“Ms. Nicholson, you’re back,” Natasha said, looking up with a bright smile. “We were just finishing up. The food here was great. Thank you for the recommendation.”
The way she phrased it positioned herself and Dustin as a pair, with Dahlia as the outsider. Dahlia managed a strained smile. “I’m glad you enjoyed it.”
She glanced at Dustin. Whatever faint hope she’d had of talking to him alone withered under Natasha’s sharp look and his blank expression.
“I have a meeting this evening, so I should get going,” Dahlia said, grabbing her handbag and rising to her feet. “The bill’s taken care of.”
“Oh, we couldn’t possibly let you pay for everything,” Natasha said apologetically, but her expression showed no such concern.
“It’s just a meal. Don’t worry about it,” Dahlia responded, her eyes on Dustin. Something unreadable flickered in her face before she simply said, “Take care, Dustin. He nodded, his expression uncharged. ” You too.”
They exchanged no further pleasantries. The apology or reconciliation she might have hoped for never came.
Dahlia took one last look at them, as if committing the scene to memory. Then she turned and walked away, her heels clicking against the floor as she left the place that had brought her nothing but pain.
As Natasha watched her departing figure, she finally relaxed and exhaled deeply. She felt like she’d just won a battle.
“Thank god she’s gone,” she said, leaning against Dustin’s shoulder with a slightly playful tone. “Having a meal with your ex-wife was so stressful.”
He wrapped an arm around her shoulder and gave it a gentle pat without saying anything. His gaze drifted toward where Dahlia had disappeared, but his mind was calm.
The past was behind him. What mattered now was the woman beside him.
After leaving the barbecue restaurant, Dahlia got into her luxury car and closed her eyes. She’d missed her chance with Dustin. That door had closed, and it wasn’t opening again.
Seeing him today wasn’t a coincidence. It was facing the truth of what she’d lost. The regret sat like a stone in her chest. It would take a long time before that weight was lifted.
Night fell over the city, its neon glow spreading like liquid light across the streets.
Dustin and Natasha ended their date and headed home. She drove her red sports car with mellow music drifting through the cabin.
She was still savoring her victory over Dahlia, while Dustin rested against his seat with closed eyes. He was still adjusting to the tiredness that came with being mortal again.
But the peaceful drive didn’t last long When they turned onto a quiet stretch of riverside road leading to the gated estates, everything went sideways.
The screech of tires cut through the night, followed by the crunch of metal. About eight black vans suddenly appeared out of nowhere, surrounding them from all sides and forcing them to stop. One swerved directly into their path, its bumper scraping against the hood.
Natasha jerked forward before the seatbelt caught her. She looked out the window, her eyes flashing with shock and fury.
Something slammed into the hood hard enough to make the windows rattle.
Gilbert stood there with his face still wrapped in bandages, one arm in a cast. He was gripping a metal baseball bat in his good hand. He’d just brought it down on the hood, leaving a noticeable dent
His face contorted with savage pleasure as he screamed through the windshield, “Get the hell out of here, you bastards!”
The doors of the other vans swung open, and dozens of men jumped out carrying steel pipes, machetes, and clubs. They surrounded the sports car within seconds, murderous intent written all over their faces.
Behind them a Rolls-Royce door opened. A young man in a tailored suit stepped out, radiating cold menace. He leaned against the hood and casually lit a cigar. It was Gilbert’s elder brother, Frederick Chandler.
He watched the surrounded sports car with a smirk, like he was about to enjoy a good show. Anyone who dared to cross the Chandler family and injure one of their own had it coming.
Inside the car, Natasha’s face paled. She instinctively looked at Dustin.
Frowning, he quickly assessed the situation outside and saw dozens of armed thugs. With his current mortal body, he might handle ten with skill and experience alone. But against these numbers, fighting head-on would be suicide.
“Call the police,” Dustin said decisively, his voice steady. “Then call your grandfather and tell him to send people over.”
Natasha didn’t waste a second. She grabbed her phone and dialed emergency services, quickly explaining their location and the armed mob surrounding them. As soon as she finished, she fired off an encrypted text to her grandfather.
Outside, Gilbert saw them sitting still in the car, and it only made him angrier. He kept hammering the hood with the bat, spittle flying as he screamed.
“Dustin! What happened to all that tough guy shit? Weren’t you gonna kick my ass? Come out here and show me now. I’m gonna beat you so bad you’ll be shitting yourself.”
