Chapter 418: Do I Have a Sign on My Back?

Back in the car Lucas kept his eyes on the road ahead.

"Someone leaked our location."

Bennett stayed quiet for a stretch. She was already thinking past the press and the noise, turning over something else. After a moment she spoke, the idea settled.

"We should find somewhere decent to eat. Later we can talk about a proper party. Right now we need food," she said. "Somewhere quiet. We’re celebrating whether you admit it or not."

He glanced at her.

"I bought a car. That’s not a celebration."

"It is when the car costs more than most people’s houses," she said. "And when half the city just watched you walk out of Moretti’s like you owned the building. We’re eating. Maybe drinking. You’re not arguing your way out of it."

The driver glanced at them in the rearview and gave a short nod, already adjusting the route.

They had only been moving a short while when her attention shifted. She checked one side mirror, then the other.

"We’re being followed."

He didn’t turn around. "Press?"

"Not the same pack. One car. Keeping distance, but it’s been with us since we left."

He gave a short nod and said nothing else. He wasn’t panicked. He had come here to buy a car and leave. If someone wanted to make the stay difficult, he could make it difficult right back.

The driver didn’t wait for further instruction. He cut hard into a side street, tires briefly complaining against the asphalt, then took the next corner tighter than necessary. The car leaned with the turn. Another sharp left followed almost immediately, threading between a delivery van and a row of parked cars with barely a breath of space. She braced one hand against the door without comment. He stayed still, eyes forward.

Behind them the trailing vehicle tried to match the pace. It lost ground on the second corner, then again when the driver swung wide into a narrow alley that forced a sudden brake before spitting them back out onto a cleaner road. The pursuit stayed visible in the mirrors, but the gap had opened. Every aggressive cut and early turn made it clearer that whoever was following was reacting, not leading.

By the time they reached the restaurant, the other car had slowed half a block back, no longer closing. The place was upscale without being loud about it. Dark wood, clean glass, the kind of quiet that cost money. He stepped out first. She followed.

They were almost at the entrance when the sound of hard acceleration cut through the street behind them.

A car came in too fast, engine still high, then the brakes locked hard. Tires scraped against the asphalt as it jerked to a stop directly behind the jeep, close enough that the front bumper nearly kissed the rear. The whole vehicle rocked once from the force of the halt.

The door flew open before the engine had even settled.

Chiara stepped out at once and came around the front of her car at a near run. She didn’t look at the people on the sidewalk. She didn’t check who might already be filming. She just cut across the short distance and stopped directly in his path, breathing harder than the short sprint should have required.

He looked at her with the same deadly expression he had given her the first time they met. Calm. Unreadable. The stillness of a man who had already decided she was not worth the interruption.

She felt the weight of that look immediately. It was the same one he had given her after dealing with her bodyguard, the one that had made the air around him feel colder. Her fame, her name, the years of people moving out of her way, none of it registered on his face.

"I need to talk to you," she said. The words came out less steady than she wanted. "About the restaurant. About what my assistant said. I already tried earlier, but~"

"You followed me."

Her voice dropped into something closer to pleading. The practiced actress expression settled over her face, soft and carefully pitiful.

"I’m sorry for what my bodyguard and my assistant did to you. I’m very sorry."

He just looked at her.

She swallowed and pushed forward anyway, words tumbling out faster now.

"I needed you to hear it properly. A public apology from me, and if you’re willing to say something in return, the whole thing dies down. Brands are cancelling. The clip won’t stop spreading. This is the only way it ends cleanly."

His expression didn’t change, but the irritation behind his eyes sharpened. He had been two steps from a quiet meal. Two steps from sitting down without another performance in front of him.

"Every time I’m about to put food in my mouth," he said, voice still flat, "one of you appears. First the bodyguard who thought staring hard was a personality. Then the assistant with the big mouth. Now the main character herself shows up like this is a redemption arc. Do I have a sign on my back that says interrupt during meals?"

She opened her mouth, then closed it again. She tried once more and nothing useful came out. Everything she had prepared and rehearsed in the car collapsed under the dry weight of his stare.

Bennett stood beside him, quiet and clearly enjoying the show.

He stepped forward.

"Public apologies are worthless," he said. "They’re for cameras and comment sections, not for the people who actually got insulted. You want a clean ending? Find one that doesn’t involve standing in front of my food."

He walked past her without breaking stride. She followed half a step behind, close enough that Chiara had to shift sideways or get brushed out of the way like leftover traffic.

Chiara stayed rooted where she was.

The restaurant door opened and closed behind them. The soft noise of the dining room swallowed their footsteps like the whole place had already moved on. On the sidewalk, phones were turning toward her one after another, but she barely registered them. The confidence she usually carried into public spaces felt like it had been left in the car.

She had come to stop the bleeding.

Instead she was left standing in the middle of the street in full defeat while the two of them went inside to eat in peace.

A second later a camera flash went off somewhere to her left. Then another. Someone had already framed the shot of the famous woman standing alone outside the restaurant she had just been walked past.