CHAPTER THREE: MISTAKEN DESTINY
"You're in my seat," the voice said, deep and smooth — the kind of voice that didn't ask twice.
Celeste didn't flinch.
She didn't even look up right away.
Her fingers gently wrapped around her crystal water glass. She took a slow, deliberate sip, her every move calm, practiced — as if she were expecting him. As if this was part of her plan all along.
Then, gracefully, she set the glass down.
Finally, she looked up.
Her eyes met his.
He stood tall, dark, and sharp against the golden light of the setting sun. Dressed in a perfectly tailored black suit, Damian looked like something out of a painting — his presence intense, unsettling, and unreasonably attractive. But his expression was one of confusion… and growing irritation.
Celeste's lips curved into the faintest of smiles.
"That's funny," she said, reaching into her purse. "Because I believe I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be."
She pulled out a small, immaculate business card and placed it on the table with a soft tap.
"Celeste Grayson," she introduced simply, her voice effortlessly confident. "CEO of Grayson Group. And apparently, your blind date."
Damian blinked. Slowly.
For a brief moment, nothing moved. Not even the breeze.
"…Blind date?" he repeated, his tone flat with disbelief.
"Mm-hmm," Celeste hummed. She leaned back in her chair slightly, legs crossed, hands folded neatly. "Don't worry, I'm just as surprised as you are. But I figured — you're already handsome, already here, and I've had a long day. So why not go with it?"
She let her eyes skim over him, making no attempt to hide her admiration.
"Besides, you clean up well."
Damian still didn't sit.
He didn't smile.
He just stared at her.
"Who… exactly set up this date?" he asked, slowly, carefully.
Celeste's smile widened ever so slightly.
"Our maker."
A blink. A pause. A muscle in Damian's jaw ticked.
"…God?"
She laughed softly — elegant, restrained, amused. "No," she said. "My mother. Though she does tend to act like the universe bends at her will."
Damian narrowed his eyes slightly, trying to process the situation. This wasn't part of his evening. He had reserved this table, this view, this night — to reward himself for a successful deal. A soul collected. Another countdown completed.
Tonight was supposed to be silence. Solitude. Satisfaction.
And now… her?
He reached into his coat pocket, retrieving his cardholder with one hand. His movements were smooth, almost mechanical. He pulled out a solid black business card and set it down beside hers.
No smile. No warmth.
Celeste picked it up.
The card was thick, matte, and minimalist. Embossed in silver letters:
Damian Virell
Private Consultant
Discretion. Strategy. Results.
No phone number. No email. No logo.
Just a name that sounded more like a warning.
Celeste flipped it over, then set it gently beside her wine glass.
"Mysterious. I like it."
Without asking, Damian pulled out the chair across from her and sat down. Not because he was interested — but because something about this was off. He needed to figure it out.
Celeste raised an eyebrow.
"So... you're the strong silent type?" she teased gently. "Or just annoyed you got matched with a stranger on your solo evening?"
He didn't answer.
Instead, he stared at her like a puzzle piece that didn't fit. He knew every soul he had a claim over. Every face. Every deal. Every timeline.
But she? Her name meant nothing.
Clean.
Too clean.
Which made her dangerous.
---
The waiter returned, clearing his throat.
"Would you care to begin with drinks?"
Celeste smiled lightly. "A glass of white wine, please. Crisp and chilled."
The waiter turned to Damian.
"Scotch. Neat."
The waiter nodded and left.
They sat in silence for a few seconds. The golden city skyline stretched behind them, and soft violin music played in the background. People downstairs whispered and dined, oblivious to the strange tension brewing on the rooftop.
Celeste rested her elbow on the table, chin slightly tilted.
"You're interesting," she said. "Most men who get set up with me try to impress me within the first two minutes. You, however, seem like you'd rather vanish."
Damian folded his hands in front of him.
"Maybe I would."
"Ouch," she said, smiling. "Brutal honesty. I respect that."
Their drinks arrived, and the waiter retreated quickly, sensing the sharp air between them.
---
Dinner came shortly after. Lobster tail for her. Seared steak for him. The food was excellent, the service polished, and the evening — by all external standards — should have been perfect.
But there was a wall.
Every word they exchanged felt like a test. Celeste remained poised and polished, but she wasn't blind — she could sense his distance. And still… she stayed.
She spoke casually, with the grace of someone who had been raised among power, who had dined with board members and billionaires. But nothing personal left her lips. No mention of her real childhood. Her loneliness. Her loss.
And Damian offered nothing in return.
Because he didn't want to be there.
Because he didn't trust this coincidence.
He didn't trust her.
By the time dessert was offered, both declined.
Celeste gently dabbed her lips with her napkin, then looked at him calmly.
"You've hardly touched your steak."
Damian stared down at the empty plate.
"I lost my appetite."
He stood, slow and deliberate.
Celeste's expression didn't change, but her eyes followed him as he adjusted the cuff of his jacket.
Then his gaze dropped to her — colder now.
"I don't know who you are, or why you're here."
A pause.
"But I want nothing to do with you."
Celeste blinked once. Still calm.
He continued.
"You've ruined my evening."
His voice was emotionless.
"This night was supposed to be mine. My reward. My peace. And instead, I'm sitting across from someone I didn't ask for, didn't expect, and don't want to see again."
Celeste slowly stood too, never dropping her composure.
"That's unfortunate," she said quietly. "I was starting to enjoy your company."
Damian didn't reply.
He turned away and walked toward the stairs, the shadows swallowing him.
Celeste remained standing at the edge of the terrace, her hand gently brushing the table as she stared after him.
She reached down, picked up his business card again, and held it between her fingers.
The night wind played with her hair, cool and calm.
She smiled faintly.
"You'll be back," she whispered to herself.
And in her chest, something strange stirred.
Not fate.
Not attraction.
Something else.
Something neither of them could yet name.