Charles usually spent his Friday evenings tucked away in the dim corner of the bar near his office, a half-empty glass of whiskey resting in front of him like a ritual. For a man of wealth and status, his life had grown surprisingly uneventful. Too old to mingle in the pulsing chaos of nightclubs, too restless to stay at home, the bar had become his sanctuary—a place where he could watch life pass by without being asked to participate.

On one such Friday, everything began the same as always. He was preparing to leave when his gaze landed on her. A woman, sitting alone at a nearby table. Charles paused mid-motion, his hand still brushing the rim of his glass. She was young, clearly unmarried, and there was a kind of unguarded melancholy in her face, as though she had been waiting far too long for someone who would not arrive.

Curiosity tugged at him, holding him in his seat. Was she single, or merely the victim of a thoughtless boyfriend’s lateness? The question lingered in his mind, drawing him deeper into her silence. On impulse, he signaled to the bartender and ordered her a drink—something light, sweet, garnished with strawberries. Women liked that sort of thing, didn’t they? He instructed the glass to be sent to her table, watching carefully as it arrived.

Her reaction was subtle, but telling. A spark of surprise, a faint smile. The simple gesture seemed to lift the shadow from her evening, if only slightly. Pleased with himself, Charles felt his own spirits rise.

Minutes stretched into an eternity before he finally stood, smoothed down his tie, and mustered the kind of confidence he had not called upon in years. Gods, it had been so long since he had flirted. The thought alone made his pulse quicken.

Crossing the short distance to her table, he offered the warmest smile he could manage. “Good evening, miss,” he greeted, voice low but steady. “I noticed you enjoyed your drink. Perhaps I should order you another?”