Chapter 11: The First Real Date
The restaurant was nothing like the places he'd frequented in his other life. No white tablecloths, no sommeliers, no discreet power negotiations happening in shadowy corners. This place had checkered tablecloths and candles stuck in chianti bottles, and it smelled overwhelmingly of garlic and warmth.
For the first hour, Elias consciously locked the CEO away. He was just Eli. He made a joke about his collar feeling too tight. He admitted he'd never had real tiramisu. He listened, truly listened, as Eleanor talked about wanting to design buildings that made people feel safe.
"It's like you're building a feeling out of brick and light," she said, her eyes sparkling in the candlelight.
"I understand that," he replied, and he meant it. He was trying to build a feeling out of the shattered pieces of a broken timeline.
It was the most honest conversation of his life, in either lifetime.
The shift happened when the bill came. It was a reflex, a ghost from his old life. His eyes automatically scanned the itemized list, his mind calculating food costs and table turnover rates before he could stop it. It took less than two seconds.
But Eleanor saw it. The softness in her eyes tightened just a fraction. "Everything okay?"
"Perfect," he said, smoothly laying cash on the table. But the moment was broken. The king had peeked out, and she had seen him.
He drove her home under a canopy of stars, the easy silence from the first part of the evening now feeling fragile. He walked her to her door, the porch light casting a golden halo around her.
"I had a really nice time, Eli," she said, turning to face him.
"Me too," he said, and his voice was rough with a sincerity that surprised him.
He leaned in, and she didn't pull away. Their first kiss was not a frantic, teenage collision, but a slow, gentle discovery. It was a promise. It was a question. It tasted of tiramisu and hope.
When they parted, she was breathless. "Wow," she whispered.
"Wow," he echoed, his own world tilting on its axis.
He floated back to his car, the ghost of her lips on his. For a few precious minutes, he was just a boy who had just kissed the girl of his dreams. He replayed the entire evening, from her laugh to the way the candlelight caught the gold in her hair. It was perfect.
Then he pulled out of her neighborhood and onto the main road. His mind, no longer distracted by her presence, automatically began its nightly review. Digital Bridge proposal status: approved. Pending manufacturing job with Croft's contact: scheduled. Mythic Quest card value: appreciating. Friction with Jason: temporarily stabilized.
And then he saw it.
Parked under a streetlamp a block from his own house was a familiar, shiny new Jeep. Jason Miller was leaning against the hood, arms crossed. He wasn't looking at his phone. He wasn't talking to anyone. He was just waiting. Staring directly at Elias's approaching car.
A cold fury, pure and ancient, washed through Elias. This wasn't a chance encounter. This was a message. Jason had followed them, or had waited here for hours. He was violating the sanctity of the world Elias was trying to build.
Elias didn't stop. He didn't slow down. He drove past, his eyes meeting Jason's in a single, frozen snapshot through the windshield. There was no anger in Jason's face this time. There was something colder, more calculating. A predator learning the patterns of its prey.
He pulled into his own driveway, the warmth of the evening evaporating. The kiss, the laughter, the promise—it all felt suddenly fragile, exposed.
He had won the battle for the evening. He had a contract and a first kiss. But as he looked out his window at the empty street where Jason's Jeep had been, he knew the war had just entered a new, more dangerous phase.
The king was back, and the battlefield was no longer just the school or the business world. It was now the quiet, tree-lined street where Eleanor Shaw lived. The foundation was solid, but the first long shadow of his old life had just fallen across it.