They took their seats.
The restaurant was an upscale fusion place, warm lighting flickering gently across polished wine glasses and bone china plates. A pianist in the corner played something soft and romantic — background music carefully chosen to not distract, only to enhance the ambiance.
Fine food and wine were soon served. Morrison reached for the bottle of red wine he'd asked the waiter to decant earlier, intending to pour Lilian a glass. But she quickly raised her hand, shielding her wine glass like a knight defending a castle.
"I don't drink, Mr. Morrison. Besides, you shouldn't either — you still have to drive later, right?"
A law-abiding citizen through and through. Morrison couldn't help but smile at the earnest look on her face.
"No worries," he said smoothly, tilting the bottle just slightly in teasing defiance. "I can call my driver."
He then motioned for her to move her hand. "Come on. Just a little. After all, it's our first dinner date. A little celebration wouldn't hurt."
Lilian bit her lip, hesitating. Her hand remained in the air for a moment longer, caught between defiance and curiosity. Finally, she withdrew it. First date, huh? Maybe it was worth marking the occasion after all.
Morrison poured her a glass, then topped up his own. The ruby-red wine caught the candlelight, casting tiny blood-colored ripples against the rim of the crystal.
Bathed in the warm glow, Lilian found herself staring at the man across from her. His face was all clean angles and elegant symmetry, like something carved from marble by an artist obsessed with control and precision. His hands moved with practiced grace as he poured the wine — not too fast, not too slow. Every motion exuded confidence.
She remembered how, just days ago, she'd signed up for an anonymous online account under the name "Lilian Dejan." It had been a whim. A soft rebellion against the otherwise well-mapped path of her life.
The idea: to record the one and only romantic relationship she ever planned to have.
Her first post read:
"Find a man who shines brighter than the sun.
Fall into a love that takes your breath away.
And then,
Have no regrets in life."
A single post, buried in the anonymity of the internet. Yet the man sitting in front of her now — Morrison — fit the mold all too perfectly.
He was dazzling. Not just in appearance, but in presence. He held the entire Morris empire in his hands. Wealth, charm, danger — all wrapped in one enticing, dangerous package.
He was also, unfortunately, a notorious womanizer.
Which made him perfect.
If this was going to be her one shot at love, why not dive headfirst into something impossible?
"What are you thinking about?" he asked suddenly, catching her off guard.
The candlelight was dim, but his eyes gleamed, reflecting her like twin blades. Lilian startled and raised her glass to mask her expression.
Their glasses clinked with a soft, satisfying chime — a beginning sealed in sound.
After a refined sip, Morrison leaned back. "Since we're officially seeing each other now," he began, a smirk tugging at his lips, "do you have any requests for me?"
A simple question, but Lilian detected something underneath. It wasn't just curiosity — it was control. He was used to setting terms, not being handed them.
She took a sip and winced immediately. The wine was far too bitter. She barely resisted the urge to spit it back into the glass.
Though born into the Burg Eltz family, she'd never needed to master the art of social drinking. Her older brother Dave had always shielded her from society's rougher edges. Charity galas, corporate mingling — none of it had ever been required of her.
Unlike other heiresses, she was never pressured into strategic engagements or groomed to marry into another wealthy family for financial gain.
She had been allowed to breathe.
She set the glass down decisively. "My only request is… don't let my brother or anyone else find out."
Morrison raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"
"They wouldn't approve," she said, keeping her tone even. "I don't want them worrying. This is just… a personal thing. Between us."
Between us. The words felt strange even as she said them.
She wasn't naive — she knew Morrison wouldn't stick around forever. And she wasn't asking him to. She only wanted this — this experiment, this fleeting rebellion — to be hers and hers alone.
"Agreed," Morrison said easily, though there was amusement in his eyes. "Though I suppose you'll have to sweeten the deal if you want me to play along properly, won't you?"
Lilian blinked. "Sweeten how?"
He leaned slightly to the side, raising one elegant hand and pointing at his own face. That wicked grin told her everything.
He wanted a kiss.
She immediately flushed and looked away, horrified. Her mind flashed back to the kiss he'd stolen the other night — no, ambushed her with. It had been shocking and way too intimate. The way his tongue…
No. Absolutely not.
"If my brother finds out, it won't be good for you either," she said, trying to hold her ground. "So we should cooperate — equally."
He paused, lips twitching. "Touche."
Still, that didn't stop him from smirking like a cat denied cream. He waved toward the food instead. "Alright then. Let's eat."
She had just picked up her utensils when her phone buzzed.
She hesitated. "Morrison… may I check that? It might be my advisor."
She asked it carefully. The last time she'd touched her phone around him, he'd yanked it from her and thrown it across the seat.
This time, he gave a dry chuckle. "I was just angry earlier. Go ahead."
She opened it. A message from her thesis advisor, asking her and a few others to meet in the department office at nine. Her stomach dropped.
"Sorry," she said, "I have to go back soon. Thesis prep. I haven't started."
Morrison frowned. "At night? Is your advisor a man or a woman?"
She blinked at the question. "A man. But I'm not going alone — it's in our group chat."
Morrison muttered something under his breath about boundaries. Clearly annoyed — his plans for the night slowly crumbling — but he said nothing more.
They ate in a silence that was not awkward, but not quite comfortable either. She was focused on her studies. He was watching her, trying not to show that he felt like a balloon slowly losing air.
"I'm done," she said at last, folding her napkin neatly.
"I'll walk you back," he offered, already rising.
Before she could refuse, he reached out and slipped an arm around her waist — gentle, but firm.
She froze, then squirmed away and glared at him.
He raised both hands, mock-surrender. "Okay, okay. How about just holding hands?"
She stared at him like he'd just asked her to wrestle a crocodile.
"Holding hands is such a hassle. Sweaty palms and all. Let's just skip it."
With that, she turned and walked out without looking back.
Morrison stood there a beat too long, then let out a long, dramatic sigh.
Dating her was going to kill him. And yet… he was already hooked.