The phone buzzed twice in quick succession. One was her Mask Girl line; the other, Seraphine's. I ignored the first, tapping the second.
"Seraphine," I said, cold and clipped, my voice smooth but edged with authority. "Dress well. Meet me at Le Ciel Noir at eight."
She paused. A faint smile danced on her lips. "Oh… that's… so sudden," she replied, her tone teasing, light, almost like she was humoring me.
"I said eight. Don't be late," I said, unflinching.
"Yes… Mr. Moreau," she cooed, overly sweet, but I could hear the firecracker behind her words. The spark, the playfulness she always hid—it was there.
I hung up, feeling the familiar twinge of amusement. She thought she was charming me with her sarcasm. Little did she know, I had been watching her since high school. Even then, I had seen past the sweetness, past the charm. She wasn't the girl everyone believed she was. And I loved that.
⸻
Later, I leaned against my car outside the restaurant, black suit tailored perfectly, the city lights reflecting off the sleek windows. Patrons passing by whispered, "It's Dante Moreau," their voices trembling slightly. I didn't care. My eyes were fixed on the street.
And then she appeared.
Seraphine. Every bit the actress, but more. The long black skirt flowed with each step, paired with a cropped white blouse tucked in neatly. Her hair bounced as she walked, the gold earrings catching the light. A playful smile tugged at her lips as she spotted me.
"You look… serious," she said, tilting her head slightly, eyes glinting with amusement.
"I always look serious," I replied, stepping aside as she approached.
She grinned, almost mocking, and leaned casually against the car. "Well… I'm here. Don't faint or anything."
I didn't respond immediately. Instead, I watched. She had grown. Not just taller or prettier—she carried herself differently. Confident, fiery, untouchable. The girl I had known in high school, the sweet one everyone adored, was gone. Replaced by someone I found far more interesting.
⸻
Inside Le Ciel Noir, the restaurant hummed with muted conversation and the soft clinking of glasses. She led the way to the table, casually acknowledging the whispers from nearby patrons. "Yes, I know who you are," she said under her breath with a smirk. "No need to bow or protect me. I already have influence and protection, Mr. Moreau."
I let the corner of my lips twitch, amused. "Confidence," I said. "Still the same, I see."
"Hardly," she replied lightly. "I'm nothing like I used to be. I've… changed."
"You've changed," I echoed, my eyes scanning her carefully. "And yet, some things remain. The fire behind your eyes… the way you hide your claws behind a smile. That hasn't changed."
Her smirk widened. "You're full of yourself."
"I've been full of myself for a long time. And you…" I paused, letting my words sink. "You've made it… difficult to ignore."
She laughed lightly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Difficult is fun, though. Makes life interesting."
"Have you signed it?"
She paused for a sec then spoke
"I'm still thinking,"
I studied her over the table, and she leaned forward, playful, daring. "So… this contract thing. You want me for a year?"
"Yes," I said simply, my voice cold but steady. "One year. As my… contract wife. Everything else is negotiable."
Her eyes sparkled with mischief. "And why should I care about your negotiations? You do realize I don't need power or influence, right?"
"I know," I said, leaning back, watching her, my tone almost amused. "I offer it anyway. Because some things are… fun to see if they work."
She laughed again, light, musical, dangerous. "You think I need your influence, your protection, your contracts? Sweetheart, I've been surviving just fine."
I tilted my head, smiling faintly. She's grown. Stronger than I remembered. Wiser. Far more challenging than I planned.
She reached into her bag, pulling out her other phone, the one she used to text Mask Girl. I noticed the subtle hesitation as her fingers hovered over it. Smirked. So she was playing her own game—just as I had planned to do with her.
"You always had two sides," I said softly, a statement more than a question.
She raised an eyebrow, amused. "Always?"
"Yes. And I've been waiting for the right moment to see both."
She leaned back in her chair, smiling faintly, teasing. "Well, you've got a whole year to try."
I let the corner of my lips twitch. She thought this was playful. She didn't know what I had already decided in my mind. That one year wouldn't matter. That one year would be the start of everything.
The whispers from the restaurant around us grew. "Dante Moreau," someone muttered, voice low and awe-filled. Seraphine glanced at the murmurs, flicked her gaze back at me, and smirked.
"I don't need anyone watching me," she said, voice soft but fire-crackling. "Not you, not them."
I leaned forward slightly, eyes never leaving hers. "Good. I like it that way."
And in that moment, over the soft candlelight of a sophisticated restaurant, the game began. A year of contracts, of pretense, of teasing. She didn't know it yet, but I had been in love with her long before this. I just planned to take my time. And she… would keep me on my toes.