"Stop looking here and there like you're lost," Seraphine said sharply, tugging him toward another shop window. "We're here to shop for clothes."
Rhys blinked, trying to keep up. "I didn't exactly sign up for this, you know."
"You didn't sign up for anything," she said, smirking. "That's the fun part."
He sighed, following her inside anyway. He knew by now — when Seraphine decided something, it just happened. No arguments, no escape.
They browsed through racks until she picked out a soft, elegant dress for herself and a simple but perfectly tailored outfit for him.
"You have to pay," she said casually, holding out the clothes.
He looked at her, half amused. "Oh, of course. How could I forget? My wallet exists for moments like this."
Her lips curved into a teasing smile. "See? You learn fast."
As he paid, he couldn't help but wonder, Is this why she's dating me? No… it can't be. There's definitely more to her than this.
Once they stepped out, bags in hand, he asked lightly, "So… was this supposed to be our first date?"
Seraphine didn't even hesitate. "You'll have dinner with me today," she said matter-of-factly. "So yes — maybe it is."
He raised an eyebrow. "And where exactly are we going for this dinner?"
"A restaurant I chose," she replied. "But first…" she paused, turning to him with that same confident look that always disarmed him, "let's stop by your place. It's nearby, right? We'll try the new outfits before dinner."
Rhys frowned slightly, sensing that same mix of curiosity and caution stirring again. "You know, you're really bad at giving people time to process things. Maybe tell me what this is really about first."
To his surprise, she didn't argue. She just smiled — not her usual teasing one, but softer this time. "I'll explain," she said quietly. "But right now, it's getting late."
And with that, she turned toward the car, her hair catching the evening light.
Rhys followed, his mind spinning faster than his steps.
He couldn't tell if he was walking beside someone dangerous… or someone who might change everything.
Soon, they stood outside the restaurant — both dressed in their newly bought clothes, the city lights reflecting off the glass doors ahead. The faint hum of chatter and soft piano music seeped through the entrance.
Seraphine turned to him, her expression unreadable. "My father is inside," she said quietly. "And I'm going to officially introduce you."
Rhys froze. Before he could speak, she continued, "You have the choice to back off right now. My driver will take you home safely."
Her tone wasn't mocking this time — it carried a strange sincerity, something he hadn't heard from her before.
He studied her face — the confidence, the calm, and underneath it, the faint trace of vulnerability. For the first time, he realized this wasn't just another one of her games. There was something deeper at play.
For a moment, his mind screamed walk away. But his heart — or maybe his curiosity — whispered otherwise.
Without a word, he simply nodded. Then, almost instinctively, he reached for her hand.
Seraphine's eyes widened for a split second — surprise flickering before she quickly masked it behind a composed smile. But the look on her face softened, the walls she always kept up seeming to fade.
He had never seen her like this — stripped of her usual sharpness, no tricks, no playfulness. Just… real.
She let out a small breath, steadied herself, and said softly, "Let's go."
Hand in hand, they walked through the entrance, unaware that what waited inside would blur the line between truth, loyalty, and danger — more than either of them could imagine.
The restaurant was dimly lit, with soft amber lights spilling over polished wood and quiet laughter from nearby tables. The scent of expensive wine and roasted herbs hung in the air. Rhys felt out of place instantly — this wasn't some casual dinner spot. It was the kind of place people with power came to talk business behind smiles.
she led Rhys past the waiter, through a narrow corridor lined with wine shelves, until they reached a private room at the very end.
The door closed behind them with a muted click, sealing them away from the rest of the world.
Inside, the room was dim and quiet — a single round table in the center, silver cutlery laid perfectly, and a faint scent of roses mixed with expensive cologne. Seated at the table was a man whose presence instantly shifted the air.
"Father," Seraphine said simply, her tone polite but distant.
The man's gaze flicked from her to Rhys. "So this is him?" he said, his voice low and measured.
Rhys gave a polite nod, unsure whether to offer his hand or stay silent. Before he could decide, the man spoke again. "Rhys Hayes. Son of Raymond Hayes… and of Aurelia Calder, if I'm not mistaken."
The man gave a faint nod, a smirk barely touching his lips. "Hayes," he repeated slowly, as if tasting the name. "Son of Raymond Hayes… and Aurelia Marcellin. Or....should I say Calder"
Rhys froze. That last name — his mother's.
He hadn't heard anyone outside his family say it in years.
"You… know my mother?" he asked cautiously.
The man's gaze hardened, his tone suddenly colder. "Know her? Let's just say she once carried a name that carried power — until she decided to trade it."
Rhys frowned. "What do you mean?"
The man leaned back slightly, chose to remain silent.
Rhys' mother went by Calder until her late teens — a name inherited from her mother's side. But when she stepped into the real world, she chose to live as Aurelia Marcellin — Marcellin by blood, by purpose… and by the choices she made."
Rhys felt a chill run down his spine.
The Calder name was supposed to be nothing more than a rumor — something buried in his mother's past. For an outsider to know about it meant only one thing: this man knew far more than he should.
The Calders weren't just powerful — they were royalty.
Rhys's maternal grandmother had once carried royal blood, a lineage that ruled more through influence than crowns. But she vanished from history the moment she chose to leave the Calder dynasty, trading luxury for freedom… only to get entangled in the underworld's web years later.
It was a story Rhys had only overheard in fragments — whispered arguments between his parents, sharp silences whenever the name Calder came up.
And now, sitting across from Seraphine and her father, those fragments were starting to connect.
But one question burned through his mind like wildfire:
Was Seraphine a Calder by blood?
If she was — if she came from that same royal bloodline — then this wasn't just a contract, or some strange game she was playing.
This was a power move.
A clash of two legacies that were never supposed to meet again.
Things had just gotten very, very real.
Seraphine sat — too calm, too still, as if she'd prepared herself for this moment long ago.
Rhys leaned back slightly, trying to process. "And what exactly am I doing here, then?"
The man's tone was smooth, almost casual, but there was something darker beneath it. "Consider this dinner a formal introduction. My daughter wanted to test your resolve before involving you further."
"Involving me?" Rhys frowned. "In what?"
A faint smile tugged at the man's lips. "Of course she can't marry you without knowing you first."
The words landed like a blow. Rhys felt his pulse spike, a rush of disbelief catching in his throat. He turned sharply to Seraphine, but she wasn't meeting his eyes. She sat there — motionless, composed, a doll sculpted from silence. It wasn't denial he saw on her face, but resignation.
"I told you," she murmured finally, her voice low and distant. "You were never chosen by mistake."
Her father stood then, brushing invisible dust from his sleeve. "I've got a lot to attend to," he said, tone clipped and efficient. "I'll leave you two to enjoy your dinner."
And just like that, he was gone — the door closing behind him without a sound.
Silence filled the room, heavy and alive.
The silverware gleamed under the dim light, untouched. Rhys could hear his own heartbeat louder than the faint music playing outside.
Now, it was just them — no witnesses, no pretenses.
Only questions neither seemed ready to ask.