Chapter 4
Saturday, 5:30 PM.
I checked my reflection for what felt like the hundredth time in the massive, gold-rimmed mirror inside the ladies' restroom of Lucious Restaurant.
"Relax," I muttered to myself, smoothing down the deep blue dress that hugged my figure perfectly. "It's just dinner... not a military interrogation."
Except it somehow felt infinitely worse than an interrogation.
I had absolutely no idea what kind of man General Alexander Reeves really was.
The internet painted him as a cold, emotionless military genius who could silence an entire room of politicians with a single look. The news anchors called him "The Iron General."
My father called him honorable.
Mia called him "walking, terrifying husband material."
I wasn't convinced by any of those descriptions. I was just twenty-two, entirely out of my depth, and currently fighting the urge to climb out the bathroom window.
Taking one last, shaky breath, I pushed open the restroom door and walked back into the main dining area.
Soft piano music drifted through the air, and warm, golden lights reflected off the polished marble floors. Waiters glided between the tables with practiced, silent elegance.
I glanced at my wristwatch.
5:32 PM.
I was twenty-eight minutes early.
Of course I was. I always arrived early when I was nervous, and right now, my heart was beating so fast I was surprised it hadn't cracked my ribs.
The maitre d' led me to a quiet, secluded booth near the back of the restaurant.
As soon as I sat down, my phone buzzed in my clutch purse.
**Mia:** *Operation Date has officially begun. I am sitting at the bar across the room. I have disguised myself behind an enormous arrangement of white lilies. Do NOT look at me. I am a fern.*
I couldn't help but smile, my tense shoulders dropping just a fraction. I quickly typed back.
**Grace:** *If he arrests me for being awkward, please feed my dad's fish.*
**Mia:** *If he catches me spying, tell my mother I died doing what I love. Deep breaths, Gracie!*
I set my phone face-down on the table.
Five minutes passed.
Then ten.
I opened the leather-bound menu and pretended to study it, but my brain couldn't process a single word. Every time the heavy glass doors of the restaurant opened, my heart jumped into my throat.
*Not him.*
*Not him.*
*Still not him.*
And then... at exactly six o'clock... the restaurant changed.
I didn't even have to look at the door. The low, polite conversations around the entrance simply faded away. The clinking of silverware stopped. The piano player seemed to miss a note.
The air in the room grew suddenly, terrifyingly heavy.
I slowly lifted my head.
A tall man in a flawlessly tailored, charcoal-gray suit had just stepped inside.
He had no bodyguards. He made no dramatic entrance. Yet somehow, his sheer, dominating presence suffocated the entire room.
General Alexander Reeves.
He was incredibly massive. Six-foot-four, broad-shouldered, with dark hair neatly combed back. His jaw was sharp enough to cut glass, and his cold, glacial-gray eyes swept across the restaurant once before locking directly onto my booth.
He found me.
My breath caught in my throat.
His expression didn't change. Not even slightly.
He walked toward me with calm, measured steps that carried the absolute, unyielding discipline of a man who spent his life commanding armies. Every movement was controlled. Every breath deliberate.
Before I could even process what was happening, my body reacted entirely on its own. I stood up as he approached, as if my muscles had been instinctively ordered to stand at attention in his presence.
I suddenly became very, very interested in the white tablecloth.
He stopped right beside my table.
"Miss Zane," he said.
His deep, gravelly voice wasn't loud. It didn't need to be. The raw authority in his tone vibrated straight through the air and directly into my chest.
"G-General Reeves," I stammered, my natural shyness completely paralyzing my vocal cords.
There was a brief, heavy silence. His sharp eyes tracked the fierce blush spreading across my cheeks.
Then, without saying a single word, Alexander stepped forward and pulled out my chair.
I blinked, completely stunned.
I hadn't expected that. He was the most feared man in the country, yet he was offering me a quiet, gentlemanly courtesy.
"Thank you," I whispered, sinking back into my seat.
He gave one short, rigid nod before walking to the other side of the table and taking his own seat.
My phone vibrated violently on the table.
I glanced down at the screen.
**Mia:** *brEAKING NEWS: THE ICEBERG HAS MANNERS. He pulled out your chair! I am screaming into my lilies!*
I quickly flipped my phone over, terrified he would see the notification.
A waiter approached our table, standing entirely too stiffly, his hands visibly shaking as he held his notepad.
"W-Would you like to order, sir?" the waiter squeaked.
Alexander closed his menu without even looking at it. "I will have the grilled salmon."
The waiter turned his panicked eyes to me.
I smiled politely, trying to project the calm energy the poor man desperately needed. "I'll have the creamy mushroom pasta, please."
"And bring chamomile tea," Alexander added bluntly.
My head snapped up in surprise, but the waiter was already fleeing the table.
Alexander glanced at me for exactly one second before looking away again. It wasn't judgment in his eyes. It was pure observation. Everything about him suggested he noticed every single detail in a room without even trying.
Silence settled between us.
It was heavy. Intimidating.
I cleared my throat, my fingers nervously twisting the fabric of my napkin under the table.
"So..." I started.
Another pause.
"I've heard a lot about you."
Alexander met my gaze. "I imagine most of it wasn't flattering."
I let out a soft, nervous laugh. "You're very honest."
"I dislike pretending."
His answer was simple. Matter-of-fact. Uncompromising.
I wasn't sure whether I liked that... or entirely feared it.
He folded his large, calloused hands neatly on the table.
"What are your plans after graduation?" he asked.
I blinked. That wasn't what I expected. I thought military men only cared about politics and strategy.
"You... know I'm still in university?"
"I asked."
Of course he had. A General wouldn't walk into a room without full intelligence on his target.
"I'm studying nursing," I answered, my voice steadying slightly.
He nodded once. "You enjoy it?"
"I do."
"Why?"
I hesitated. Most people just asked what hospital I wanted to work at. No one ever asked *why*.
"Because..." I said softly, looking down at my hands. "When someone is frightened or in pain, sometimes simple kindness helps just as much as medicine. I want to be the person who makes terrified people feel safe."And that is why i specialized in pediatrics
Alexander didn't reply immediately.
Instead, he studied me. Not my dress. Not my appearance. He looked directly into my eyes, as if he was weighing the absolute purity of every word I had just spoken.
Finally, the rigid tension in his broad shoulders softened by a fraction of an inch.
"That is a rare answer," he said quietly.
I smiled, a genuine, warm smile, completely forgetting to be terrified for a second. "What about you? Do you ever regret your path?"
His expression hardened just enough for me to notice.
"No."
The single word landed with heavy, absolute certainty. It wasn't arrogance. It was pure conviction.
I realized something right then. General Alexander Reeves was not a man who wasted words. If he said something... he meant it as a fact.
Our meals arrived, and the delicious smell of the food helped ease the knot in my stomach.
I relaxed a little. *Maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all,* I thought. *He's intense, but he's listening to me.*
I reached across the table for my water glass.
Unfortunately... my hand misjudged the distance. The flowing sleeve of my dress caught the heavy crystal base.
The glass tipped over.
Ice-cold water flooded straight across the pristine white tablecloth, splashing directly onto Alexander's wrist and soaking the expensive cuff of his tailored suit.
"Oh my God!" I gasped, my eyes widening in absolute horror. I shot up from my chair. "I'm so sorry!"
I expected him to scowl. I expected him to summon a waiter and demand a new table.
Instead, without the slightest change in his stoic expression, Alexander calmly reached into his breast pocket. He pulled out a perfectly folded, navy-blue handkerchief and placed it gently on the table right in front of me.
"For your hands," he ordered softly.
There was no sigh. No sharp criticism. No dramatic reassurance either. Just quiet, grounded efficiency.
I stared at the handkerchief, my cheeks burning, and slowly picked it up to dry my trembling fingers. "Thank you."
I looked at his soaked sleeve. "You got wet because of me. I ruined your suit."
Alexander looked down at his arm, then back to me.
"It washes."
That was all.
I paused. I looked at the terrifying, dominant man sitting across from me, brushing off a ruined suit with two words, and I couldn't hold it back anymore.
A tiny giggle escaped my lips. Then another.
"Do you always answer with the fewest words possible?" I asked, a shy smile breaking across my face.
"I have been told."
"Doesn't it make conversations difficult?"
"Sometimes."
"You could try talking more."
"I could."
"...Will you?"
"No."
For one heartbeat... I just stared at him.
And then, I burst into laughter. Real, genuine, unrestrained laughter.
Alexander looked at me, his expression entirely unreadable.
"I wasn't joking, Grace," he stated flatly.
"I know!" I said between laughs, my eyes crinkling. "That's exactly what makes it funny!"
For the briefest, most fleeting second, something shifted in his sharp gray eyes. It wasn't a smile. Not quite. But the cold, glacial edge around them melted away before completely disappearing.
Dinner continued so much more naturally after that.
Alexander asked about my dad's health. My classes.
He never interrupted me. He never checked his phone. He never spoke unless he had something absolutely necessary to say. I found myself talking far more than I had intended. I wasn't trying to impress him; I simply felt like he was actually *listening* to me, not just waiting for his turn to speak.
When the leather bill folder arrived, I immediately reached for my purse.
Alexander's large hand clamped down on the folder before I could even unzip my bag.
"I invited you," he stated bluntly.
"I can pay for myself," I argued softly.
"I know."
He handed the waiter his black card anyway, not breaking eye contact with me.
I frowned, my natural shyness battling with my stubbornness. "I don't like feeling indebted to people."
His intense gray eyes locked onto mine.
"Then invite me next time."
I froze completely.
*Next time?*
Was that... an invitation? From the General himself?
Before I could even process the words, Alexander stood up, walked around the table, and pulled my chair back for me once more.
Outside, the evening air was cool and crisp. The city lights blurred in the damp air as we walked to where my father's driver was waiting for me.
Alexander stopped beside the car door.
There was another brief, heavy silence. I clutched his navy-blue handkerchief tightly in my hands, wondering if this was where normal people shook hands, or said an awkward goodbye.
Instead, Alexander turned his massive frame to face me. He looked down at me for a long, intense moment.
"I enjoyed tonight, miss zane."
Just five words.
No smile. No flirting. No flowery promises.
Yet somehow, as his deep voice washed over me... they sounded like the most completely sincere words anyone had ever spoken to me.
I opened the car door, my heart doing a complicated, terrifying flutter.
"Thank you... General," I whispered softly.
He gave a single, rigid nod. "Drive safely."
He turned and walked toward his own waiting black sedan. He didn't look back. There was no dramatic farewell. Within seconds, his car disappeared into the city traffic.
I climbed into the backseat. My father's driver glanced at me in the rearview mirror with a knowing smile.
"How was it, Miss Grace?"
I stared out the window, my thumb slowly tracing the soft fabric of Alexander's handkerchief.
"I..." I frowned, completely overwhelmed. "I don't understand him."
"Is that good or bad?" the driver chuckled.
"I honestly don't know."
But as the city lights blurred outside the window, that low, gravelly voice kept echoing in my mind.
*I enjoyed tonight.*
Simple. Calm. Uncomplicated.
Yet somehow... I knew I was in massive, inescapable trouble.
***
"First impressions can be deceiving... ?? So tell me... are you officially Team 'Scary General' or Team 'Secret Green Flag'? ???"
Bye Lovelies!
See you later!
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