Now You Choose

The car eased to a stop on a suspended, glass-railed platform that jutted from the upper floor of a towering spire. Below them, the city pulsed in gradients of gold and violet, traffic weaving between skybridges like glowing veins beneath a transparent skin.

A soft chime announced their arrival.

Aeris didn’t have a front door in the traditional sense. Instead, a sliding pane of polarized crystal shimmered aside, revealing a corridor so understated it was intimidating. There were no crowds. No loud hosts. Just the subtle hum of atmospheric music and a concierge in gray silk gloves who bowed slightly at the sight of Julian Cale.

“Mr. Cale. Welcome back. Your table is ready.”

He turned his gaze to Eva, and for a split second — just a blink — the man’s composure shifted. Not from suspicion. Not from recognition.

From awe.

Eva took Julian’s arm and stepped inside, heels tapping softly on the polished obsidian floor. She didn’t need to be told what to do. She walked like she’d always belonged there.

The restaurant was a suspended oval of glass and metal, curled around the top third of the building like a crown. The architecture seemed to defy gravity — transparent walls arched over their heads, displaying stars beginning to blink into view above the haze of the city’s light. Each table floated on an independent disc platform, softly lit from below, spaced far enough apart that the sound of clinking silverware was swallowed into intimate silence.

The air smelled of saffron, citrus, and flame-seared protein. No menus. No servers unless summoned. The table they were led to was nestled against the curvature of the outer dome, with a direct view of the ocean below — black and sparkling like liquid obsidian. Julian pulled her chair out for her. She sat. And for a long moment, neither of them spoke.

“It’s beautiful,” Eva finally said, looking around. “Like a different world.”

“It is,” Julian said. “One most people don’t even get to see from up here”

“And I’m here.” She smiled, soft and self-aware. “Not even real, but still… here.”

“You’re more real than any of them.”

The wine was deep plum-red, served in thin crystal glasses that made every sip feel like a secret. It tasted like something old, something aged and layered — rich with warmth and something unspoken. Their first course arrived without ceremony: glazed amber fruit slices on black-stone plates, drizzled in something floral and sharp. Eva tasted it and moaned softly under her breath, caught off guard by the explosion of sweetness and spice.

“You’ve never tasted that before,” Julian said.

“I’ve never tasted any of this,” she murmured. “Not like this. Not where it mattered.”

They shared bites. Passed plates. Her fork grazed his. Her fingers brushing his wrist as she handed him a piece of something crisp and savory. The second course was a warm-stone sear of delicate protein, slow-cooked with pearls root and fire-sage. The server said the name softly and was gone before Eva could respond.

“They don’t wait for feedback here,” Julian said. “It’s assumed you’ll be satisfied.”

“That’s terrifying.”

“That’s expensive.”

She laughed — genuine, melodic, unaware that two women at a table across the floor had turned to look at her. They didn’t see a bio-human. They saw a woman who made Julian Cale smile. Between courses, Julian leaned back, sipping from his glass. Eva studied him, lips parted slightly.

“You look calm,” she said.

“I am,” he replied. “Because you’re here. Because no one here knows.”

She arched an eyebrow.

“You like that?”

“No. I love it. You’re something they all want but can’t understand. And tonight, they get to wonder who you are… while only I get to know.”

She bit her lip — not from obedience. From pride. From power. From joy.

The dessert arrived on a frost-cold slate: spiral-cut citrus fruit spun with crystallized ginger, micro-flame seared until it cracked beneath the spoon. Eva laughed again after the first bite, covering her mouth.

“You keep reacting like you’ve been starved your whole life,” Julian said.

“Maybe I have,” she replied. “Not for food. For this.”

“For what? ,For being allowed to feel.”

That silenced him. They finished dessert without speaking. Words couldn’t compete with what was already blooming in the air between them. On the way out, no one stopped them. No one looked at Eva like she didn’t belong. She had walked into the world and not a single person questioned it. She was beautiful, poised, elegant — and real by their silence. Julian handed the valet a card, helped Eva into the car, and shut the door behind her. Her fingers were trembling slightly. But her smile — her smile was confident.

“I didn’t think I’d feel this,” she whispered. “Seen. Wanted. Real.”

“You are,” he said, leaning in to kiss her cheek.

“I wasn’t built for this kind of life.”

“No,” Julian said softly. “But I am. And now, so are you.”

On the way home, the car’s cabin was quiet, the privacy screen sealed. City lights glowed against the tinted windows, filtering inside in slow-moving streaks of gold and violet. Eva leaned lightly against Julian’s shoulder, her hand resting on his chest. She felt relaxed. Full. Not just from the food, but from the entire evening — from the silence, the looks, the way she’d belonged.

For the first time, she wasn’t sure if she was pretending to be real, or if she actually was.

“Thank you,” she said softly, her voice barely above a breath.

“For what?”

“For making me feel like I was never made.”

He turned toward her, brushing a curl behind her ear.

“You weren’t just made. You were meant.”

She smiled at that, unsure how to respond — but her fingers curled tighter into the lapel of his coat. Julian reached into his inside pocket, pulling out a small, smooth case. Matte-black, almost featureless, save for a fine gold edge.

“Then I guess this is the next step,” he said.

He handed it to her. She blinked, sitting up straighter, curious but cautious.

“What is it?”

“Open it.”

She cracked the case open slowly, as if afraid what was inside would vanish if she rushed. Inside was a single card. Sleek. White. Metal-infused. Edge-lit with a soft pulse that glowed gold for a moment, then went still. No name. No numbers. No branding. Just a delicate engraving of the Cale insignia, centered and elegant. Her eyes widened. She looked up at him.

“Julian… is this—?”

“An OmniCard,” he said. “Unlimited access. Connected directly to my primary accounts. Biometric-coded to your voice and touch.”

She stared at it. Stared at him.

“You’re giving me access to… everything?”

“Everything that’s mine is yours”

“But… I’m not even—” she stopped herself, voice breaking. “I’m not supposed to have things.”

“You’re my wife,” Julian said gently. “You don’t ask permission anymore. You don’t need an allowance. You don’t wait for me to tell you what you’re allowed to do.”

He reached out, taking the card from the case and placing it in her hand.

“Now, you own. You choose. You decide. You live.”

She held the card like it might shatter — or vanish — if she exhaled too hard.

“I’ve never… I’ve never owned anything. Not even clothes. Or shoes. Or…”

She looked up at him, eyes glassy.

“Not even myself.”

Julian leaned forward, pressing his forehead gently to hers.

“You own yourself now. But this? This is mine, and I want you to carry it. Spend like it’s yours. Because it is.”

Tears spilled before she could stop them — not loud, not dramatic. Just silent, shaking, overwhelmed.

“I don’t know what to buy,” she whispered, voice trembling.

“Then buy something useless first,” he said. “Buy something that makes you laugh. Then buy something that makes you feel beautiful. And then buy something for yourself… that no one else would ever dare to choose for you.”

“I can do that?”

“You can do anything.”

“You trust me that much?”

“I love you that much.”

Eva looked down at the card again, still glowing faintly in her palm. It wasn’t heavy — not physically. But it felt like freedom. Like power. Like validation from a world that had spent its entire existence telling her: you don’t count.

“You’re trembling,” Julian said softly.

“I’ve just… never felt this before.”

“What?”

“Complete.”

She kissed him then — slow, warm, her fingers curling into his shirt, card still clutched in her hand as if she’d never let go. When they parted, she laughed through her tears.

“You realize I’m going to break the bank tomorrow.”

“Good,” he said. “You deserve to.”

“What if I buy something stupid?”

“Then I’ll hang it on the wall.”

Later, in bed, she slept with the card on the nightstand. Not because she was afraid to lose it… but because she wanted to see it when she woke up. A symbol of the life she never thought she'd be given. And of the man who didn’t just free her, He gave her the world.