Chapter 74: On my way to Emiliana’s World

Chapter 74: Chapter 74: On my way to Emiliana’s World

They kept going, a lightweight jacket added for anything that needed a bit more structure, a dark overshirt Milo insisted every "mysterious but approachable man" needed in his rotation, a couple of simple button-up shirts for whenever Garrett needed to look more deliberately put together than his usual baseline.

"What’s this for," Milo asked, holding up a plain white button-up, "dinner with someone’s parents? A job interview? A very polite kidnapping?"

"Dinner. Something like that."

"Ah. High stakes dinner. Say no more." Milo added two to the pile instead of one, ignoring Garrett’s raised eyebrow entirely. "Trust the process."

A black cap went on next, followed by a neutral-colored one Milo insisted was "for when you want to look effortless, which, ironically, takes a great deal of effort." Two scarves joined the pile after some deliberation, simple enough that they actually fit the rest of what Garrett had built rather than looking like they belonged to someone else’s wardrobe entirely.

"You could’ve talked me into anything today," Garrett admitted at one point, watching Milo fold a shirt with unnecessary precision.

"I know," Milo said, entirely without shame. "It’s a gift."

Socks, undershirts, the basic essentials Garrett actually needed but would never have thought to prioritize on his own, all got swept into the growing collection of bags. By the time they moved toward footwear, Garrett had genuinely lost count of how much was accumulating.

The shoe section drew an entirely new level of enthusiasm out of Milo, who treated the selection process like defusing a bomb, every choice weighed with theatrical seriousness. Garrett walked out with clean white sneakers, a darker casual pair for anything that needed to survive actual weather, and a more polished pair Milo insisted on for "the days you need people to take you seriously without you having to say a word."

"You’re better at this than I expected to need," Garrett said eventually, surveying the small mountain of bags now surrounding them.

"Everyone underestimates me until this exact moment," Milo said, entirely satisfied with himself. "Then they leave here looking like they finally figured out who they are. You’re welcome, by the way."

Garrett tapped his phone against the terminal.

Face ID confirmed the payment.

£2,347.80 disappeared from his account.

Garrett paid, the total barely registering against everything else he’d already absorbed today, and gathered the bags with Milo trailing him toward the door, still offering unsolicited styling advice right up until the last possible second.

"Wear the red one first," Milo called after him. "Trust me. First impressions matter."

Garrett didn’t answer, but he was smiling slightly as the door closed behind him.

He stopped at a grocery store on the way back, picking through the produce with the same care he’d started using since Freya’s dinner, choosing ingredients for something worth actually cooking rather than grabbing whatever required the least effort.

Back at the apartment, he set the shopping bags aside and got to work in the kitchen, washing the vegetables first, the water running cool over his hands while he worked through the familiar rhythm of prep. He cut everything with more patience than he might have, seasoning the chicken properly, letting it sit while the pan heated, oil shimmering slightly before he laid the meat in with a satisfying sear that filled the apartment with sound and smell almost immediately.

This time, there was no audience waiting to judge it, no bet riding on whether it turned out well. He cooked because he wanted to eat something decent before disappearing into someone else’s world for the next few days, the process itself settling into something almost meditative now that nothing beyond his own appetite depended on it. He ate slowly once it was done, cleaned up after himself out of habit, and let the apartment fall quiet around him for the rest of the early afternoon.

By four o’clock, he checked the time and realized it was time to start actually getting ready.

He showered, taking his time, and stood in front of his overhauled wardrobe for a moment, genuinely spoiled for choice in a way he hadn’t been in longer than he could remember.

He went with the red sweatshirt, Milo’s voice echoing faintly in his head insisting on it, paired with the black straight-leg jeans and the darker casual sneakers. He checked himself in the mirror once, satisfied with what looked back at him.

He packed a few wears, two pair of pants and a T-shirt and a hoodie, all from the shopping earlier that day.

Before heading out, he pulled up Emiliana’s message, the address sitting there exactly where he’d need it. He remembered, with a flicker of something close to embarrassment, how badly he’d forgotten the address after their first Sunday date, forgotten almost the second he’d needed it. This time he saved it properly, double-checked it against the map before requesting his ride.

Vane Estates.

The name alone told him plenty before he’d even seen the place. A private residential development, gated and heavily controlled, the kind of place where the exclusivity was obvious before you even saw the houses, private roads and security checkpoints doing the talking that a single grand building might have done somewhere less deliberately hidden.

He requested the Uber and stepped outside to wait, calling Emiliana while he waited for the car to arrive.

"Hey," he said when she picked up. "Heading your way now."

"Good." He could hear the smile in her voice, warm and unhurried. "I’ll be expecting you."

The car pulled up a few minutes later. Garrett loaded his bag into the trunk, climbed into the back seat, and gave the driver the address, settling in as the car pulled away from the curb.

He watched the city shift past the window, familiar streets gradually giving way to something else entirely, the buildings spacing out, the noise thinning, everything around him slowly rearranging itself into the kind of quiet that came from money rather than distance.

He was heading toward Emiliana’s world again.

This time, he wasn’t going for a few hours.

He was going to stay.