Chapter 9: Chapter 9: Blind date (1)

Damian spun the knife once between his fingers, as if the entire Empire’s gossip were nothing more than morning entertainment. “Yes. This afternoon.”

Gregoris tucked his own blade away, thoughtful in a way that didn’t suit him. “And the candidate? Who is he?”

Damian shrugged, casual in a way that made Gregoris’ eye twitch. “An alpha, apparently.”

Gregoris stared. “That’s it?”

“That’s all Gabriel told me,” Damian said, stretching one shoulder until the joint popped. “Frankly, I didn’t bother asking more. Delphine will have vetted him to death. And then revived him. And vetted him again.”

Gregoris’s brows drew together. “You… you didn’t ask for details?”

“Gregoris,” Damian said dryly, “I’m trying to prevent a border conflict, take care of a pregnant mate that doesn’t know when to stop and take care of Hadeon. I do not have the mental resources to investigate Delphine Rosenroth’s dating strategies.”

Gregoris huffed, knowing Damian well enough to know he could be extremely nosy when he wanted to be. “You’re the Emperor.”

“And exactly for that reason,” Damian said, smirking, “I stay far away from Delphine’s romantic schemes. That is Gabriel’s battlefield, not mine.”

Gregoris looked away, jaw flexing. The idea of Rafael sitting across from some groomed, polished, mother-approved alpha put a strange irritation in his chest.

Damian saw it. Of course he did.

“You’re curious,” Damian said lightly. “Admit it.”

“I am not curious,” Gregoris snapped.

Damian’s golden eyes gleamed with unholy amusement. “You want to know who the unlucky man is.”

Gregoris clicked the blade case shut with unnecessary force. “I want to know why an omega who nearly passed out when I looked at him suddenly walks past me like I’m an escort guard.”

Damian stepped closer, voice low. “You’re bothered.”

Gregoris’ expression didn’t move. “I’m annoyed.”

“Same thing,” Damian said.

Gregoris glared at him. Damian only laughed again, brushing dust from his coat.

“Relax, Gregoris,” he said, heading toward the exit. “If the blind date goes well, Rafael will be someone else’s problem.”

Gregoris didn’t answer. Didn’t move. Didn’t even blink.

Damian paused at the doorway, looking over his shoulder with a knowing, infuriating smile.

“And if it doesn’t go well…?” Damian asked, voice light as a whisper.

Gregoris finally spoke. “Then Delphine will try again.”

Damian’s grin widened. “That wasn’t what I meant.”

But Gregoris ignored him, turning back to rewrap the training knives with a precision that bordered on violent.

Damian left him there, the echo of the door clicking shut carrying through the hall.

Gregoris exhaled slowly.

An alpha. A blind date. Some stranger Delphine thought was worthy.

He didn’t know why it bothered him, but it did, more than it should.

—

Rafael stepped out of the car with all the enthusiasm of a man approaching his execution. The Rosenroth manor stood bright in the early afternoon sun, its marble steps and columns gleaming like someone had polished them specifically to blind him. Eddy gave him a sympathetic nod from behind the wheel.

“Good luck, sir,” he said softly, touching his driver cap.

Rafael closed his eyes. “If I’m not out in two hours, drive away. Save yourself.”

Eddy didn’t argue. And that was how Rafael knew he was truly doomed.

He walked up the steps, spine stiff, palms damp, and mind rehearsing possible polite ways to sabotage a blind date. He wasn’t fast enough.

Delphine Rosenroth stood waiting at the entrance, already armed with a soft smile that meant ruin.

She wore a simple pale blue silk dress, her hair elegantly pinned, and her expression as serene as a queen who had already won the game. Rafael swallowed hard.

“Mother,” he greeted, trying not to sound like he wanted to fling himself into the nearest fountain.

“Rafael,” she said warmly, stepping forward to kiss his cheek. “You’re on time. Good. First impressions matter.”

’First impressions for whom? Me? Or the victim?’

Delphine didn’t give him a chance to escape or breathe. She turned and gestured toward the open doors.

“Come. He’s waiting.”

Rafael almost tripped, but he managed to catch the stair rail in time. “He’s… already here?”

“Of course,” she said, as though punctual suitors were the bare minimum. “He arrived ten minutes early.”

’Bright red flag,’ Rafael thought. ’Or maybe I’m just fragile.’

He followed her through the manor, past familiar halls, past portraits of half-furious Rosenroth ancestors, past the room where he once hid under a desk to avoid a different suitor. Delphine’s heels clicked in a soft, confident rhythm.

She stopped at her private salon.

Delphine smoothed her dress and whispered, “Please behave,” in a tone that meant do not embarrass me or I will end the world.

Before Rafael could panic, she opened the door.

He stepped inside. And froze.

The man waiting for him stood near the window, tall and neatly dressed in a fitted charcoal suit. Dark hair dusted neatly across his forehead, glasses resting low on a strong, elegant nose, and jaw cleanly cut. He looked like the kind of man who read economic journals for fun and actually understood them.

He was… very, very handsome.

Rafael blinked. That didn’t fit Delphine’s usual pattern at all. She favored “manageable” alphas: soft-spoken, droopy, barely awake. This man had presence. Calm, confident, and commanding presence.

He turned, and his eyes, clear warm brown, landed on Rafael.

“Rafael Rosenroth?” he asked, voice polite and low.

Rafael swallowed. “Yes. That’s me.”

Delphine beamed behind him like she had summoned a miracle.

The man stepped closer, extending a hand with measured grace. “It’s a pleasure. I’m Augustus Kent Ravenstone.”

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