Chapter 3

The air in the private dining room had grown thick, heavy with the scent of sea salt, cured tuna, and the faint, metallic tang of anticipation. We had just finished the last course, a delicate slice of uni that had melted on my tongue, but my stomach was doing something far more complicated than digesting. The head chef, a man of few words and intense focus, had bowed deeply as he closed the lacquered box, signaling the end of the omakase experience. I sat there for a moment, my fingers tracing the rim of my sake cup, trying to steady the rhythm of my heart. It was beating too fast. Too loud. Julian remained seated across from me, his posture relaxed yet commanding, even in the quiet intimacy of the room. He hadn’t moved to stand yet. He was watching me. That was his thing—watching. Observing the way I held my chopsticks, the way my eyes darted to the door, the way I tried to compose myself into the elegant woman everyone expected me to be. I felt exposed under his gaze, like a fish laid out on ice, waiting for the knife. "Ready to go, baby girl?" His voice