Chapter 5 : Secrets And Wine

The texts with Victor had become a ritual. Every night Ava found herself lying in bed, her phone lighting her face in the dark, her fingers hovering over the screen as his messages rolled in. He had a way of talking that was both casual and commanding, as if every word carried weight even when he was joking. She never told Ethan about it. All she said was that she’d seen a friend request from Victor on her Facebook and that she hadn’t accepted it yet, not because she wanted to, but because she wasn’t sure how Ethan would react. Even she didn’t fully understand why she felt the need to lie to the man she’d convinced herself was the love of her life.

Ethan grinned, his excitement almost boyish. “You should accept it,” he said. “You’ve already friended everyone else in the family except him.”

That was all the permission she needed to keep doing what she had already been doing behind his back. She slipped Victor into the quiet corners of her day, lingering over his messages long after she should have stopped. What began as polite exchanges had turned unexpectedly intimate, and now she caught herself waiting for his name to light up her screen. When she read his words she could almost hear the low rumble of his voice and sense the pause he might take before typing something that felt like a tease.

So when he invited her to dinner for the second time, this time she didn’t hesitate.

A sleek black car appeared outside her apartment just as the evening sky turned violet. The driver stepped out in a crisp uniform, greeting her by name as he opened the door. Ava’s heart quickened as she slid onto the leather seat, her perfume mingling with the faint smell of cologne left behind by someone else. The city blurred past the tinted windows, her reflection staring back at her with a mixture of anticipation and nerves. She smoothed the hem of her dress and told herself Ethan or another family member would probably be there. After all, Victor hadn’t said otherwise and somehow, she didn't bother to ask.

The gates of the mansion swung open with a quiet hum, revealing the full expanse of the estate. Her breath caught at the sheer size of the house. Warm light spilled from towering windows, and the gardens stretched out like a meticulously curated painting, every hedge and flowerbed sculpted to perfection. The car rolled to a stop at the base of wide marble steps, where Victor waited, his presence as composed and commanding as the house itself.

He was in a tailored suit, the kind that looked like it belonged on the cover of a magazine. The silver in his hair caught the light, giving him a regal edge. When he smiled, it wasn’t hurried or polite. It was measured as if he was savoring the moment of seeing her.

“You look exquisite,” he said, offering his hand.

“Thank you.”

Ava felt the strength of his grip as he helped her out of the car. The world around her seemed to hush, as if holding its breath. She followed him inside, her heels clicking on marble floors so polished they reflected the grand chandeliers above. Every detail, the soaring ceilings, the intricate moldings, the soft glow of golden light, made her chest tighten in astonishment. Victor wasn’t just rich; he lived in a world so dazzling, so otherworldly, that it left her breathless and wide-eyed.

Victor led her to the dining room, and she stopped, momentarily caught by the sight. A table set for two stretched across the center of the room, draped in white linen, candles flickering low between crystal glasses. There was no laughter or voices from elsewhere in the house, no sign of Ethan. Just Victor, sliding a chair out for her with effortless grace.

Her confusion must have shown, because he smiled again, slow and knowing. “I thought it would be nice,” he said smoothly, “to get to know the woman my nephew might marry one day.”

Ava blinked at him, lowering herself into the chair he offered. “We’ve been talking for days now,” she said, forcing a small laugh. “I thought you’d have picked up a few things about me already.”

“I have,” Victor said, taking his seat. “But some things deserve to be asked face to face. They say you can always tell if a person is telling the truth by looking into their eyes. So I want to see how you answer. And I want to see your eyes when you do.”

Something in his tone made her stomach flutter, a warm, nervous thrill curling through her. Her pulse quickened and her breath hitched slightly as she met his gaze, feeling both exposed and drawn in by the intensity of him. Every word, every glance, seemed to hum with a magnetic pull, and for a moment she forgot to think at all, caught in the gravity of his eyes and the unspoken challenge they held.

“I… I’ll be honest,” she said, her voice soft but steady. “I don’t always know what to say, but I’ll answer as truthfully as I can.”

Her words hung in the air, and she felt the weight of his gaze on her, the subtle flutter of her pulse, the warmth in her chest. Meeting his eyes felt like standing on the edge of something exhilarating and terrifying at once, and she held his stare, letting the honesty in her voice reach him.

“Good.”

He poured her a glass of wine and handed it to her, their fingers brushing just a moment too long. She took a slow sip, the rich red liquid coating her tongue, and tried to steady herself as he began asking questions.

They started simple. Where had she grown up? Had she always known what she wanted to do with her life? He asked about her family, her parents, her dreams. She found herself answering honestly, maybe more honestly than she had expected. There was something disarming about the way he listened, the quiet attentiveness in his gaze. He leaned forward slightly, eyes fixed on hers, as if he were memorizing every word, every inflection, every small pause that revealed a piece of her.

Then, his voice dropped lower.

“Are you a virgin?”

Ava froze, her fingers tightening around the stem of her glass. Heat surged to her cheeks as she set it down with a soft clink and pushed her chair back, her heart hammering in her chest. “That question is completely inappropriate,” she said, her voice tight, trembling slightly despite her effort to stay composed. Every nerve in her body seemed alert, and for a moment, the room felt impossibly small around them.

Victor’s hand shot out, catching hers before she could leave. His palm was warm, his grip firm but careful, grounding her even as her heart raced.

“I apologize,” he said immediately, his voice smooth, earnest, carrying a weight that made her stomach tighten. “I shouldn’t have asked. I crossed a line.”

For a moment, she thought about standing, calling the driver, and ending this strange, intimate evening. But the sincerity in his tone held her in place. Slowly, she eased back into her seat, her pulse still hammering, every sense alert, caught between caution and the strange pull she felt toward him.

Ava took a slow breath, letting some of her tension slip away. “It’s… okay,” she said softly, a hint of a smile tugging at her lips. “Just don’t make a habit of asking personal questions.”

He allowed himself the faintest smile in return, a flicker of amusement in his eyes. “Noted,” he said lightly. “I’ll behave.”

“Thanks.”

Ava lifted her glass, letting the rich red wine coat her tongue as she took a slow, measured sip. She set the glass down, savoring the warmth it left behind. Victor cleared his throat, his gaze never leaving hers, and a moment later, the quiet click of the door announced a personal butler entering with a tray. Plates gleamed under the soft candlelight as he set their food before them with careful precision, retreating silently once the task was done.

“Let’s eat,” Victor said softly, as if nothing had happened.

They began to eat in silence. The clink of silverware against porcelain filled the air, mingling with the faint scent of roses drifting in from the garden. Ava found herself hyper-aware of every movement, of the way his hand curved around his wine glass, of the way his suit fit across his broad shoulders, of the way his eyes seemed to follow her even when he pretended to focus on his meal.

Her mind, however, refused to settle. She could not stop thinking about the question he had asked, the one she had shut down so quickly. Why had he wanted to know if she was still a virgin? Was it some strange family preference, a desire for purity, for the undeflowered? The thought left her feeling guilty somehow, as if refusing to answer had marked her in his eyes.

And yet, she was also intrigued. The way he had taken this dinner seriously, showing up in a tailored suit even in his own home, creating this formal, almost ritualistic setting, spoke volumes about him. It was unnerving, yes, but it also made her pulse quicken, making her want to understand him, to unravel the reasoning behind the carefully measured intensity of his gaze and the deliberate elegance of the evening.

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