Valentine’s Day at Castillo International wasn’t red roses and heart-shaped balloons.

It was meetings. Reports. Contracts.

And yet, somehow, the entire 50th floor knew that Xavier Castillo had reserved his calendar for exactly one event that day—dinner at 7:30 PM.

You knew too. Because the reservation was for you.

---

You were still at your office when the first surprise came.

Your assistant peeked in.

“There’s a courier here. Says it’s urgent.”

You frowned—until you saw the box.

A sleek black package, wrapped in a crimson ribbon.

Inside?

A silk dress. Midnight blue. Floor-length. Backless.

And a note.

"Be ready at 7. I’ll handle everything else. — X"

---

By 6:58, a car was waiting downstairs. And by 7:10, you were stepping into an empty rooftop restaurant, candles flickering beneath the skyline.

He was already there. In a black suit, white shirt, and no tie. The top buttons undone, just enough to make your heart skip.

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” Xavier murmured as he kissed your cheek.

“You hate Valentine’s Day,” you teased, sitting opposite him.

“I hate the way other people do Valentine’s Day,” he corrected. “Plastic hearts. Cheap gestures. I’d rather shut down the city and give you the sky.”

You blinked.

He wasn’t joking.

He’d rented out the entire rooftop.

“You’re ridiculous,” you murmured, but you were smiling.

“I’m obsessed,” he said simply. “And tonight, I don’t want to share you with anyone.”

---

Dinner was slow. Intimate. Wine, soft music, stolen touches beneath the table. He barely touched his food—too focused on you.

“You went all out,” you whispered. “Why?”

“Because the woman who matches me in ambition, confidence, and stubbornness deserves a night that makes her forget everything except how much I want her.”

You smiled softly.