By the time I got home, I was too tired to even lift a finger. I collapsed into bed and didn't wake up until late evening, completely unaware that the sun had already set.
Knock knock— Someone rapped gently at the door, pulling me out of my deep slumber. Groggy and slow, I dragged myself out of bed, with eyes barely open, shuffled to the door.
It was Aunty Mary. As always, she stood with a polite bow and a soft smile on her pale, gentle face.
"Miss, sorry to disturb you," she said calmly. "Sir Matteo just called to remind you about tonight's dinner. I think you should start getting dressed if you don't want to be late."
Oh right...the dinner. I'd completely forgotten.
"Thank you, Aunty Mary. I'll get ready now," I said, trying to sound more awake than I felt. I rushed to the bathroom for a quick shower. My heart still wasn't on board with the whole idea. Maybe I could fake an illness?
No...knowing that psycho Matteo, he'll show up with a medical team and a stretcher in under an hour.
Fine. If I can't avoid it, I'll face it with confidence. I need to find out whether this is just a dinner or a laid trap prepared for me.
***
The Bentley pulled up in front of the entrance to a luxurious Michelin-starred restaurant, the same one Matteo had texted me earlier. A uniformed butler promptly opened the car door for me, his movements precise and professional.
Of course. This kind of treatment was tailored for high society — nobles, CEOs, and people who casually used "private chef" in daily conversation.
Despite the occasion being "just dinner," I felt a flicker of nerves. This was my first time in such an upscale setting. Even though it was supposedly only four of us, it didn't feel simple at all.
As I stepped inside, the restaurant doors glided open without a sound, shutting out the noise of the busy street. The air turned quiet and refined.
The restaurant, named Le Fleur, had three floors. The ground floor was open to the public, but the second and third were reserved for private dining.
Warm golden light bathed the interior, giving it a calm, elegant atmosphere. The walls were muted grey and brown tones, understated yet expensive. Each table was dressed with soft white linens and gleaming cutlery, perfectly arranged.
A well-dressed man approached me with a courteous smile. "Good evening, miss. Do you have a reservation?"
"Yes," I replied, suddenly conscious of how loud my voice felt. "Under the name Matteo." I said.
"One moment, miss." He tapped on a sleek tablet. "You may follow the waiter to the third floor private room. Sir Matteo is still on his way, so please feel free to wait inside."
"Thank you." I returned his smile politely, trying to keep my composure.
I followed a young waiter across the plush carpet and into the elevator. Moments later, we reached the third floor. He opened the door and stepped aside, bowing slightly as I thanked him.
Inside was a private dining room set for four, soft candlelight flickering on the table. Elegant cutlery gleamed under the glow. The ambiance screamed romantic dinner for two, not casual catch-up with family. Through the towering floor-to-ceiling window, I could see the night view and a quiet courtyard below.
And just like that, my headache started creeping in.
Seriously? A candlelit table with this kind of atmosphere?
What is Matteo thinking! Is this some kind of date setup with his girlfriend? Has he finally lost the last screw in his head?
I settled into the leather chair, taking a moment to look around the room with quiet curiosity while waiting. Everything felt so elegant, so polished — like stepping into a different world.
Suddenly, a soft knock sounded at the door. It creaked open slightly, and a young woman peeked inside.
"Sorry to disturb you, miss. I'm here to deliver the menu. Please feel free to order whenever you're ready," she said with a polite smile.
I nearly jumped. For a second, I thought one of the men had arrived early. Letting out a small breath of relief, I took the menu from her and thanked her. Before leaving, she kindly poured water into my glass with practiced grace.
I turned my attention to the menu, my interest piqued. It was my first time in a place like this — a high-end restaurant that felt more like an art gallery than a place to eat.
The names of the dishes looked foreign. No, beyond foreign. They looked like spell incantations from the Harry Potter movie.
Le Plongeoir d'en Face? Brasserie Roseaux? Lo Fieu?! —-Were these names or riddles?
I stared at the page, blinking hard.
Is this even human language? If I keep reading, I might sprain my tongue just trying to pronounce one. Better to wait for the men before placing an order. The last thing I want is to accidentally order something bizarre.
Suddenly, a knock at the door startled me. It opened slightly, and Matteo stepped in with a warm smile. "Mia, sorry to keep you waiting. We got stuck in traffic," he explained. Behind him, Dr. Leon followed with a polite nod and a friendly smile.
I woke up from my seat to welcome them, smiling hard to try hiding the thumping heart in my chest. "It's alright. I haven't been waiting long," I replied, waving it off. "Where's Mike?" I added, craning my neck to peek behind them.
"He'll be a bit late. His company's a little far from here. Let's order first while we wait," Matteo said, and both men took their seats across from me.
I reached for the menu, pretending to study it while trying to calm the nerves dancing in my stomach. Oh goddess. Both of them were devastatingly handsome. Matteo had that laid-back charm with a lazy grin that made people feel at ease. Dr. Leon, on the other hand, had a more refined air—serious and calm, with gold-rimmed glasses and a tailored dark coat. He looked like the cold male lead in a drama.
If this were a BL novel, they'd be the perfect duo—the flirty top and the stoic main character.
Ahh! What am I even imagining right now?! Snap out of it, Mia!
"What do you want to eat?" Matteo's voice jolted me from my ridiculous thoughts. If he knew what I was just imagining, he might stab me with a fork.
"A-Anything's fine. I'll eat whatever you order," I said quickly. Better to play it safe. I couldn't understand half the names on that menu anyway—they sounded more like ancient spells than dishes.
Matteo turned to Leon with a raised brow. "What about you?"
"Same. I'll eat whatever you pick," Leon said coolly, clearly not in the mood to decipher fancy dish names either.
"Fine, but don't complain later," Matteo muttered as he stood and stepped outside to place the order.
Now, only Dr. Leon and I remained. He turned to me with a calm, kind expression.
"Mia, how have you been? Are you recovering well?"
"I'm doing fine. No need to worry, Dr. Leon," I replied awkwardly, too nervous to hold his gaze.
He adjusted his glasses. "Just call me 'Brother Leon' outside of work. You used to call me that. We've known each other for a long time."
"Alright... Brother Leon," I nodded, playing along. I didn't know what kind of relationship the original Mia had with this man, but I figured cooperating would help ease the tension.
"And the psychiatrist? How's that going?" he asked, watching me closely.
I turned to him and answered slowly, choosing my words carefully. "No serious issues. He said my memory should return in time without any treatment."
A lie. Of course the same one I told Matteo before.
Leon paused, his gaze sharpening. He studied my face as though trying to read between the lines. Just like Matteo. These men never believed anything I said!
"Alright," he finally said with a sigh. "But if anything comes up, don't hesitate to call me or Matteo. We're here for you."
Before I could answer, his phone vibrated on the table. He glanced at the screen and stood. "Sorry, Mia. I have to take this."
He stepped outside, leaving me alone once again. I watched his silhouette disappear through the door and finally let out the breath I was holding.
Dr. Leon reminded me so much of my high school discipline teacher—strict, sharp-eyed, and impossible to fool. Honestly, he should just change careers.
As I was recovering from that intense stare-down, a group of waiters entered after knocking. One by one, they began placing dishes on the table. The delicious aroma hit me like a wave, making my stomach growl loudly.
I blinked in surprise. Matteo had ordered enough food to feed a royal banquet. Why so much for just four people? Did he have two stomachs?
Still, I wasn't complaining. My past life fears of starving with no money were far worse than any awkward dinner. Right now, I was being showered with unlimited luxurious food—and I was very grateful.
But where were they? The food would turn cold soon. Should I start eating? Is that rude?
I waited another ten minutes. Still no sign of them.
Alright, that's it. I'm starving!
I picked up a spoon and took a bite of something white and creamy in front of me.
One bite—just one—and I almost cried.
It was heavenly! Rich, velvety, and perfectly seasoned. My taste buds threw a party. I tried another dish, then another, and another. I couldn't stop.
That's when someone knocked lightly on the door.
"Come in," I said quickly, trying to swallow before I choked.
"Hi Mia."
It was Mike! He walked in with a gentle smile and took the seat beside me.
"Hi Mike! Come eat. I'm sorry, I started without you. Those two disappeared for too long, and I was dying of hunger," I said while stuffing more food into my mouth.
"That's fine," he replied with a tired smile. "Sorry to keep you waiting. You go ahead, I'll wait for them."
He looked at me for a moment—then his expression changed. Suddenly, he grabbed the hand I was using to eat, stopping me mid-bite.
"Mia, wait! What did you just eat?"
"Huh? Food?" I blinked in confusion.
He picked up the dish I had been devouring, examined it, and tasted it.
"It's prawn. Mia, stop! You're allergic to seafood!" he said in alarm. "You need to throw it up, now!"
"Wh-Throw up? How?" I looked at him, baffled.
Mike stood up, pulling me with him and patting my back, trying to force me to vomit.
"What's going on?" Matteo and Leon returned, both rushing in with worry on their faces.
"Second brother, Mia ate prawn! You know she's severely allergic to seafood!" Mike shouted, panicked.
"What?! I ordered that for us, not her!" Matteo snapped, rushing to my side. He took my pulse, his face darkening.
"She's already reacting. Mia, you need to throw it up now or you'll go into shock! Leon, call an ambulance—now!"
My face turned pale. Die? Was it really that serious? I did not have a seafood allergy before.
Oh— of course, I wouldn't have known. I forgot this wasn't my body. But this was too much. Now they're forcing me to throw up the best food I've ever tasted. Unfair! My first fancy dinner, ruined by a shrimp!
And yes, Matteo definitely has a screw loose in his head.