"Beatrice," Anton said softly, his deep voice smooth and dangerously alluring, "you still look breathtaking."

The words alone sent warmth rushing through her chest.

Anton slowly pulled the chair across from her, every movement deliberate and unhurried, as though he already knew she was watching him closely. The dim golden lights of the private restaurant reflected against his sharp features, making him appear even more devastatingly handsome than she remembered.

The moment he sat down, he casually reached across the table and brushed his fingers over her hand.

Such a simple touch.

Yet Beatrice felt as though flames had spread beneath her skin.

Anton’s eyebrow lifted slightly in surprise at how soft her hand still felt beneath his fingers. His gaze lingered on her face, quietly studying her. He searched for signs of age, traces of the years that had passed since they last met, but if there were any, they were hidden beneath elegant makeup and the natural grace she carried herself with.

Beatrice was still a beautiful woman.

In her mid-forties, yes—but mature in the most intoxicating way. Refined. Experienced. Confident in ways younger women often were not.

And Anton suddenly realized how long it had been since he had sat across from someone like her.

He had spent years surrounded by younger women whose beauty was effortless but predictable. Their conversations felt repetitive, their affection shallow, their seduction almost rehearsed.

But Beatrice...

There was something richer about her.

Something warmer.

The way she looked at him now—with admiration she couldn’t fully conceal—stirred something restless inside him.

"You flatter me, Anton," Beatrice replied in a low, sultry voice. "But you... you’re still as handsome as ever. Maybe even more dangerous now."

She gently clasped his hand between both of hers, her thumb slowly caressing his skin.

Anton smirked faintly.

He could see it clearly in her eyes.

The longing.

The years of restraint.

The hunger she was trying so hard to hide behind elegance and composure.

"I’m starving," Anton said casually as he withdrew his hand, breaking the tension before it became too obvious. "Let’s eat first."

"Of course," Beatrice replied quickly, recovering herself as she began serving the appetizers onto his plate.

Not long after, waiters entered one after another, carefully placing expensive dishes across the candlelit table.

Anton let out a low chuckle as his eyes swept across the selection.

Fresh oysters.

Steak cooked medium rare.

Red ginseng wine.

Several dishes known for awakening desire.

His amusement deepened.

"It seems," he said lazily while reaching for his wine glass, "you haven’t had a man around in a very long time."

Beatrice laughed softly, though a faint blush crept across her cheeks.

"And how exactly did you figure that out?"

"Instinct," Anton replied smoothly.

He sliced into his rare steak, crimson juices spreading across the porcelain plate as he lifted a bite to his mouth with effortless calm.

Across from him, Beatrice lowered her gaze, suddenly finding her own meal very interesting.

The atmosphere between them grew heavier with every passing minute.

Warm.

Dangerous.

Charged with unspoken tension.

"So," Anton said after taking another sip of wine, "you’re staying at the Zuvel mansion these days?"

Beatrice looked up, slightly surprised by the sudden shift in topic.

"Yes. Moira wanted to reconnect with her daughter," she explained. "The child is growing up quickly. She realized she couldn’t keep staying absent from her life."

Anton nodded slowly.

"A smart decision."

He lifted the crystal glass again, drinking nearly half the wine in one smooth swallow before casually adding,

"I heard Ares brought something back from the forest two days ago."

Beatrice blinked.

"You heard about that already?"

Anton only smiled faintly.

"The guards mentioned it was military equipment recovered from Mount Ourea," she continued carefully. "But whatever it is, the information’s classified."

"I see."

Though his expression remained relaxed, something sharper flickered briefly behind his eyes.

The conversation drifted after that, moving between light teasing and quiet exchanges while the wine steadily dissolved the distance between them.

By the time dinner ended, both of them were slightly intoxicated.

Anton rose from his chair and slowly walked around the table toward her side.

The closer he got, the stronger her perfume became.

Soft.

Elegant.

Subtly intoxicating.

The scent curled into his senses and stirred something primal inside him.

He stopped beside her chair, lowering his gaze toward her.

"Come on, Bea," he murmured, his voice dropping into something lower and more intimate. "Let me take you somewhere special."

...

Inside the backseat of the all-black Bentley Mulsanne, Anton finally lost the iron control he prided himself on.

He had underestimated Beatrice.

Completely.

The elegant, composed woman who had greeted him over candlelight and wine had transformed into something far more intoxicating once they were alone. Every touch, every whisper against his skin, every lingering kiss carried the confidence of a woman who knew exactly how to unravel a man piece by piece.

And Anton—who rarely surrendered control to anyone—had allowed her to take over completely.

The tinted windows concealed the heated chaos unfolding inside the luxury car as it glided through the silent streets of Calma.

For the first time in years, Anton felt transported back to his reckless youth.

Back to stolen moments hidden in expensive cars.

Back to nights fueled by danger, adrenaline, and desire.

The leather seats creaked softly beneath them while the the streetlights flashed across the windows like fleeting sparks. Beatrice’s breathless moans filled the confined space, growing hoarse from how often his name had fallen from her lips.

Outside, the world remained unaware.

Inside, the atmosphere burned unbearably hot.

The driver, wisely experienced in handling his employer’s private affairs, kept his headphones on and the music loud enough to drown out everything happening behind the partition. Without a single complaint, he circled the town three separate times before finally steering toward Ranova once the violent jolting from the backseat gradually settled.

Anton leaned back against the seat, his breathing rougher than usual as he ran his fingers slowly through Beatrice’s damp hair.

A satisfied smirk touched his lips.

"Bea," he murmured, his voice low and still thick with lingering desire, "I have something I need you to do."

Beatrice lifted her head slightly from his chest, her cheeks flushed and her lipstick hopelessly ruined. Even now, her eyes remained filled with infatuation as though she were still trapped in the overwhelming haze he had pulled her into.

"But we’ll talk about it once we arrive."

"I love you, Anton," she whispered softly, her voice breathless and hoarse as she brushed her lips against his ear. "I’d do anything for you."

Her words carried absolute devotion.

And that dangerous level of loyalty made Anton’s eyes darken slightly.

Meanwhile, Beatrice still felt intoxicated by everything that had just happened.

Her entire body burned pleasantly, her mind floating somewhere between exhaustion and bliss. Being with Anton again after all these years felt overwhelming—like reliving an old fantasy she had never truly forgotten.

To her, the world outside the car no longer existed.

There was only him.

And the dizzying feeling that she had just been pulled into heavenly bliss...