Chapter 83: Champagne And Candlelight Dinner

The Mercedes took a sharp right turn into an upscale district Kane didn’t recognize.

"This isn’t the way back!"

Kane twisted in his seat, watching familiar landmarks disappear behind them.

The buildings here screamed money: sleek architecture, manicured landscaping, and doormen in crisp uniforms standing guard at entrances.

"Are you trying to kidnap me right now?"

"I told you, the day isn’t over."

Cyrus’s tone remained infuriatingly casual as he navigated through streets lined with luxury boutiques and high-end restaurants.

They pulled up to a glittering skyscraper that seemed to pierce the night sky, its facade a masterpiece of steel and glass that caught and reflected the city’s glow.

A valet approached immediately, opening Kane’s door.

Cyrus handed over the keys without a word, then guided Kane through glass doors into a marble lobby that belonged in a palace.

"Good evening, Mr. Drakhal." The concierge’s greeting was respectful but unsurprised, as if Cyrus’s arrival was perfectly normal.

A private elevator waited, its brass doors gleaming under crystal chandeliers.

The elevator climbed smoothly, and Kane watched the floor numbers rise—thirty, forty, fifty floors.

When the doors finally opened, they revealed the rooftop.

The restaurant stretched before them like something from a dream—intimate tables scattered across polished stone, each one flickering with candlelight.

Fairy lights draped between glass railings that offered an unobstructed view of the city sprawling below, a glittering sea of gold and silver.

Soft jazz drifted from hidden speakers, mixing with the gentle clink of crystal and hushed conversations.

Kane’s stomach dropped.

Every other guest looked like they’d stepped off a magazine cover—women in flowing evening gowns, men in tailored suits.

The maitre d’ wore a tuxedo that made Cyrus’s casual elegance look underdressed.

Kane glanced down at his jeans and theme park t-shirt, both bearing evidence of their day—cotton candy stains and wrinkled fabric.

"Cyrus, I can’t—"

"Good evening, Mr. Drakhal."

The maitre d’ appeared with a warm smile, completely ignoring Kane’s disheveled appearance.

"Your usual table is ready."

Kane’s ears flattened under his hair as heads turned their way. He followed the maitre d’ through the restaurant, hyperaware of every stare.

This wasn’t just expensive—this was Aurelia, the restaurant with a six-month waiting list that politicians and celebrities fought to get into.

Their table sat in a private alcove, offering an unobstructed view of the city’s glittering skyline.

Two place settings waited, complete with crystal glasses and silverware.

"Your champagne selection is chilling, sir."

The waiter appeared, pouring golden liquid into flutes without asking.

Kane stared at Cyrus, realization dawning.

"You planned this."

"The reservation was made since yesterday."

Cyrus settled into his chair like he owned the place, which, knowing him, he probably did.

"But I only suggested the amusement park this morning."

"And I made adjustments accordingly."

Cyrus had orchestrated their entire day, somehow knowing Kane would want to end it somewhere special.

Kane lifted the champagne flute, watching bubbles rise through golden liquid.

For someone who claimed to subsist on rare meat and actual gold, Cyrus certainly knew how to pick a restaurant.

The candlelight flickered across Cyrus’s sharp features, casting shadows that made his cheekbones look carved from marble.

Kane’s stomach twisted—and not from hunger.

They weren’t on a mission or meeting anyone in particular.

This felt suspiciously like a date.

The intimate alcove, the champagne, the way Cyrus had planned everything down to the last detail.

"This is just dinner, right?"

Kane’s voice came out higher than intended.

"Of course."

Cyrus’s response was immediate, but something flickered in his expression—too quick to catch.

"What else would it be?"

Kane took a large gulp of champagne, the bubbles burning his throat.

Right. Just dinner. Between two people who’d spent the day riding roller coasters and winning each other stuffed animals.

Totally platonic.

Kane glanced around the restaurant again, trying to rationalize the opulence surrounding them.

Maybe this was normal for Cyrus—maybe dropping thousands on dinner was like ordering pizza for regular people.

The waiter approached with menus bound in leather, and Kane focused on the elegant script, trying to ignore how devastatingly handsome Cyrus looked in the golden light.

The menu read like poetry written in a language Kane couldn’t afford to understand.

"Order whatever you want."

Cyrus hadn’t even opened his menu, watching Kane’s face instead.

"I can’t pronounce half of this."

Kane pointed at something that looked promising.

"What’s bouillabaisse?"

"Fish stew."

"A hundred-dollar fish stew? For that price it better sing me a song before I eat it.""

Kane set the menu down, overwhelmed.

"Just pick for me. You know this place better than I do."

When the waiter returned, Cyrus ordered in perfect French; his pronunciation was smooth and confident.

Kane caught maybe three words.

"You speak French?"

"Among other languages."

Of course he did.

Kane slumped back in his chair, suddenly aware of how out of place he felt.

The champagne was making him lightheaded, or maybe it was the altitude.

"You didn’t have to do this."

Kane gestured at their surroundings.

"After today, I mean. The amusement park was enough."

Cyrus leaned forward slightly, candlelight catching the gold flecks in his crimson eyes.

"Enough for what?"

Kane’s throat went dry, and he reached for his champagne glass.

Cyrus’s smirk slowly emerged, revealing a predatory and amused expression.

"You still haven’t gotten used to this, have you?"

He gestured at the restaurant around them, the crystal and candlelight and impossible view.

"After everything we’ve been through, you’re still surprised when I spend money."

Kane’s ears flattened under his hair.

"It’s not that simple—"

"Don’t worry."

Cyrus leaned back in his chair, that infuriating smirk widening.

The waiter appeared with their first course, setting down delicate plates that looked more like art than food.

Kane stared at the tiny portions, trying to process Cyrus’s words.

"You should get used to this. You’ll be staying close to me, after all." Cyrus’s tone was casual, but something darker lurked beneath the surface.

Kane’s stomach twisted.

Close to him for protection? For control over their investigation?

Or something else entirely?

The way Cyrus watched him in the candlelight suggested the third option, and Kane wasn’t sure if that terrified or thrilled him.

He picked up his fork, fingers trembling slightly.

"How close?"

Cyrus’s smile was all sharp edges and hidden meanings. He raised his glass in a toast.

"We’ll see."