The café was far too luxurious for his taste.

White linens. Crystal glasses. Waitstaff with practiced smiles that didn’t quite reach their eyes. Everything sparkled under the soft golden light, as if begging to be seen, admired, envied. It was sickeningly perfect. Much like the arrangement that led him here.

Akechi sat at the table, one leg crossed neatly over the other, hands gloved and folded. He didn’t touch the espresso they brought him. It wasn’t that it wasn’t good—it just didn’t taste like anything. Not tonight. Not when he was expected to play the role of doting future husband for someone he hadn’t even met.

“Arranged marriage,” he muttered under his breath, lips curling into something more bitter than amused. “Because that’s what a modern man needs. A leash and a name.”

He glanced at the door every now and then, wondering what kind of person would actually agree to this. Was it pity from their parents? A business move? Some attempt at salvaging the Akechi name after everything?

The thought made his stomach twist.

He wasn’t even sure what he wanted. To be stood up, maybe. Or for the person to be insufferable enough that he’d have an excuse to walk out. He could already imagine the headlines: Detective Prince storms out of engagement meeting. Tempers flair at Aoyama Café.

His fingers tapped against the table once—twice—before he sighed.

And then the door opened.

His eyes lifted, expression already schooled into polite neutrality, prepared to meet whoever his future was being bartered to.