The engine roared to life, and Mr. Unknown's smirk stretched across his face as he adjusted the rearview mirror. Racheal's chest tightened. She wasn't sure where they were going, and the uncertainty gnawed at her.
Before he shifted fully into drive, he inched closer, the warmth from his presence brushing against her shoulder. Racheal's stomach knotted. What is he planning? she wondered, but he didn't answer, didn't even glance at her question.
Her hands fidgeted nervously on her lap. "You're foolish to think—" she whispered under her breath, though he didn't hear it.
He turned the key, the car humming as it glided smoothly out of the parking lot. The city blurred past, rich buildings reflecting the morning sun. Racheal's mind raced, noticing the boutiques, sleek cars, and streets that screamed wealth—a world she had never belonged to.
His deep, cold voice suddenly cut through her thoughts. "Out."
Racheal froze. "Out?" she asked, her voice betraying her confusion.
"Yes," he said, smirking. "Out of the car. Or must I carry you?"
Her eyes widened. "Carry me?!" she exclaimed, cheeks burning. Is he serious?
He didn't answer with words—only that smirk, sharp and knowing. She could feel his gaze, assessing, teasing, almost daring her. Swallowing her pride, Racheal sighed and slid out of the car, aware of every pair of eyes on her as they approached the grand restaurant.
Inside, the opulence of the place made her pause. Crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, and polished marble reflected the soft glow of candles. Every table seemed to carry its own story of extravagance. Racheal didn't want to move further, but his cold eyes followed her, unmoving, waiting.
Her thoughts swirled. Why am I here? What does he want from me?
He ignored her silent questions, seating himself at the table with decisive grace. Moments later, a waiter brought the first dish—freshly cooked eggs, golden toast, and sizzling bacon—but he began eating immediately, not offering her a single bite.
Racheal's eyebrows furrowed. Is he serious?
Finally, between bites, he looked at her, his tone amused. "I want you to accompany me for breakfast."
The words caught her off guard. She opened her mouth, ready to refuse, but her voice came out small and hesitant: "I—I don't—"
Then she realized. Every eye in the restaurant was subtly on her—the hush of attention, the curious glances, the faint whisper of recognition. Her cheeks flushed bright red, embarrassment surging like wildfire.
Mr. Unknown noticed immediately. Inside, he smiled faintly, the thrill of the moment flashing across his eyes. She's beautiful when flustered. Even now, she thinks she can resist me. How predictable…
Racheal swallowed hard, adjusting her dress and trying to gather her composure. But she couldn't ignore the feeling of being watched. The luxurious surroundings, the stares, and his commanding presence all pressed down on her at once.
And yet, she found herself slowly sliding into the chair opposite him, not out of surrender, but because somewhere deep down, she didn't know how to refuse.
He leaned back slightly, smirk still in place, observing her with quiet satisfaction. She's mine to unravel, one moment at a time, he thought, savoring the mix of defiance and vulnerability that made her uniquely irresistible.