Chapter 3: Dinner Date
The restaurant glittered.
Crystal chandeliers cast a soft glow over polished marble floors. A string quartet played near the entrance, their music weaving through clinking glasses and low conversation. Velvet-draped booths and gold-accented tables were spread out with precision, not a detail out of place. Everyone here wore wealth like a second skin.
Our table was near the center—large, round, impossible to ignore. The Pembroke and Lancaster families seated together, like some twisted royal court at a peace summit.
I sat between my mother and Zevren, back straight, wine untouched.
Zevren, of course, looked completely at ease. White dress shirt, black suit tailored within an inch of his life, and a tie I would love to strangle him with. He held a wine glass delicately, swirling the red liquid like this was just another business meeting.
"Zaira," my mother whispered, nudging me with her elbow, "you could at least smile. People are watching."
I didn't look at her. "They always are."
"Then let them see you glowing."
I resisted the urge to hurl my fork across the table.
Across from us, Zevren's father—an older version of him, colder somehow—was in deep discussion with my father about political alliances, trade routes, and magical jurisdiction. Every so often, their voices would lower, eyes flicking toward us. I knew that look. They were already sealing the deal.
"Do you think they'll make the announcement before or after dessert?" Zevren murmured beside me, voice low and laced with amusement.
"Don't talk to me."
"I missed your sweet temperament."
I turned sharply to him, a warning in my glare. "Touch me and I'll shove your face into the crème brûlée."
He smirked, leaning closer so only I could hear. "Then I'd consider that the highlight of the evening."
Before I could respond, the waiter arrived with silver-domed trays. Plates were unveiled with flair—steak laced with enchanted pepper, gold-dusted truffle pasta, flame-kissed salmon with a lemon-glimmer glaze. Food for kings. Food for manipulation.
To everyone else, we were the perfect couple. My mother beamed at every toast. My father nodded in approval when Zevren offered me a refill of water. Marcus kept his eyes on us like a hawk.
When dessert arrived, a bell-like chime echoed in the air. A signal.
A spotlight dimmed over our table. Every head in the restaurant turned.
Zevren's father stood. "We thank you all for joining us this evening. On behalf of the Lancaster and Pembroke families, it is our great joy to announce the engagement of our children, Zevren and Zaira."
Polite applause filled the room like a ripple. I wanted to vanish into the floor.
Zevren stood as well, taking my hand—gently, but firm enough that I couldn't pull away without making a scene.
He kissed the back of it with a flourish, eyes locked on mine. "Shall we give them a show?"
"Die," I whispered through a smile.
He only chuckled.
When we sat again, I grabbed my glass and downed it in one go.
"You might want to pace yourself," Zevren said. "Hotel rooms are just upstairs, and I think they're expecting us to—"
"Finish that sentence and I'll throw you off the balcony."
"Oh, I like it when you're feisty."
I smiled sweetly. "Sleep with one eye open."
"I'd rather not sleep at all… including you," he murmured back, lips barely moving.
I choked on air.
My glare sharpened like a blade, but before I could verbally stab him with it, my mother raised her glass and gently tapped it with her fork. The delicate ting silenced the table.
"Sorry for the interruption," she said with a radiant smile that set off every internal alarm I had, "but I think it's time we let the kids have their moment."
I blinked. "Wait, wha—"
"Oh, I'd love that," Zevren's mother chimed in, her voice laced with faux innocence. "They'll get to know each other better… intimately, I hope."
I stared at them in horror.
There was something in the way their eyes gleamed, in how they raised their glasses again with knowing smiles—conspirators in lace and pearls. The look that said: Let's not wait for the wedding night. Let's speed this whole thing up.
I turned to Zevren slowly, whispering, "Say one word and I will leap out the window."
He leaned close, whispering back, "We're on the twenty-seventh floor."
"Good. The impact might kill me."
He smiled as he stood, offering me a hand with faux chivalry. "Shall we, my dear fiancée?"
I gave him a long look of pure loathing—and took it anyway, because the stares were burning into the back of my skull.
As we walked toward the private elevators that led to the hotel rooms upstairs, I hissed under my breath, "Touch me, and you lose a finger."
"I'll use the other nine," he quipped.
"Zevren."
"Yes, dear fiancée?"
"I hope the bed has spikes."
He laughed.
The elevator doors slid shut with a soft chime.
The elevator chimed softly as it reached the top floor. The doors slid open to reveal a luxuriously furnished hallway—plush carpeting, warm lighting, and the quiet hum of magic woven into every inch of the space.
Zevren stepped out first, his hand still lightly resting on the small of my back. I didn't slap it away, only because we were being watched. Probably.
As soon as the door to the suite clicked shut behind us, I spun on him.
"You planned this," I accused, crossing my arms.
Zevren, ever infuriating, loosened the collar of his shirt and tossed his suit jacket onto the armchair like he owned the place. "I had no idea our mothers were this eager to play matchmaker. But if I had planned it…" he paused, walking toward the minibar, "...you'd already be in my shirt."
I rolled my eyes so hard it gave me a headache. "Do you ever stop?"
He poured himself a glass of something that shimmered faintly with enchantments, then looked over his shoulder with that same smug curve to his lips. "No."
I turned toward the balcony instead, pushing the doors open. Cool night air rushed in, sweeping through my hair. The city lights below were dazzling, but my thoughts were a storm.
"What are we even doing, Zevren?"
He didn't answer right away. Just the clink of glass and his footsteps approaching. Then the quiet of his voice beside me.
"Playing our roles. Like we've always done."
I glanced at him. "And what role am I playing now?"
He leaned against the railing beside me. "The fiancée who's trying very hard not to remember how warm I was last night."
My cheeks flared with heat. "I was drugged."
He laughed, after that none of us talked.
Then he broke the silence, voice lower this time. "Would you believe me if I said… I didn't mean for any of this to happen, but I don't regret it?"
My heart skipped.
I didn't answer right away.
The city lights blurred below us, golden and distant, but his words clung to the air like fog.
Then, both of our phones buzzed simultaneously, slicing through the moment like a blade.
I glanced at my screen.
The number ended with 66.
A mission.
I looked at Zevren. He was already watching me.
"I better take this," we both said in unison.
He stayed on the balcony. I slipped inside and closed the bathroom door behind me with a soft click.
The moment I was alone, I raised the phone to my ear. My voice was clipped, precise—cold.
"Selene."
MISSION: CODE BLACK 66
Target: Dr. Emil Vortek
Location: Level 47, Aurelius Grand Hotel – Private Biotech Gala
Time: 01:45 AM
Objective: Retrieve stolen nanotech data + eliminate the courier
Selene's contact on the other end spoke quickly, voice distorted through encryption.
"Target is Dr. Emil Vortek. Rogue biotech engineer, defected from Helix Labs three months ago. Tonight, he's selling nanotech blueprints on the black market. Transaction's happening at the gala upstairs—Level 47."
I glanced at the time. 1:17 AM. Tight window.
"You're to intercept the courier before the deal finalizes. We believe it's a woman—goes by the alias 'Mira.' Kill or incapacitate. Retrieve the data, burn all traces. Vortek's fate is up to you."
Then the line went dead.
I stared at the mirror for a second, taking in the woman who'd walked into this evening as a reluctant bride-to-be, and was now slipping back into the skin of an assassin.
I exited the bathroom.
Zevren was waiting, leaning against the railing like he hadn't moved—but his phone was gone, and his jacket was already off.
"Looks like we're going upstairs," he said "We're heading to the 47th floor," he said casually, as if this were just another night.
I didn't speak, just nodded, and the two of us made our way toward the elevator.
And together, we made our way to the 47th floor.
Zevren glanced at me as we entered the private elevator, his expression unreadable under the dim golden light. "You don't seem like the type who enjoys parties," he said casually.
I gave a clipped smile. "I don't. But I figured I'd at least pretend, for the sake of appearances."
"Ah, playing the perfect fiancée," he mused. "You're better at it than I expected."
The doors slid shut. The number 47 lit up on the panel. Neither of us made a move.
What he didn't know: I wasn't heading to a party. I was hunting a ghost with a price on their head.
What I didn't know: Neither was he.
Level 47 – Aurelius Grand Hotel – 01:41 AM
The elevator doors opened to a glamorous scene. Glittering lights. Champagne glasses. A string quartet played softly in the background as servers moved with practiced elegance.
I scanned the room discreetly—looking for Mira. Zevren stood beside me, his gaze sharp, calculating. I caught the glint in his eye. He wasn't just here for appearances.
I took a step toward the ballroom. "You coming?"
"In a minute," he said, brushing something off his sleeve. I nodded and walked off, slipping into the crowd.
He waited until I was gone before murmuring under his breath, "Don't get in my way, princess."
.....