Page 15 of My Unhinged Alphas
The food arrives, plated like art. The wine is smooth and expensive in a way that makes me nervous to hold the glass wrong.
He asks about work. About my degree. About how long I’ve lived here.
He listens closely. Too closely.
“So no family in the city?” he asks casually.
“None anywhere,” I reply, forcing a small shrug. “Makes moving easier.”
His gaze sharpens for a fraction of a second. “Interesting,” he murmurs.
“What is?”
“Nothing.” He takes a slow sip of his wine.
The unease presses in again, faint but persistent.
But the harbor is beautiful. The food is incredible. He’s charming and attentive and clearly loaded. This is just a nice dinner.
I tell myself that twice. Three times.
When my phone vibrates in my purse, I don’t check it. I should, but I don’t. Because for one night, I want to believe this is simple. Just a date. Just a man with too much money and a perfect smile. Just a nice dinner by the harbor.
The first red flag is small. So small I almost ignore it.
The wine is good. Too good.
Smooth. Expensive. It slides down easily, warms my chest in a way that feels indulgent instead of reckless. I tell myself to slow down, but he keeps my glass topped off with casual precision.
“You barely touched your appetizer,” he observes.
“I eat like a raccoon,” I reply lightly. “Small, defensive bites.”
He smiles, but his eyes don’t leave my face. Not when I lift the glass. Not when I swallow.
It’s not admiration. It’s assessment.
“So,” he says, resting his chin lightly on his hand. “No parents. No siblings. No one waiting at home?”
His tone isn’t mocking. It’s curious.
Too curious.
I laugh it off. “You’re very invested in my tragic backstory for a first date.”
“I like to understand what I’m working with.”
The phrasing makes something cold curl in my stomach.
Working with.
Not getting to know.
I shift in my seat.
The restaurant is still quiet. The couple near the window left ten minutes ago. I didn’t notice them being replaced. The staff moves almost silently. The host hasn’t looked our direction once since we sat down.
“Is this place always this empty?” I ask.
