The restaurant was a sanctuary of warm wood, dimmed amber lights, and the soft clinking of crystal—a place designed for intimacy and secrets. As Ethan stepped inside, followed by the striking contrast of Isabella's elegance and Sophia's fiery presence, he felt a phantom itch at the back of his neck.
The System's warning about a "third party" was a cold blade pressing against his spine. He scanned the room, his eyes darting from the couple in the corner to the elderly man reading a newspaper near the window. He saw no one suspicious, yet the 'Gaze of the Observer'—the bonus from his last chest—was screaming. There was an emotional resonance in the air that didn't belong to the Vancour sisters.
They were led to a plush velvet booth. Ethan sat in the center, and before he could even settle, Sophia slid in beside him. She leaned close, her emerald silk dress rustling, her scent of expensive perfume and mischief filling his lungs.
"The Saint looks distracted," Sophia teased, her voice a low purr. "Are you looking for ghosts, Ethan? Or are you just overwhelmed by the company?"
Isabella sat on his other side, her posture rigid. She looked at her sister with a mixture of exasperation and a protectiveness that bordered on possessive. "Sophia, let him breathe. He's had a long day."
A waiter approached, looking slightly dazzled by the two women. Sophia didn't just order; she performed. "I'll have the lobster thermidor," she said, giving the waiter a wink that made the poor man stumble over his pen. "And bring a bottle of your finest red. Something that tastes like a secret."
Isabella rolled her eyes. "I'll have the sea bass. And just water, please. Some of us actually have rounds in the morning."
Ethan ordered mechanically, his mind still cycling through the System's warning. Who is watching?
As the waiter left, the dinner turned into a battlefield. Isabella tried to engage Ethan in a conversation about the ethical implications of medical AI, but Sophia kept interrupting with scandalous stories from the underground gambling circuit. Each time Isabella gained ground, Sophia would lean against Ethan's shoulder, her movements deliberate and provocative.
"Abla, stop," Isabella hissed, her face flushing with jealousy. "You're embarrassing yourself."
"Jealousy doesn't suit a doctor, Bella," Sophia laughed, sliding her arm through Ethan's. "Besides, I think Ethan likes the attention. Don't you, handsome?"
In response, Isabella seized Ethan's other arm, pulling him toward her. "He's my guest, Sophia. I invited him."
"And I'm the one who's going to make him a legend," Sophia countered.
They both looked at him, their eyes burning with a sudden, competitive fire. "Ethan," they said in unison, their voices demanding an answer. "Which one of us do you prefer?"
[ WARNING: !!!!!!! ]
The System's alert was a red strobe light in his mind, but it provided no explanation. Panic flared in Ethan's chest. He saw the tension between the sisters—the people who had just saved his home. He couldn't let them tear each other apart over him.
Driven by a desperate need for peace, Ethan acted. He wrapped his arms around both of them, drawing them into a firm, grounding embrace. "Stop it," he said, his voice imbued with the 'Silver Tongue' bonus. "You're sisters. I value both of you more than I can say. Don't let me be the reason you fight."
The sisters froze. The warmth of Ethan's embrace and the sincerity in his voice acted like a cooling balm. They looked at each other, the anger melting into a shy realization.
"I'm sorry, Bella," Sophia whispered, her voice uncharacteristically soft.
"Me too," Isabella replied.
They both leaned in, and in a synchronized moment of affection, they each pressed a soft kiss to Ethan's cheeks. For a second, Ethan felt like he had mastered the world. He had navigated the crisis. He had won.
[ QUEST FAILED ]
The Heart of the Hidden Observer has shattered.
Ethan's blood turned to ice. He pulled back, his eyes frantically searching the restaurant. He looked toward the glass entrance. A silhouette was standing there, framed by the streetlights outside.
A floral sundress. A denim jacket.
Maya.
She was holding a small paper bag—perhaps a gift, perhaps a snack she wanted to share after finding out where he was. Her face was a mask of pure, agonizing betrayal. She had seen it all: the laughter, the intimacy, the sisters clinging to his arms, and finally, the twin kisses.
Ethan stood up so fast his chair screeched against the floor. "I... I have to go. An emergency. I'm sorry!"
He didn't wait for their response. He ignored Sophia's confused call and Isabella's worried look. He burst through the restaurant doors into the night air.
The world felt distorted. He opened his System menu, his fingers trembling.
[ Romance Analysis ]
Affinity with Isabella: 42% (Rising)
Affinity with Sophia: 28% (Curious)
Affinity with Maya Vance: 2% (Critical Drop - Heartbroken)
"No," Ethan choked out. "Maya, wait!"
He saw her in the distance, a small, hunched figure running toward the bus stop. He ran, his lungs burning, the Radiant Vitality he was so proud of now feeling like a mockery. He reached the bus stop just as she collapsed onto the bench, her face buried in her hands. She was sobbing—deep, ragged sounds that tore through the quiet street.
"Maya," he gasped, reaching out a hand.
She flinched as if he had burned her. She looked up, and Ethan flinched. Her eyes, usually so bright and full of sunshine, were bloodshot and drowning in tears.
"Maya, it's not what it looks like. They're... they're sisters, they were just—"
"I saw you, Ethan," she whispered, her voice cracking. "I thought... I thought the Ferris wheel meant something. I thought I was special to you. But you're just... you're just like everyone else. Playing games."
"No, Maya, please listen—"
"Don't!" she screamed, a sudden flash of anger breaking through the grief. "Don't touch me! Don't look at me! I never want to see you again. Go back to your beautiful, sophisticated friends. You don't belong in my world."
A taxi pulled up to the curb, its yellow light blinding. Maya scrambled inside before Ethan could stop her. Through the rear window, he saw her head drop into her hands again as the car sped away, disappearing into the city traffic.
He sat on the cold metal bench where she had just been crying. He didn't open the System. He didn't look at his stats. He just leaned forward, his head in his hands, staring at the oil-slicked pavement.
The Gardener had tended to too many flowers, and in his pride, he had crushed the only one that truly mattered. Above him, the moon was hidden behind a thick veil of clouds, leaving him in the very darkness he thought he had escaped.