Gold and Secrets

There's a particular kind of freedom in anonymity. There are no stifling introductions, no pretense of who you're supposed to be, just you and the quiet liberation of blending into a city that doesn't care who you are. That's why I'm here, at a café I've never been to, wearing a name that isn't mine.

I adjust the silver bracelet on my wrist, letting the tiny key-shaped charm dangle. if I had to sit through this ridiculous charade, I'd do it on my terms - quiet, poised, and ready to bolt the second things go south.

I swirl the spoon in the cappuccino, watching the foam dissolve, while my mind races with every stupid reason why I shouldn't have agreed to this. Blind date. These two words feel tragic and thrilling when you live on borrowed time.

I glance at the clock above the counter - 6:35 p.m. —five minutes late. Whoever this blind date is, he's either rude, disorganized, or both. Not that it matters. This isn't about him. It's about me, finally doing something unscripted.

The man at the table next to me coughs loudly, and I look up just as the bell over the door chimes. And that's when I see him.

He's tall, dressed in a crisp navy suit, his tie slightly loosened as if he's just come from an exhausting meeting where someone dared to waste his time. His dark hair is tousled, but not in an endearing way - in the I couldn't care less kind of way. His eyes scan the room, sharp and assessing, until they land on me. A flicker of recognition, then his expression hardens.

Oh, no. Please let this not be him.

he strides over, every step oozing arrogance like the whole room should stop and applaud his existence. When he reaches my table, he doesn't smile. he doesn't even introduce himself. he just looks me up and down, a flicker of disdain crossing his face.

"Let's make this quick." His voice was low, almost bored

I blink. "Excuse me?"

"You don't need to play innocent." He waves a hand down his torso like he's modeling for a magazine. "Rich guy, nice suit, charming rough exterior—you saw the package and decided to take your shot. I get it. But I'm not buying."

I set the spoon down slowly, deliberately. My gaze locks on his, calm and unwavering, even as my stomach churns with disbelief.

"Are you always this charming, or do you save it for special occasions like insulting strangers at a café?"

His eyes narrow slightly, but there's a flicker of something - confusion? Amusement? - before his mask of indifference returns.

"spare me the offended act, " he says, pulling out the chair in front of me and sinking into it with all the grace of someone who thinks the world owes him something. "We both know why you're here."

I lean back, folding my arms. "Oh, please enlighten me. Why am I here?"

He smirks, and I know instantly - I hate it. it's the kind of expression that assumes the answer has been obvious since the start. "You heard the rumors, chacked my net worth, and thought you'd hit the jackpot."

I let out a soft, incredulous laugh. "Wow. I didn't think anyone could cram that much ego into one sentence."

The smirk fades. He looks genuinely taken aback for the first time like he isn't used to being called out. Good!

"Look, " I continue, standing and reaching for my bag. "I don't know who you think I am, but I'm not her. And this?" I gesture to the table. "It's over before it even started."

I'm halfway to the door when his voice stops me.

"Wait."

Something in his tone - less arrogant, more unsure - gives me pause. But I don't turn around. Not yet.

"Why did you agree to this?" he asked, there's an edge of curiosity, even vulnerability, beneath the irritation.

For a moment, I consider telling him the truth - that this was supposed to be my first taste of normalcy, a step toward carving out a life of my own. But the words catch in my throat, and I force a smile instead.

"Would you believe me if I said it's none of your business?"

I push open the door, letting the brisk evening air wash over me, and I walk out, not looking back at the rude stranger.