"Never mind. Nothing serious."
They fell into a brief, comfortable silence.
"So, where've you reached?" Jenny asked after a moment.
"Just about five minutes away from your place. There's a bit of traffic."
"It's Sunday evening," she teased. "What did you expect?"
"Yeah, fair point."
The cab finally pulled up in front of Jenny's apartment. A few moments later, the elevator doors opened, and she stepped out—wearing an elegant navy-blue dress with silver accents. Her hair cascaded down in soft waves, catching the golden hue of the setting sun. Her glasses shining and she had a elegant purse in her hand.
She looked stunning—and expensive.
Ashton opened the cab door for her without a word.
Jenny gracefully entered and sat beside him in the backseat. But as she turned toward him and shut the door, her smile faltered.
Her gaze fixed on the faint swelling on his jaw, the dark bruise forming beneath his left brow.
"Oh my God…" she whispered, voice dipping into concern. "Ashton, what the hell happened to you?"
He gave her a sheepish grin. "Told you I'd been in battle."
Jenny's eyes didn't waver from his face. "You look like you walked out of a warzone."
"I kinda did," he chuckled, brushing his fingers through his hair. "Today was sparring in my boxing class, so..."
She exhaled slowly, leaning back. "You're ridiculous."
But the smile she gave was uneasy. She wasn't laughing. Not really.
Ashton noticed. His posture stiffened. "I'm sorry," he said quietly, offering his arm as if to soften the moment.
Jenny took it, wordlessly linking her arm with his.
The silence between them wasn't awkward, but it was heavy. She watched the city lights flicker past the cab window, her expression unreadable. Ashton kept glancing her way, pretending not to notice the way she seemed a little… off.
After some time, the cab pulled up in front of Gloria.
The restaurant looked like a palace from the outside—tall arched windows, golden lighting spilling onto the cobblestone driveway, valets in pressed uniforms opening doors for guests.
Ashton stepped out and immediately opened the door for Jenny. She smiled and slipped her hand around his arm as they walked in.
Inside, Gloria was even more extravagant. Crystal chandeliers hung overhead, casting warm glows across marble floors. The tables were elegantly spaced out, each with their own little world of candles, silverware, and whispered conversations.
But all eyes weren't on the restaurant.
They were on him.
Not because he looked dashing in his tailored shirt and overcoat.
But because of the bruise.
Because of the swelling.
Because Ashton Blackwell looked like he'd been dragged out of a street fight and dropped into a ballroom.
Jenny felt the shift too.
She stood straighter. Her hand gripped his arm a little tighter. Her smile became practiced. Perfect.
She was embarrassed.
And Ashton knew it.
He didn't blame her. This wasn't how a night at Gloria was supposed to feel. They were supposed to blend in—not stand out like a sore, bruised thumb.
They passed table after table, quiet murmurs following their steps.
'Good thing I dressed up,' Ashton thought. 'At least my outfit's holding up, even if my face isn't.'
They reached a staircase tucked toward the back, leading to the first floor.
"So… we're going up?" Ashton asked, already knowing the answer.
"Yes," Jenny replied shortly.
Her voice was dry now. Not playful. Not sweet. Dry.
He caught it immediately.
The silence. The stiffness.
She was pretending not to notice the attention. But he could see it in her eyes—Jenny wished he looked different tonight. Less… rough.
Two suited men at the top of the stairs opened a sleek set of double doors for them. Inside was a dimly lit room bathed in soft golden hues. It was clearly a space meant for couples—private, romantic, secluded.
Small tables for two, with intimate lighting and soft violin music playing in the background.
Ashton pulled the chair out for Jenny, ever the gentleman.
She gave him a small smile and sat down. He shrugged off his coat, hanging it over the back of his chair, then sat across from her.
Jenny's eyes stayed on his face. Not with disgust… but something closer to curiosity. Concern. Maybe even guilt.
Her brow furrowed slightly as if trying to read between the bruises.
Ashton caught her staring.
He leaned forward, smirking.
"Did I forget to tell you how sexy you're looking?"
Jenny pouted dramatically. "You did, Mr. Blackwell."
Her pout faded into a bashful smile.
"Well, let me correct that then," Ashton said smoothly. "You look sexy."
She rested her elbow on the table and gently laid her cheek against her palm, gazing at him sideways with a soft grin. "Thank you."
Just then, a waiter approached, placing two sleek black menus on their table.
"Good evening, and welcome to Gloria," he said warmly. "Please take your time choosing. I'll return shortly."
They both opened their menus.
Ashton leaned forward again. "So… what shall we eat?"
Jenny glanced up from the menu and, her smile was real.
Jenny flipped through the menu slowly, her fingers tracing over the fancy names of dishes she half-recognized. She tilted the menu slightly toward Ashton.
"Everything here sounds like it belongs in a royal wedding," she said. "What even is 'Filet de Bar au Fenouil'?"
Ashton laughed. "Sounds like a spell from Harry Potter."
Jenny chuckled, finally relaxing a little. "Well, Mr. Blackwell, since you're the brave soldier of the evening, why don't you choose?"
He scanned the menu, then raised a brow at her. "Are you trusting me with your appetite?"
"I'm trusting you to make up for showing up like you fought Batman."
"Ouch," Ashton grinned. "That was below the belt."
Jenny shrugged, sipping water from the glass that had just been placed beside her. "So were your punches, apparently."
"Let me correct something I didn't fought batman 'I am batman'"
Jenny chuckled.
Ashton chuckled again, then waved over the waiter.
"Let's get the pan-seared scallops for starters, and the chef's special truffle risotto. And two glasses of red."