Chương 1 - the reservation at eight
The gilded dining room of the Grand Hotel Bellevue hummed with the discreet murmur of Chicago’s highest society. Crystal chandeliers cast a warm, radiant glow over white linen tables set with polished sterling silver and fresh white orchids. Standing beside the center alcove table was Ethan Blackwood. Broad-shouldered, impeccably tailored in a gray three-piece suit, with dark hair touched by subtle gray at his temples, the thirty-eight-year-old billionaire possessed a cold, commanding presence that silenced anyone who dared cross his path.
Clinging to his arm was his fiancée, Victoria Hale. Dressed in a breathtaking pink satin evening gown with glittering diamond earrings, her styled blonde hair cascading over her shoulders, Victoria exuded the effortless arrogance of old money.
Standing opposite them was Claire Bennett. Beautiful, soft-spoken, and elegant in a simple cream dress with delicate pearl earrings, Claire held the hand of her six-year-old son, Noah. The little boy wore a pale-blue suit with a matching bow tie and clean white sneakers, his soft brown hair neatly combed, his dark eyes wide with nervous apprehension.
Ethan stared down at Claire, his sharp jaw set in a hard line, his gaze devoid of the warmth they had once shared six years ago.
Ethan (coldly): “Get away from my family’s table.”
Victoria’s red lips curled into a faint, satisfied smile as she smoothed the satin of her gown. She watched with cold amusement as Claire lowered herself beside Noah, gently adjusting the boy's blue lapels, preparing to gather their belongings and leave without causing a public scene. Ethan saw the flicker of fear in the little boy’s eyes—a expression so heartbreakingly vulnerable it sent an odd, uncomfortable jolt through Ethan’s chest—but he remained silent, maintaining his rigid posture.
Before Claire could step away, the restaurant’s head manager hurried over, his face pale and bead of sweat on his forehead. He bowed slightly toward Ethan before looking nervously at Claire.
"Mr. Blackwood, I am so sorry for any confusion," the manager stammered softly. "However, this private alcove table was not booked under your corporate account tonight. It was personally reserved three weeks ago for Ms. Bennett and her son by Mr. Richard Blackwood."
Ethan’s icy expression instantly shifted from controlled anger to utter confusion. "My father reserved this table?"
Victoria’s satisfied smile wavered.
Ethan reached into his jacket pocket, pulled out his sleek black credit card, and set it firmly on the table between them as if offering Claire a payout to take her child and leave quietly.
Claire didn't even look at the card. She calmly pushed it back toward him across the white linen, picking up Noah’s small canvas backpack.
Claire (firmly): “I never wanted your money, Ethan.”
As Claire turned to guide Noah toward the main exit, the heavy brass-trimmed doors of the restaurant suddenly swung open.
Six-year-old Noah looked toward the entrance, and his entire little face lit up with pure, radiant joy. Without warning, he pulled his hand free from Claire’s grip and ran across the carpeted dining room as fast as his white sneakers could carry him.
Standing in the doorway was Richard Blackwood. At late sixties, the patriarch of the Blackwood empire looked immensely distinguished, wearing a dark tailored suit, his silver-gray hair immaculate, his posture calm and regal.
As the little boy approached, Richard dropped to one knee right there in the middle of the luxury restaurant, spreading his arms wide with a genuine, warm smile.
Noah (happily): “Grandpa!”
Noah threw his small arms around the billionaire patriarch’s neck. Richard embraced the child tightly, lifting him effortlessly into his arms as the entire room of high-society guests gasped in hushed shock.
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Ethan froze, his breath catching in his throat. Beside him, Victoria’s face drained of all color.
Ethan slowly turned his head away from his father, his shock-filled eyes locking directly onto Claire.
