Moon Lotus announced itself long before Rafael reached the door.
Everything about the restaurant, from the glass and light to the selective visibility, was designed to be seen without feeling exposed. He crossed the threshold with measured steps, a relaxed posture, and a neutral expression that suggested he belonged anywhere without asking permission.
He had chosen his clothes with intent.
No palace uniform. No subtle reminder of who employed him or whose shadow he usually worked in. Just dark trousers, pressed sharp enough to cut, a fitted navy shirt, sleeves down, collar crisp, and a black tie knotted precisely once and left alone. Polished shoes. Delphine has no advantage based solely on optics.
If this was going to happen, it would not happen with him dressed as a subordinate.
The hostess recognized him a half second too late, surprise flickering before training smoothed it away. Rafael gave his name quietly. The table was already waiting.
Of course it was.
