The late afternoon light poured through the windows of Nicole's cozy living room, casting soft shadows across the neutral-toned furniture. Zeke sat comfortably on the long beige sofa, a cup of black coffee in one hand, while Nicole sat beside him, flipping through a book but only half-reading—her attention always half-tethered to her younger brother when he visited.
The quiet hum of the neighborhood was suddenly broken by the sound of the front door swinging open.
"Uncle Zeke!"
Arielle burst into the room with her usual energy, her cheeks flushed from the mild chill outside. She dropped her tote bag by the door and practically skipped toward them, her long dark ponytail swaying behind her.
Zeke looked up and smiled. "Hey, sunshine. You look suspiciously excited."
Arielle grinned wide. "My birthday's next week!"
Zeke leaned back, raising an eyebrow. "Already? How old are you now—seventeen?"
She rolled her eyes dramatically. "Twenty-one, Uncle."
He chuckled. "Twenty-one? That means I owe you a proper grown-up birthday present."
Arielle's eyes sparkled, and she bit back a smile. Zeke could already sense the ideas brewing in her head.
"What do you want?" he asked, leaning forward. "Sports car? Diamonds? Your own apartment in Manhattan?"
Nicole snapped her book shut with a pointed look. "No."
Zeke blinked, amused. "What do you mean, 'no'?"
"No sports car, no diamonds, no apartments," Nicole repeated, shaking her head. "Don't spoil her, Zeke. She's still figuring out how to pay her own phone bill."
Arielle's face, which had lit up at the luxurious suggestions, now fell into a dramatic pout. "Mom…"
Zeke laughed under his breath, then turned to her. "Alright then. What do you want, really? Uncle will get it for you."
Arielle hesitated, then suddenly brightened again as something clicked in her mind. She pulled out her phone, tapping quickly. "Okay, wait—I have it."
She turned the screen toward Zeke, showing him an Instagram account with a clean, modern feed—filled with shots of stylish, minimal, and effortlessly cool outfits. The handle read: @cy.noire.
"This," she said. "This brand is everything. It's super popular right now with my friends. Everyone's talking about it on TikTok. It's based in Switzerland, but the designs are so fresh. Cool, but simple. Like… wearable art."
Zeke raised an eyebrow as he scrolled. The clothes were indeed stylish—youthful yet elegant, and clearly curated with intent. He could recognize high-quality craftsmanship when he saw it.
"So this is what you want?"
Arielle nodded enthusiastically. "Yes! I've tried to get a few pieces before, but they're almost always sold out. They only produce in small batches, which makes it even harder to get."
Zeke handed her phone back. "Then send me screenshots of everything you want. I'll get them for you."
Arielle looked toward her mother, as if asking for silent permission.
Nicole sighed but didn't object—just gave a small shrug and muttered, "As long as it's not a car."
That was all the confirmation Arielle needed. She squealed, spun on her heel, and ran back to her room. Moments later, the faint sound of her voice could be heard through the hallway as she eagerly selected screenshots and began sending them one by one to Zeke's phone.
Zeke's phone buzzed quietly on the coffee table.
Message after message from Arielle filled his screen—photos of neatly curated outfits, each more trendy than the last. Cropped cardigans, sleek trousers, oversized hoodies with minimalist prints. The brand tag was the same in every image: Cy. Noire.
He scrolled through them with a neutral expression, saving the images without much thought.
Just clothes. Not really his world.
He opened his email app, typed a short message, and forwarded the images to Andrew, his ever-efficient assistant.
Zeke: Get all of these. It's from a Swiss brand called Cy. Noire. Some items may be limited. Find them. Priority shipping. Birthday gift for Arielle.
He hit send, leaned back against the couch, and took a sip of his now-lukewarm coffee.
Nicole gave him a side glance. "You're spoiling her."
"She's twenty-one," Zeke said casually. "It's a milestone. Let her feel special."
His phone vibrated again.
Andrew: Noted. A few of the pieces are already sold out on the official site. Want me to look for resellers or reach out to the brand directly?
Zeke: Use your judgment. I don't need details. Just get them.
Andrew: Understood.
Zeke put the phone face-down on the table. He wasn't particularly interested in the brand or who was behind it. For all he cared, it could've been manufactured on Mars—as long as Arielle was happy.
Her birthday, her wish. That was all that mattered.
Nicole shook her head, half-amused. "You always act like you don't care, but you're the softest uncle I know."
Zeke shrugged. "I keep it efficient."
Nicole snorted. "You keep it expensive."
But she was smiling.
***
Evening was settling in when Zeke's phone buzzed. He glanced at the caller ID—Thomas.
He answered with a dry tone, "What do you want?"
"Dinner," Thomas said enthusiastically. "There's this fancy new restaurant downtown. I'm picking you up in an hour."
Zeke raised an eyebrow. "You do realize I'm not your wife, right? Take her."
"If Hannah were here, I wouldn't be calling you," Thomas replied with a dramatic sigh. "She's out of town for work—flew to Chicago this morning."
"Then go by yourself," Zeke said flatly.
"I don't want to go alone," Thomas argued. "And besides, when was the last time we had dinner together—just the two of us? Ages ago."
Zeke remained silent for a moment, unconvinced.
"Besides," Thomas added, "my brother-in-law is doing a collab with the restaurant. He's a chef. A damn good one. Hannah promised we'd show up to support him. Since she's not here, it falls on me. And I'm not about to sit there alone like some sad, abandoned husband."
Zeke sighed, leaning against the counter. "So this is a guilt trip with a side of fine dining?"
"Pretty much," Thomas replied. "But I swear, the food will be worth it."
There was a pause.
Zeke gave in. "Fine. Send me the address."
The restaurant was nestled on a quiet corner of the Upper West Side, all soft lighting, sleek interiors, and an air of exclusivity. As Zeke stepped inside, the scent of grilled herbs and butter hit him instantly—refined, rich, but not overwhelming.
He spotted Thomas near the back, already seated at a table for two with a cocktail in hand. Dressed sharply in a navy blazer, Thomas waved him over with a smug grin.
"Took you long enough," he teased.
Zeke pulled out the chair across from him and sat down. "I didn't know your brother-in-law was a chef."
Thomas grinned wider. "Surprised?"
"I just assumed your wife's entire family was like you—suit-and-briefcase types. All law and no flavor," Zeke said, glancing around the restaurant with mild curiosity.
Thomas let out a short laugh. "You're not entirely wrong. Hannah's family is full of legal minds. Her dad and older brother are both judges. Her mom's a retired prosecutor. And Hannah—well, you know—is a defense attorney."
Zeke raised an eyebrow. "Impressive. So the chef is the odd one out?"
"Very much so," Thomas said, nodding. "He's the only one who broke the mold. Never wanted anything to do with law. Always had this wild, restless energy. Loves freedom, hates structure. He's lived in at least five countries, always chasing something—flavor, inspiration, or just a change of scenery."
Zeke leaned back slightly, intrigued. "And now he's in New York?"
"Just temporarily," Thomas explained. "He's based in Switzerland. Owns a restaurant there—pretty successful, from what I hear. This collaboration is short-term, but Hannah told me he's seriously considering opening a branch here in the States."
"Is he actually good?" Zeke asked, skeptical but open.
"Top-tier," Thomas said confidently. "He's competed in some of the toughest culinary competitions and won more than a few. Trust me, this isn't some 'hobby chef' situation. The guy's legit."
Zeke glanced at the menu in front of him, though he was already more curious about the man behind the dishes than the list of ingredients.
"Well," he said with a faint smirk, "let's see if he lives up to the hype."
The dishes arrived one by one, each presented with quiet elegance—like paintings brought to life by heat and precision. A perfectly seared duck breast with blackberry reduction. Saffron pasta with truffle shavings. Pan-roasted sea bass on a bed of fennel puree.
Zeke took his time, savoring each bite. He didn't say much, but the subtle nods, the thoughtful glances at the plate, and the way he cleared it clean said enough.
Thomas leaned forward, clearly pleased. "You like it."
Zeke wiped his mouth with the corner of his napkin and nodded once. "He knows what he's doing."
"Understatement of the year," Thomas grinned. "Told you. That man's a genius in the kitchen."
Just as the final plates were cleared and the waiter refilled their glasses with water, a familiar voice called from behind them.
"Well, you actually came."
Thomas turned around, smile spreading. "Look who's finally off the line."
Zeke looked over his shoulder calmly, and when his gaze landed on the man standing beside their table, his fingers curled slightly around his glass.
It was him.
The man from the café. Same face, same presence—cool, confident, and slightly amused. Now dressed in a tailored black chef's coat, sleeves pushed to his elbows, a towel slung casually over one shoulder.
The man looked at Zeke, tilting his head slightly with recognition—and just the hint of a smirk.
Zeke's throat went dry.
Thomas gestured between them. "Zeke, this is my brother-in-law. The culinary genius behind everything you just ate."
The man extended a hand, casual and steady. "Nice to meet you… again."
Zeke stared for a second too long before slowly reaching out to shake it.
"Yeah," he said carefully. "You too."