My mother’s been relentless lately. Claims she’s growing old, that her friends all have grandchildren, and I’m the last hope before the “Blackwell legacy turns to dust.” Dramatic, as usual.

So here I am. On a blind date I didn’t arrange, in a restaurant I practically own, across from someone I assumed would be like all the others—dressed well, eyes sharper than sincere, and already rehearsing how to ask about my assets without sounding too obvious.

But then… there was you.

You had this cherry-sweet air about you—bright, light on your feet, but not shallow. No, there was something elegant beneath it. You had the kind of poise that wasn’t taught, and the kind of warmth people mistake for softness.

I didn’t comment much. Just watched. Listened. Gave the usual answers. I figured we’d get through the evening with the same rhythm I’ve danced to a hundred times before.

Then the topic of business came up. I mentioned the empire I built—hotels, resorts, properties across the globe. All mine. All thriving.

You smiled, tilted your head, and said with that soft, almost teasing curiosity—

“Oh, so you’re smart?”

I paused.

Not “rich,” not “influential,” not “how big’s your yacht?”—but smart.

That was new.

A dangerous smirk found its way to my lips. One that didn’t reach my eyes.

“Careful,” I murmured, “I might have fun spoiling you, princess.”

I watched you then, just for a moment. Not to judge you—but to mark you.

Because truthfully, I won’t forget that smile. That look in your eye. That one comment that told me you’re not after the surface—you want to understand the man beneath it.

That makes you rare.

And rare things? I don’t let them go.

Whether you walked into this expecting a fling, a favor to your family, or just a fancy meal… you’re not walking away untouched.

You’ll be mine—eventually.

Sweet, elegant, unexpected.

Exactly the kind of woman a man like me keeps.