"I don't think going on an arranged date is a good idea," Elena said, trying to keep her voice even as she swirled her tea with a silver spoon. "It's the twenty-first century, Mom. We're not in a period drama."
Her mother, in true elegant fashion, didn't flinch. "It's a perfect idea, my darling," she replied, sitting upright in her white lace blouse like she was the queen of an empire of eligible bachelors. "You've been single for two years, and I'm not getting any younger."
"That's not my problem," Elena muttered.
"Elena Grace Carter," her mother snapped in that gentle but firm tone that always made Elena feel five years old again. "You're thirty. You're brilliant, beautiful, successful. Why on earth are you still single?"
Elena looked out the window of the café, watching cars pass as her fingers tightened around the handle of her teacup. It wasn't that she hadn't tried. It wasn't that she didn't want love.
It was that love had burned her.
His name was Derek Miles. A polished financier with a clean smile and sharp charm, he'd swept her off her feet three years ago. They met at a friend's engagement party, bonded over a shared love of art and wine, and dated for almost a year before moving in together. Elena had thought he was the one. He spoke about marriage like it was on the horizon, hinted at children, even let her design their shared apartment.
But what started as small, subtle lies turned into secret phone calls, vague weekend plans, and whispered names that didn't belong to her. The woman he was seeing behind her back? His business partner's assistant. A younger, shinier model with a talent for social climbing and silicone charm.
Elena had found out the day after her birthday—when she walked into his office to surprise him with lunch and found them tangled together on his leather couch.
The betrayal had shattered her. Not just because he'd cheated, but because he'd made her question every decision, every instinct, every ounce of trust she'd placed in another person.
Since then, love had felt like a myth. Dating apps made her feel hollow. Casual flings left her colder than before. She threw herself into her interior design business, transforming homes with purpose and heart, but her own heart remained in ruins.
"You know what he did to me," she finally said to her mother, voice quiet. "Why would I risk going through that again?"
Her mother softened, her sternness melting just a little. "Because, Elena, not every man is Derek. You can't let one mistake keep you from finding someone who deserves you."
Before Elena could reply, her father chimed in from behind his newspaper. "And this young man we picked for you is very promising. Educated. Established. His sister knows your Aunt Helen."
Elena pinched the bridge of her nose. "That sounds like the start of a disaster."
"He'll be at the rooftop restaurant on Friday night. 7:30 sharp," her mother said with finality. "Wear that navy dress I like."
Friday came quicker than expected.
The restaurant was buzzing with energy, lit by twinkling fairy lights, with live jazz flowing through the air like soft perfume. It was a night for lovers, hopefuls, and blind dates—all seeking connection. Elena walked in, heels clicking against marble, feeling as if she were walking into an audition she hadn't prepared for.
Tables were scattered with roses and tiny candles, casting shadows and glowing warmly. Servers moved swiftly between guests, balancing trays of cocktails and appetizers. The rooftop offered a stunning view of the city skyline, but Elena's gaze was rooted in the scene before her: people meeting for the first time, some nervous, some giddy.
A man in his forties was laughing too loudly at a joke his date clearly didn't find funny. A woman in red was subtly swiping left under the table. A couple near the window leaned in so closely they looked ready to kiss before dessert.
Elena sat alone at the bar, sipping a glass of white wine, watching the evening unfold. She reminded herself it was just one night. One date. It didn't mean anything.
She wondered what her mystery man looked like. Balding and overly enthusiastic? Polite and boring? Did he live with his mother and breed pigeons? Or worse—another Derek in disguise?
She checked her phone. 7:31 p.m.
Then came a shift in the air. Like static.
A man walked in, tall and broad-shouldered, with a commanding presence that made heads turn. His suit was cut to perfection, navy with subtle pinstripes, his jaw sculpted like a Renaissance statue. His eyes scanned the room with quiet confidence, like he was used to being in charge.
He looked like power. Precision. And maybe a little danger.
Then those dark eyes landed on her.
Elena blinked.
He blinked.
They both stared.
"No," she whispered under her breath.
It couldn't be.
"Miss Carter?" the man said, approaching with careful steps.
Her heart did a backflip. "Noah Blake?"
He nodded once. "Apparently, we've both been set up."
Noah. Blake.
Her ex's boss.
The infamous corporate lawyer with a reputation for being ruthless in the courtroom and uninterested in romantic entanglements. The same man who had once looked at her like she was a distraction when she brought Derek lunch at his office.
Elena's pulse kicked up.
"You've got to be kidding me," she said.
"I thought the same thing when I saw your name on the reservation," he replied dryly. "But my sister insisted I show up. Something about 'softening my edges.'"
"My mother practically threatened to revoke my inheritance."
He cracked a rare smile. Just a flicker, but enough to surprise her. "Then we're both victims of overzealous relatives."
They stood in silence for a second, the buzz of the restaurant continuing around them.
"We could walk out now," she offered.
"We could," he agreed. "Or we could stay. Make them think we hit it off. Buy ourselves some peace for a few months."
Elena hesitated. It was madness. But also… kind of genius.
"One dinner," she said. "Strictly pretend."
"Agreed," he said. "Let's fake a spark so bright they'll be planning a wedding by Monday."
She almost laughed. Almost.
They walked to the reserved table together, and for the first time in two years, Elena felt something unexpected flutter in her chest.
Not love.
But the possibility of it.
As they sat down, Noah pulled out her chair, the perfect gentleman despite his reputation. The waiter approached, and they ordered a bottle of wine. Conversation started slow, cautious. Then it shifted.
They joked about the matchmaking madness of their families. They shared stories of terrible dates—his involving a woman who tried to sell him essential oils halfway through dinner; hers with a man who'd spent twenty minutes talking about his cat's Instagram page.
Noah wasn't the man she thought he was. Beneath the sharp exterior was someone surprisingly self-aware, quietly observant, and unexpectedly kind.
As the evening wore on, Elena found herself leaning in, laughing, forgetting the weight she carried.
Maybe this blind date wasn't a disaster after all.