Chapter 270: Candlelit dinner

Braelyn’s POV

My chest tightened at the sight. I didn’t understand why he was suddenly doing this, but it was too beautiful to waste. My eyes lingered on the primroses, sparkling. Did he know they were my favourite? I wondered.

He gestured lightly toward the flowers surrounding us, almost casually, but I noticed the faint hesitation in his movement, like this part mattered more than he wanted to admit.

“I didn’t know your favourite flowers,” he continued. “So I chose red roses.” His eyes flicked briefly toward the darker blooms. “They seemed appropriate for the romantic theme.”

Then his gaze shifted to the softer ones. “And primrose… well, I found out it’s an alternative meaning of your name, Braelyn. It seemed fitting.”

My pulse stumbled. A small smile curled up my lips. “They are my favourite,” I mentioned softly.

His brows furrowed in confusion, but I just laughed. Then I added, “Primroses are my favourite flowers,” smiling.

He looked stunned, then chuckled softly. The sound was magnetic and soothing to the ears. “Of course they are,” he chimed.

For a man who always acted like nothing touched him, this careful thought and quiet effort felt dangerously intimate. My mind became chaotic, wondering what all this was for.

Before I could even find the right words, he gently reached for my hand again, his fingers warm and steady around mine, and led me toward the table. My steps felt slower now, almost unsteady, like I was walking into something far more serious than dinner.

We walked through the centre aisle framed by roses to the single table intricately arranged at the end.

When we reached the chair, he pulled it out himself. Lucien Volkov, the most arrogant, infuriating man I knew, pulled out my chair like something out of an old romance film. I almost laughed, wondering where this romantic side had come from.

“Ladies first,” he murmured softly.

I lowered myself into the chair almost automatically, my heart hammering in a way that felt both terrifying and strangely fragile. He waited until I was seated before taking the chair opposite me, his eyes never really leaving my face, the candlelight reflecting in them in small, restless flames.

For a moment, neither of us spoke.

The wind moved gently across the rooftop, brushing my hair against my cheek, carrying the scent of roses, warm food, and something faintly dangerous that always seemed to follow him.

Under the quiet hum of the city far below, the whole world suddenly felt very small, shrinking down to just this table, this night, and the man sitting across from me.

I stared at him, unsure what to do. He smiled.

“Please, enjoy the meal. The surprise comes after,” he urged, then snapped his fingers. A servant, presumably our waiter, emerged from the shadows, pushing a trolley.

The meal began, a full course. Lucien just smiled and urged me to eat. I was nervous at first, but he didn’t say much aside from gentle encouragement.

“You looked stressed. Your eyes need nutrients to sparkle. Don’t hold back,” he urged as each course was served.

As expected, each dish was perfect. The flavours bloomed in my mouth, and I almost hummed. At first, it felt awkward, but after a while I completely forgot about Lucien’s sharp gaze.

He kept insisting my plate be piled high, and at one point I couldn’t help joking. “At this rate, it feels like you’re fattening me up like a pig to be eaten.” I laughed.

He smirked. “Maybe I am.”

I choked on my wine. “Pardon me?”

He laughed softly. “Maybe I want to eat you, not that I am calling you a pig. I would never do that. But if I do need to eat you, it cannot be on an empty stomach.” My face burned.

I quickly grabbed a glass of water to gulp it down because of how hot my throat felt. Lucien had an infuriating smile that made me want to glare at him.

“How can you say something like that?” I hissed. He shrugged, taking a sip of his drink.

“Since you are full, I guess it is time for dessert,” he chimed. I bit my lip to compose myself. “Something light,” he added.

Sorbet was immediately served, the service was top notch. The cold sweetness melted in my mouth with a soft hum. I was pretty much full, and the call for the sorbet was perfect.

Soon the meal was over.

“That meal was lovely,” I chirped, taking a sip of water. Lucien nodded.

“No need to rush. You haven’t seen the final dish yet,” he muttered, then snapped his fingers to beckon the waiter. “The meal is only starting.”

The waiter came over and cleared my dessert before placing a covered dish in front of me. My brows furrowed, Lucien had not been served.

“Aren’t you eating the last dish?” I asked, glancing at him. Lucien was sipping his wine.

“This was specially made for you.”

He nodded at the waiter, and the dish was uncovered. On the plate, there was no food, only a tablet. My confusion deepened. “What is going on?” I blurted.

Lucien sighed. “The password is your birthday. Open it,” he urged. I hesitated but picked up the tablet and opened it.

After inputting my password, the document appeared. My chest tightened, and my face grew paler with each paragraph I read. I glanced up and whispered, “This is…”

He didn’t let me finish. “My next move against Raphael and Volkov Apex,” he declared. My face turned even paler. What I read was brutal. He was a terrifying villain.

My throat went dry as I struggled for words. The only thing I could manage was, “Why?”

“You mean why did I show you this plan?” He countered, then slowly rose to his feet like a predator. “Isn’t it obvious?” He walked toward my seat, his fingers brushing along the edge of the table in slow motion.

He stopped at my hand. His bare fingers traced up to my chin, leaving subtle sparks on my skin until he held my face. “We are in this together. Remember the promise on the cliff,” he hissed, and my chest tightened.

“I wanted to see your reaction and honestly, what I see disappoints me,” he drawled, leaning closer, our noses brushing. “I see pity and guilt in those eyes, Vipers.”

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