Chapter 3
The sound of heavy rain lashing against my bedroom window woke me, but it was the scream that actually jolted me upright.
My own scream.
My heart hammered violently against my ribs as I tried to orient myself. The familiar, comforting blue walls of my bedroom slowly came into focus. The soft, red glow of my alarm clock read 5:47 AM.
Saturday morning.
The day
*The Date*.
Why does this bother me soo much
"Mom," I whispered, the terrifying remnants of the nightmare still clinging to my skin like icy cobwebs.
In my dream, she had been standing at the absolute edge of a jagged cliff, her white dress billowing fiercely in a storm.
I had been screaming for her, running as fast as my legs could carry me, but she couldn't hear me over the thunder.
When she finally turned to face me, her eyes were entirely empty.
Her mouth formed words I couldn't understand.
And then she was falling. Falling, falling, falling...
I pressed the heels of my palms against my eyes, taking deep, shaky breaths to erase the image. These dreams had started years ago after her death, but they had gotten so much worse recently. More vivid. More terrifying.
I glanced at the clock again. 5:49 AM. Too early to call Mia. Too late to force my racing heart back to sleep.
I flopped back onto my pillow and stared up at the ceiling, where the glow-in-the-dark stars my mom had stuck up when I was seven still clung stubbornly to the paint.
The past few days had been... well, what can I say?
Suspenseful?
Yeah. That was the polite word for it.
I am the kind of girl who will not find a single ounce of peace until the event disrupting my life is completely over. In short: I worry way too much for my age.
Don't blame me. I inherited it from my mom. At least, I like to believe I did.
"Fine," I muttered to the empty room, throwing the heavy duvet off my legs. "I'm up."
Now, you might be wondering... *Grace, didn't your dad hear you scream?*
To answer your question: No.
My bedroom is entirely soundproof. Courtesy of me, myself, and I, after weeks and months of begging and requesting my dad to install the panels. Come on, a girl needs her privacy! But honestly? The real reason was much heavier.
I couldn't have my father rushing in, his blood pressure spiking, completely terrified for me every time I had a nightmare. He was sick. His heart was fragile. My absolute biggest priority in life was keeping him completely stress-free.
The rain had turned into a steady, gloomy downpour by the time I had showered and dressed for my Saturday nursing classes. Perfect. Nothing said "I am going to meet a terrifying military commander" quite like showing up to the weekend looking like a drowned rat.
Dad was already in the kitchen when I trudged downstairs. He was humming a soft jazz tune, flipping pancakes with the kind of cheerful, morning energy that should have been illegal before 8 AM.
He was always an early riser. A trait I unfortunately did not inherit. And he could cook. Much better than me.
Should I be ashamed of myself? *Nah!*
"Morning, sweetheart," he smiled, sliding a steaming plate of pancakes toward me. "Big day today."
I grabbed my fork and stabbed a pancake a little harder than necessary. "Don't remind me."
Dad chuckled, leaning against the marble counter with his own plate. He looked happy, but I noticed the slight tremor in his hand, the pale tint to his skin. It made my chest ache.
"You know, you might actually enjoy yourself," he teased gently.
"I might also win the lottery without buying a ticket," I muttered, drowning my breakfast in maple syrup.
"Alexander is a good man, Gracie."
I nearly choked on my orange juice, coughing into my napkin. "You know his name?! You've been calling him 'my friend's son' or 'the honorable' all week!"
Dad had the decency to look slightly embarrassed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Well, yes. General Alexander Reeves. Thirty-two years old. Distinguished military career. Graduate of the highest command academy—"
I stopped breathing.
*Thirty-two?!*
Damn. He was ten years older than me.
Another massive reason to be absolutely terrified. I was twenty-two, trying to memorize pediatric drug dosages, and he was a thirty-two-year-old hardened war veteran.
"Dad, you've been talking about him all week like he's a potential employee!" I set my fork down with a loud clatter. "This is a date, not a corporate job interview!"
Dad raised an amused eyebrow. "Same difference sometimes."
"Gross." I pushed my plate away, suddenly entirely lacking an appetite. "I'm going to be late for school."
Yes, school. I was weeks away from writing my final nursing board exams, which meant I attended grueling extra pharmacology lessons every Saturday morning.
"Grace," Dad’s voice softened, stopping me at the kitchen doorway. "Just... keep an open mind, okay?"
I looked back at him. At the hopeful, tired lines around his eyes.
I nodded, though my stomach twisted violently with anxiety. "I'll try."
The rain had lightened to a misty drizzle by the time I reached the campus gates.
Mia was already there, huddled under a bright, obnoxious yellow umbrella, looking like a glowing beacon of energy. We attended the same extra lessons, but somehow, she always looked like she had consumed three shots of espresso before arriving.
"So?" Mia demanded the absolute second I was within earshot. "Are we doing emergency shopping after school?"
I blinked, pulling my hood up. "Emergency shopping?"
"For the date! You need something amazing to wear." She hooked her arm securely through mine, dragging me toward the lecture hall. "I have been researching Lucious Restaurant all morning. It is fancy, Grace. Like, *really* fancy. The kind of place where they serve food with tweezers."
"Great," I groaned miserably. "So not only am I meeting a terrifying, thirty-two-year-old military man, but I have to do it while wearing uncomfortable shoes."
Mia squeezed my arm tightly. "That's the spirit! Now come on, we have pharmacology to fail before we can plan your killer outfit."
The day passed in an absolute, mind-numbing blur of drug interactions, side effects, and rising anxiety.
By the time the final bell rang at 2 PM, my brain felt like mush, and my stomach was doing Olympic-level gymnastics.
"Emergency shopping, now!" Mia announced, grabbing my hand and practically dragging me toward the campus gates.
"Mia, can't we just go home? I'm exhausted."
"And look like a walking zombie on your date with a General? Absolutely no way." She hailed a taxi with the aggressive confidence of someone twice her age. "Besides, retail therapy is scientifically proven to reduce anxiety."
"Says who?" I asked, sliding into the backseat of the taxi after her.
"Says me," Mia declared proudly. She paused, adding far more seriously, "And my therapist."
I raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Your therapist talks to you about mall shopping?"
"Life skills, Gracie. Life skills," she said with a wink.
*(Note: I have never actually met this therapist, and I am entirely convinced she makes them up to win arguments).*
The luxury mall downtown was mercifully quiet for a Saturday afternoon. Mia marched us straight past the casual stores and directly into the high-end formal section of a massive department store.
She began pulling dresses off the racks with the ruthless precision of a military commander herself.
"Too frumpy," she muttered, aggressively discarding a floral number. "Too revealing. He's a General, not a frat boy. Too boring. Too... whatever this neon monstrosity is."
I stood awkwardly beside her, feeling like a useless mannequin waiting to be dressed. "Mia, I really don't think—"
"Try this." She suddenly spun around, thrusting a deep, midnight-blue dress into my arms. "The color will make your eyes pop."
I glanced at the price tag dangling from the sleeve and physically winced. "Mia, this costs more than my entire nursing wardrobe combined."
"Your dad gave you his credit card, right?" Mia asked with a perfectly innocent, wicked smile.
I sighed heavily. "He did, but..."
My dad was going all out for this, which honestly terrified me.
Don't misinterpret me. We weren't poor. My dad owned his own successful contracting company. But we... well, *I* just didn't spend this much money on things like dresses. It felt more like I was shopping for an engagement party, not a date.
A date which, I was absolutely certain, would not progress any further. For my own good.
"No buts. Try it on," Mia ordered, shoving me toward the fitting rooms.
Twenty minutes later, I stood in front of the three-way dressing room mirror, staring at a version of myself I barely recognized.
The deep blue silk hugged my curves perfectly. The neckline was an elegant boat-neck, incredibly classy without being revealing, and the hem fell just perfectly above my knees. The back dipped into a modest V-shape, adding just a hint of modernity to it.
"Grace!" Mia gasped loudly when I finally stepped out from behind the curtain. "You look incredible!"
I turned slowly, examining myself from different angles, my cheeks flushing slightly. "I don't know... it's so different from what I usually wear. It’s so... loud."
"That is exactly the point!" Mia circled me like a professional art critic. "You need to make an impression. First impressions are absolutely everything with rigid military types."
I caught my reflection again and felt a strange flutter in my chest. It wasn't quite confidence, but maybe its distant, shy cousin. "I guess it does look nice."
"Nice? Grace, you look like you just stepped off the cover of Vogue," Mia said, gently adjusting the shoulder strap of the dress. "This is the one. Period."
I looked at my reflection again, entirely surprised by how the rich color made my eyes seem brighter, more alive. "Maybe... maybe you're right."
"Of course I'm right. Now, shoes." She was already scanning the display shelves. "Heels or flats?"
"Heels?
!Mia!, I will literally break my neck in front of him!"
"You'll look amazing breaking your neck," she insisted, holding up a pair of elegant, strappy silver heels. "These match perfectly."
I groaned loudly but took them from her outstretched hand anyway. "Fine. But if I fall on my face tonight and end up as a viral meme, I am entirely blaming you."
"Deal." She grinned. "Now, accessories. Simple or statement?"
"Simple," I said firmly, putting my foot down. "I don't want to look like I'm trying too hard."
Mia nodded thoughtfully. "Good call. Understated elegance. Very alluring."
*Alluring.*
I groaned inwardly.
That was not the plan. The plan was to go in, be polite and calm for my sake, survive the dinner, and then go out.
That easy. I told myself.
I doubted a man like him would even want anything to do with me afterward anyway. We lived in two entirely different universes.
He was *him*. dominant, terrifying General.
I was just *me*. Plain, twenty-two-year-old, anxious Grace.
There was absolutely no way this date was going to end in anything but a polite, mutually agreed-upon goodbye.
.
.
.
If only I knew.
Yeah
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