumble. Not arrogance, not some kind of flirty attitude. Something close to an extreme desire to know every detail about me.

“Not interested,” I said, hating how fake it sounded.

He tilted his head, looking me up and down like I was a puzzle he’d already solved. “Yes, you are.”

I froze. The air seemed to get thin.

He was right. And he knew it.

We walked for a while without a word. I walked, he followed. Like a shadow I couldn’t shake.

I lost it, and I spun around to face him. “Why me?”

The streetlight cast shadows on his face. His expression didn’t change. “Because you’re honest.”

I laughed, but it lacked any kind of humor. “You think I’m not afraid of you?”

“You want to ignore me,” he repeated, his voice low. “But You can't lie to yourself.

I hated how my chest tightened. How he looked at me directly.

Before I could say anything, he reached back into his pocket and took out another card. This one was different than the one he gave in the shop earlier. Thick paper and fancy gold letters.

It looked like an invitation.

My eyes widened. “This is…”

“Tomorrow night,” he said, cutting me off. “I’ll send a car.”

I pushed the card back at him. “I’m not going.”

“Yes, you are.”

I glared at him. “You don’t get to make those decisions.”

“I already did.” His voice brooked no argument, like that was the end. “Wear something black.”

And then he turned, got into his car, and drove off, leaving me standing there on the sidewalk, my heart racing and that stupid invitation clutched in my hand.

I looked at the invitation all night long.

I kept telling myself I wouldn’t go. That I wasn’t that stupid. That guys like Lucian Blackwell didn’t play by the rules. If I stepped into his world, I’d never be myself again.

But the truth was, deep down…

I knew I’d go.