Serena’s POV
I woke up to three missed calls from Maya, each one following a string of increasingly frantic text ssages:
"I swear I had NOTHING to do with this dinner thing!"
"Ryan practically begged to convince you!"
"DON’T KILL but I might have told him you’re free tonight..."
"SERENA ANSWER YOUR PHONE"
I groaned, dropping my phone onto the pillow. Maya had clearly sold out.
"Traitor," I muttered, though I couldn’t summon any real anger. She’d been pushing for to give Ryan a second chance for weeks now. "He’s different," she kept insisting. "The way he looks at you when you’re not watching... it’s like you’re his entire universe."
I stared at the ceiling, trying to ignore the nervous flutter in my stomach. After everything that had happened between us—the coldness, the misunderstandings, the heartbreak—did I really want to risk opening those wounds again?
My phone buzzed with another ssage. This ti from Ryan:
"Dinner tonight? I promise just conversation. No pressure."
Such simple words, yet they sent my pulse racing. The old Ryan wouldn’t have asked. He would have stated a ti and place, expecting to arrange my schedule around his. This new approach—this consideration for my feelings—was throwing off balance.
I typed and deleted three different responses before settling on:
"Fine. Just dinner. 7pm."
His reply ca instantly: "Thank you for giving this chance."
I tossed my phone aside and buried my face in my hands. What was I doing?
The truth was, Ryan had been relentless these past few days. Flowers arriving at the office each morning, each bouquet more extravagant than the last.
New resources flowed into the studio more frequently than before, and he seed determined to win over everyone on my team—especially Maya.
It was infuriating how easily he slipped into everyone’s good graces, as if rewriting history with gestures and goodwill could erase the damage he’d done.
***
"It’s just dinner," I reminded my reflection as I applied a touch of lipstick. "Not a reconciliation."
The doorbell rang at exactly 7:00. Ryan had always been punctual—one of his few qualities I’d never had reason to complain about.
When I opened the door, the sight of him standing there—tall and commanding in his perfectly tailored suit—made my heart skip in that infuriating way I’d never been able to control around him. He held violets, my favorite flowers—sothing I didn’t rember ever telling him.
"You rembered," I said, nodding at the bouquet.
"I rember everything about you, Serena." His voice was low, sincere in a way I’d rarely heard before. "I just didn’t show it when it mattered."
I accepted the flowers, our fingers brushing briefly.
"I’ve reserved a table at La r," he said. "Unless you’d prefer sowhere else?"
La r—the most exclusive restaurant in the city, impossible to book without weeks of notice unless you were Ryan Blackwood. The place where we’d had our first official date, though I doubted he rembered that detail.
"La r is fine," I agreed, grabbing my coat. The sooner we got this over with, the sooner I could figure out why my heart wouldn’t stop pounding.
The drive to the restaurant was filled with a silence I didn’t try to break. Ryan made a few attempts at conversation—asking about my designs, ntioning a charity event.
But I didn’t respond.
La r was exactly as I rembered—elegant, intimate, with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the harbor. The maître d’ greeted Ryan by na and led us to a secluded corner table.
"I requested this specific table," Ryan said once we were seated. "It’s where we sat on our first date."
I blinked in surprise. "You rember that?"
A smile touched his lips—not his usual controlled business smile, but sothing gentler. "I rember more than you think, Serena."
The candlelight softened his features, highlighting cheekbones that had grown sharper since our separation. Had he lost weight? The thought made unexpectedly concerned.
"Why did you really ask here tonight, Ryan?" I finally asked as the waiter poured wine I hadn’t rembered ordering.
He didn’t pretend to misunderstand. "Because I miss you. "
"Let’s see how you handle this," I said quietly, my tone carrying both warning and challenge.
Our dinner arrived—seafood for , steak for him, exactly as we’d always ordered—and the conversation shifted to safer topics. With each passing mont, the tension between us eased slightly, replaced by sothing almost comfortable.
By dessert, I found myself laughing at his dry observations about his board mbers, surprising myself with how natural it felt. When had I last genuinely enjoyed Ryan’s company?
As the waiter cleared our plates, Ryan reached across the table, his fingers lightly brushing mine. "There’s sothing I’ve been wanting to give you for a long ti."
He pulled a flat box from his jacket pocket—not a ring box, I noted with both relief and an unexpected pang of disappointnt.
"What is it?" I asked, not reaching for it.
"Sothing I should have given you during our island vacation," he said quietly. "Please, open it."
With slightly trembling fingers, I opened the box to reveal a delicate platinum necklace. A crescent moon cradled a small, brilliant star—simple yet breathtaking in its elegance.
"It’s beautiful," I whispered, genuinely stunned by the piece.
"It was designed specifically for you," Ryan explained, his voice unusually gentle. "The moon representing you, and the star..." He hesitated. "I’d intended it to represent our future child."
My breath caught. "Why didn’t you give it to then?"
Pain shadowed his expression. "Because at that ti, you were upset with about Sophia—I didn’t handle things properly." His voice dropped, raw and earnest. "I let her interfere... but I promise, I’ll make it right. I’ll make sure she leaves. If you give another chance, I won’t let anything co between us again."
I stared at the necklace, imagining how differently things might have been if he’d given it to then, if he’d truly let into his heart.
"May I?" he asked, reaching for the necklace.
I hesitated, then turned so he could place it around my neck. His fingers were warm against my skin as he fastened the clasp, lingering a mont longer than necessary.
"Perfect," he murmured as I faced him again, his eyes darkening with an emotion I wasn’t ready to na.
The pendant rested just below my collarbone, cool against my skin but sohow warming from within.
"Thank you," I said softly, touching it with my fingertips. "Not just for the necklace, but for tonight. For being honest."
Sothing shifted in the air between us—a tentative bridge across the chasm that had separated us for so long.
I took a deep breath, deciding to lay my own cards on the table. "There’s sothing I’ve wanted to ask you for a long ti."
Ryan nodded, his full attention on . "Anything."
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