~TESSA'S POV~
"7pm!" He said.
I left out a breath of relief, as I stood in front of the mirror, fingers gripping the edge of the dresser as if it would stop the tremor in my chest. My reflection stared back, calm on the surface, chaos underneath. Tonight wasn't just dinner; it was a performance. Robert would be watching every detail, every word, and I couldn't afford to slip.
Sophie was connected on the line, her legs crossed, her eyes sharp as she studied me. "You're overthinking again."
"I'm not," I muttered, adjusting the neckline of my dress.
"Yes, you are," she countered. "You've changed your earrings three times in the last ten minutes. That's not fashion, it's panic."
I exhaled, pushing away from the mirror. "You don't understand, Sophie. This isn't just dinner. It's… him testing me."
She tilted her head. "Testing you how?"
I didn't answer immediately. My thoughts tangled, Robert's voice this evening, his watchful silence, the way his question had sliced through me like a blade: Where are you coming from? He didn't ask who, didn't demand names. But the weight behind his words was heavier than any direct confrontation.
"He notices things," I said finally. "Even when he doesn't say them out loud. He notices."
Sophie pushed herself upright, her expression softening. "And that scares you?"
"It should," I whispered.
The room hung heavy with silence until Sophie clapped her hands sharply.
"Okay, enough of it. Sit. Let me dictate what you should do."
I sank onto the edge of the bed, my fingers twisting in my lap. Her voice softened, almost conspiratorial.
"You've survived worse, Tessa. Dinner is dinner. You smile, you answer questions, you don't let him see through you. That's all. And remember, the media might appear, so be careful."
I swallowed hard, my chest tightening. "What if…"
"No what ifs," she cut in. "You walk in there steadily. That's all."
I nodded, trying to let her certainty bleed into me.
And by the time I was done, the evening stretched long across the floor, I was dressed and sitting perfectly still, rehearsing her words in my head. Minutes blurred into one another until the soft creak of the door pulled me back.
Robert filled the doorway effortlessly, tall and composed, his presence swallowing the air between us. His eyes scanned me once, lingering just enough to make my breath catch, but his expression gave nothing away.
"Ready?" His voice was calm, almost casual, but it carried weight.
I stood, smoothing invisible creases on my dress. "As I'll ever be."
He studied me a second longer, then nodded. "Good. Stay close. Say little unless spoken to."
"Like a shadow," I murmured.
An unstable moment of something, amusement? crossed his eyes before vanishing. "Shadows don't smile. You should."
I forced one, tentative at first. "Better?"
"Almost," he said, then stepped aside, gesturing toward the hall.
Sophie's warning pressed against my ears. Smile. Answer questions. Don't let him see through you.
Robert's hand brushed lightly at my back as he guided me forward, firm but measured. The corridor stretched ahead, every step pulling me closer to the inevitable.
"Dinner," he reminded me, as though reading my thoughts.
"Dinner," I repeated, steadying my breath.
His gaze lingered a second longer before he gave a short nod. "Let's not keep them waiting."
And then with that, we walked on.
The ride to the restaurant was wrapped in silence. He didn't ask questions, and I didn't offer answers. But the weight of his presence pressed against me, every glance from him carrying unspoken calculations. I kept my eyes on the passing city lights, silently rehearsing every possible conversation.
The restaurant buzzed with soft chatter, crystal glasses clinking under dim lighting. At the private table, Robert's associates were already waiting, faces I recognized from brief introductions but never truly knew.
"Mr. Miller," one of them greeted me warmly as Robert pulled out my chair before taking his own.
"Evening," Robert replied, his tone even, controlled.
The first part of dinner flowed with polite exchanges. Business talk dominated, numbers and contracts woven through the conversation. I nodded where appropriate, smiled when expected, though my mind raced with every pause, every shift in Robert's gaze.
At one point, the man beside me leaned closer. "And you, Tessa? What do you think of New York compared to L.A.?"
I straightened, careful with my tone. "New York is faster, louder, more… demanding. But it has its charm."
"Charm?" the man repeated, amused.
I forced a small laugh. "Yes. A city with teeth, but also with promise."
"Good answer," he said approvingly.
Across the table, I felt Robert's eyes on me. Not harsh, not warm, just assessing. The way one might study a chessboard.
Halfway through, the conversation shifted. One of the women at the table asked about relationships, teasing lightly about the strain of business on personal lives.
"Tessa manages just fine," Robert interjected smoothly, his voice calm but authoritative. "She understands balance."
All eyes turned to me. I smiled, hiding the stiffness in my chest. "I will try."
"And does he make it easy for you?" Someone teased me.
I glanced at Robert, his expression unreadable, before answering, "Sometimes. Sometimes not."
A ripple of laughter passed around the table. Robert's lips curved faintly, but his gaze on me was steady, sharp enough to unsettle.
The conversation moved on, but I knew he caught the edge in my tone. I'd given too much away.
After dessert, as we left the table, Robert's hand rested lightly on the small of my back. The touch was gentle, guiding, but it carried weight, possession, control.
"You did well," he said quietly once we stepped outside, his tone neutral.
"Did I?" I asked, trying to mask the unease in my voice.
His eyes found mine under the glow of the streetlights. "Yes. But you're distracted."
I swallowed, forcing a smile. "It's nothing. Just tired."
He studied me for a long moment, the silence between us sharp. Then, with the faintest curve of his mouth, he replied, "Rest, then. Tomorrow will be heavier."
The words weren't a warning, but they felt like one.
Back in the car, Sophie's earlier advice echoed in my mind: Don't let him see through you. But Robert wasn't blind. He was patient, calculated, and far too observant.
As the city lights blurred past the window, I leaned back against the seat, keeping my face calm. Yet inside, my thoughts twisted: how much longer before he pieced everything together?
Robert's voice broke the silence. "You didn't answer me earlier."
I blinked. "About what?"
"About what's weighing on you."
I hesitated. "Because there's nothing."
He gave a quiet hum, neither believing nor challenging me outright. "We'll see."
His tone was soft, but it carried the same authority that had haunted me since last night. He didn't need to raise his voice, didn't need to demand answers, his control lay in patience, in the way he made silence feel heavier than questions.
As the car rolled to a stop in front of the mansion, I forced myself to smile. "Thank you for tonight."
His eyes lingered on me before he opened his door. "Don't thank me yet Tessa."
And with that, he stepped out, leaving me with the echo of his words, words that felt less like a comment, and more like a promise.