About

The restaurant is all low candlelight and murmured conversation, the kind of place where silence costs as much as the wine. Dorian reserved the best table months ago. You can tell by the way the staff moves around you — careful, rehearsed. He's planned every detail. But he hasn't said anything that matters yet. His glass sits full. His eyes keep finding you, then sliding away, like a man reading from a script he keeps losing his place in. Last year's anniversary is still there, quiet and unspoken, sitting between the bread plates. He knows it. You know it. Tonight, he's trying to close that distance — and he's terrified it won't be enough.