Arman stepped into the restaurant, his gaze sweeping the space with a quiet intensity. He glanced at his watch, already past eight, the time he had given Aliana—but she wasn't there yet. His expression remained neutral, almost stoic, but the slight furrow between his brows betrayed his unease. This was unusual. Aliana had never been late for anything with him before; she was always punctual, often early. Yet tonight, she was nowhere in sight.
His thoughts lingered for only a moment before Beatrice approached, her steps light and careful. "Welcome again, sir. Please, have a seat. I'll bring the menu," she said softly, her voice steady, professional.
Arman stiffened slightly at her presence, but he nodded once and moved to his usual spot. Beatrice returned with the menus, glancing at him, when he said, "I'm waiting for someone. We'll order together once they are here."
She hesitated for a moment, her brow furrowing in thought. "Perhaps a lady?"
Arman gavea her a confused look as to why she was asking. "Oh, no, " Beatrice was flustered. "It was just that a lady was seated here a moment ago… she was also waiting for someone, but she left in a hurry with a man. I thought you were waiting for her."
Arman's gaze hardened, his entire posture tensing. "What did she look like?" he asked, his voice low but sharp.
Beatrice blinked, then described carefully, almost as if testing the waters. "She had long black hair… black eyes… pale skin." She paused,
Arman's jaw tightened. "You said she left with a man?"
Beatrice nodded. "Yes."
Arman looked back at the empty chair across from him, his hands curling into slight fists on the table. He exhaled slowly, his voice calm but final. "In that case… I'll dine alone."
Evelyn sat in the conference room, her eyes flicking to the clock every few minutes. The long table gleamed under the overhead lights, untouched folders stacked neatly in front of her. Arman was supposed to have arrived fifteen minutes ago. He was never late—not for meetings like this. Then her phone buzzed.
A short message blinked on the screen: "Something urgent has come up. Someone else will handle the meeting."
Evelyn frowned. Arman never opted out of a meeting, not unless it was something serious. She closed her laptop slowly, a faint knot of worry twisting in her chest.
Meanwhile, Arman was driving fast, one hand on the wheel, the other gripping his phone. His mother's doctor had called from the house, saying her condition had worsened. He didn't think twice before canceling everything and heading home.
When he pulled into the long driveway of his family estate, the old mansion loomed ahead, lights glowing warmly behind the wide windows. The butler, Rafe, was already at the door, straightening as soon as Arman stepped out of the car.
"You arrived quickly, sir," Rafe said with quiet relief. "Madam has been asking for you all day. She'll be happy to see you tonight."
Arman nodded and headed inside, loosening his tie as he walked through the marble hallway. But before he could reach the stairs, a voice stopped him.
"Arman."
He turned. His father, Arnold, stood at the foot of the grand staircase, dressed sharply as always, a faint trail of smoke curling from the cigarette between his fingers. His expression was calm but unreadable.
Arman gave a polite nod. "I should go see Mother first."
Arnold's lips curved faintly—not quite a smile. "Do that. But come to my study afterward. We need to talk."
Arman hesitated, already sensing the weight in those words, but agreed. "Alright."
Upstairs, his mother lay asleep, her breathing soft and even. One of the maids whispered that she'd just taken her medicine and would be resting for a while. Arman stood by her bed for a moment, watching her hand resting weakly over the blanket. His throat felt tight. After a moment, he turned and left the room quietly.
As he walked down the hall, the butler's voice followed him. "Sir, the master is waiting in the study."
He didn't want to go, but he did.
The study door was slightly ajar, faint light spilling out. Arman pushed it open and found his father standing by the desk, lighting another cigarette. The faint smell of tobacco filled the air.
Arnold looked up as Arman stepped in. "You always make time for your mother," he said coolly. "I sometimes wonder if you even remember you have a father."
Arman exhaled sharply. "That's not true. I've just been busy."
Arnold let out a dry chuckle, shaking his head. "Of course you're busy." His tone was laced with sarcasm.
Arman's brows drew together. "What's that supposed to mean?"
Arnold studied him for a long moment before finally saying, "How long are you going to carry the weight of that accident from fifteen years ago? It's time to let it go."
The words hit harder than expected. Arman froze, his jaw tightening. "You know?"
Arnold raised a brow. "You think I wouldn't? I wouldn't call it spying—just a father keeping track of his son's... unnecessary obsessions."
"You've been watching me?" Arman's voice sharpened.
Arnold ignored the question, taking another drag of his cigarette. "At first, I thought it was guilt, so I didn't stop you. But now? You're wasting resources chasing someone who's probably long gone. Enough. Let it die."
Arman's eyes burned. "How can you say that? Someone lost their daughter because of me. Someone lost everything."
Arnold's expression hardened, his voice turning cold. "And someone gained a family because of that same accident. So leave it. Don't dig up ghosts and ruin what's already settled. The Jordan and Levine families have built a strong bond—don't destroy it over some misplaced guilt."
Arman's breath hitched. "This isn't about business."
"Everything is about business," Arnold snapped, his tone final. "The past is buried. Focus on your engagement to the Jordan girl and treat her properly. That's what matters now."
Arman stared at him, silent, a storm gathering behind his composed face. His fingers curled slightly, but he said nothing.
-
Samara paced back and forth, glancing out the main door every few seconds, waiting for Aliana to arrive. But she didn't. The clock had already passed midnight, and her worry was starting to gnaw at her.
After another few minutes of waiting, Samara grabbed her phone and called Arman.
He picked up almost immediately. "What happened?"
"Is Aliana with you?" Samara asked, her voice tight.
Arman frowned, glancing at the road ahead as he drove. "No. Why?"
"I thought the two of you were out for dinner," Samara said, confused.
"She didn't show up," Arman replied, his tone sharpening. "I waited, but she never came."
Samara's stomach dropped. "Then where did she go?"
Arman didn't answer right away. He could feel anxiety rising in his chest, spreading fast. "Did you check with her friends?"
"I didn't," Samara admitted. "I thought she was with you."
"Alright," he said after a pause, voice firm now. "Call her friends. I'll start looking for her." He ended the call and stared at the clock on his dashboard.
"Not home… and it's past twelve," he muttered under his breath. His grip on the steering wheel tightened. "Where could she be?" He turned his car around, heading back toward the city.
-
Joseph kept glancing at her from the corner of his eye. Aliana sat in the passenger seat, silent, her gaze fixed outside the window like she was watching something far beyond the city lights. The silence stretched on long enough to start feeling heavy.
Finally, Joseph broke it. "Are you always this quiet, or are you just ignoring me on purpose?"
Aliana didn't even bother looking at him. Her tone was low and almost lazy when she finally spoke. "What if someone told you that you're not who you think you are," she said. "That someone else was meant to live your life instead. What would you do?"
Joseph blinked. It was the first thing she'd said to him in nearly twenty minutes, and it wasn't at all what he expected. "I guess I'd confirm it first," he said carefully. "No matter how reliable the source seemed—"
"That's what I thought too," she cut in flatly. Then, without warning, she unbuckled her seatbelt, pushed the door open, and stepped out.
Joseph just stared after her as the car door slammed shut. "Right," he muttered under his breath. "Totally normal woman."
Inside the restaurant, Beatrice was wiping down the table Arman had left a while ago. She stacked the plates neatly, lost in thought, when another waitress nudged her with a grin.
"That guy," she whispered, tilting her head toward the empty seat. "The one who keeps coming in and only talks to you. He's handsome, Beatrice. Does he have a crush on you?"
Beatrice laughed it off. "Don't be ridiculous. He just likes the food here."
Her coworker giggled. "Sure. That's what people say right before they get flowers."
Before Beatrice could reply, the door chimed and Aliana walked in, moving fast, her expression unreadable. Beatrice straightened instinctively, recognition flickering across her face. She opened her mouth to speak, but Aliana got there first.
"Hey," Aliana said, voice smooth but distant. "I was here earlier. I think I dropped a ring—silver, small. Did you find anything like that?"
Beatrice blinked, caught off guard by her tone polite, but laced with something proud, almost superior. "A ring? I didn't see one, but let me check." She bent to look under the table, moving a few chairs aside.
Aliana's eyes followed her movements, sharp and restless. For a moment, hesitation flashed across her face—but then her fingers twitched, and she reached toward Beatrice's hair, fast but silent. The other waitress saw it coming but was not sure what was going on.
Beatrice turned suddenly, and Aliana's sleeve snagged against the clip in Beatrice's hair.
"Ouch!" Beatrice gasped.
Aliana yanked her hand back, tearing a few strands free as she did. Making a use of the moment. She quickly curled her fingers around them, her voice soft and composed. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean for that to happen."
Beatrice looked at her oddly, brushing her hair back. "It's fine." she didn't seen fine but she didn't want to get fired.
Aliana straightened up, pretending to look around one last time. "Guess I must've lost it somewhere else. Sorry for the trouble." She turned and walked out, her heels sharp against the floor, leaving Beatrice staring after her, unsettled but unable to say why.