The restaurant he took her to was beyond luxurious—the kind of place that whispered power, exclusivity, and old money.
Everything was dimly lit with gold chandeliers casting soft glows, the air filled with the quiet murmur of the elite dining in their natural habitat.
The tables were draped in pristine white linens, the chairs ornate yet impossibly comfortable, and the walls were lined with expensive art that probably cost more than her entire workshop.
It was the kind of place where the menu didn't have prices, because if you had to ask, you didn't belong there.
And the moment she stepped inside, she felt entirely out of place.
Gie glanced down at herself—her perfectly chosen, subtly alluring outfit—and suddenly, it felt wrong.
Not because she wasn't dressed well, but because this place felt like a world she wasn't meant to step into.
"I feel underdressed," she muttered, hesitation gripping her.
Alexander's warm breath brushed against her ear as he leaned down slightly, his voice calm, unbothered.
"You're perfect."
Her entire body went stiff.
Before she could react, he placed a hand on the small of her back, guiding her deeper into the restaurant, his touch light but undeniably possessive.
It wasn't until they reached their private table—secluded, intimate—that she finally found her breath again.
She sat across from him, heart still skipping beats as she tried to shake off the feeling of his touch.
And then—the conversation began.
At first, it was easy.
Safe.
They talked about art, jewelry, travel.
She told him about how her pieces were inspired by fragments of the world—the way light hit a gemstone, the way the curve of a leaf could influence a design.
He listened.
Not just politely, but intently.
And that was the problem.
Because as the conversation flowed, he started asking more.
Not just about her work.
About her.
"You don't take many vacations," he noted.
She blinked. "What?"
"Your projects are constant," he said. "You create, design, obsess. But you don't stop."
She swallowed. "Well… I love what I do."
"But you never take time for yourself."
She frowned slightly, unsure how he had figured that out so easily.
"I— I don't know," she admitted. "I guess I never really felt the need to."
His gray eyes flickered with something unreadable.
"Why?"
She hesitated.
Then, finally—"Because I don't know how to stop."
The words came out before she could take them back, before she could filter herself like she usually did with clients.
Because he wasn't just a client right now.
He was something else.
Something she didn't know how to handle.
"Are you seeing someone?"
The words hit her like a shockwave.
Gie froze, the wine glass she had been lifting stopping mid-air, her brain short-circuiting so violently she thought she might actually black out.
She blinked at him.
"Wh—what?"
Alexander tilted his head slightly, his expression calm, unreadable.
"Are you seeing someone?" he repeated, completely at ease.
She could not compute.
That— that was a flirty question.
That was not a casual question.
That was the kind of question that men who were interested in women asked.
But that couldn't be right.
This was Alexander Millers.
The man whose entire public image was built on being a playboy, surrounded by the world's most beautiful, seductive women.
She?
She was just his jeweler.
She was not the kind of woman who caught the attention of a man like him.
She wasn't sure how long she sat there, blinking like a fool, but eventually, she managed to choke out—
"Why are you asking me that?"
His lips curved slightly, like he knew exactly how much he was wrecking her sanity.
"Curious," he said smoothly.
Gie's brain was breaking.
Curious?
He was curious?
She barely got out a response. "I— I'm not."
The moment the words left her mouth, she regretted them.
Because his expression shifted.
His posture relaxed slightly, but his gaze sharpened, like he had just filed that information away somewhere important.
Like he had just won something.
Her stomach tightened.
Oh, God.
Then—the conversation took a turn.
Alexander leaned back slightly, his fingers grazing the rim of his glass, his gaze steady on her.
And then, just as she had started to recover from his previous question, he spoke again.
"I don't like being touched."
Gie blinked.
The words were too casual, like he had just dropped something insignificant.
But they weren't.
Not for a man whose entire life revolved around the illusion of physical indulgence.
She frowned slightly. "But… your business—"
He nodded. "It thrives on it."
"Your reputation—"
"Carefully built," he said. "But not real."
Gie couldn't find the words.
Because this?
This was something he wasn't supposed to be telling her.
Something that didn't align with the man the world knew.
And as she sat there, trying to process it, he did something even more dangerous.
He touched her.
It was slow.
Deliberate.
His fingers brushed over her hand, tracing the lines of her palm before he slowly intertwined their fingers together.
Gie's entire body locked up.
Because this was not casual.
This was not business.
This was not something he did with just anyone.
This was personal.
And the moment she felt his fingers slide between hers, linking them together, the world around them faded.
The quiet murmurs of the restaurant.
The clinking of glasses.
The presence of anyone but him.
She stared at their hands, her breath completely stolen, her skin burning where he touched her.
Her face?
Like a goddamn tomato.
Her entire body?
Hot. Throbbing. Aching.
Because this wasn't just holding hands.
This was something else entirely.
This was him, breaking his own rules for her.