Chapter 15
I saw him.
Sharp jaw. Rolled-up sleeves over a designer suit. A watch that costs more than some islands.
He was already seated, long fingers tapping on a glass of neat whiskey like he'd waited forever and didn't care.
His hand brushed through his long, curly hair that reached his shoulders. He didn't even look up when I approached.
I sat, legs crossed, tone sharper than my eyeliner. "Let's make this quick. I don't do blind dates."
His head tilted slightly. Still didn't meet my gaze. "Excuse me?"
I raised a brow. "Did I stutter?"
That got his attention.
His dark blue eyes, clear, ice-cut, and assessing, finally locked on mine. There was a pause. Then—
A smile. Slow. Dangerous. Way too entertained.
It was a game now.
He leaned back, letting his eyes trail over me like he had every right to. "You don't look like someone who needs blind dates."
"I don't," I replied coolly. "My mother's obsessed with finding me a husband who's not allergic to vowels."
That earned me a low chuckle. Deep. Warm.
"You always insult your dates within thirty seconds, or am I just lucky?"
"Depends on the quality of the date."
"You haven't even seen my résumé."
"You're not wearing socks," I deadpanned.
He looked down at his loafers, amused. "It's a power move."
"It's unsanitary."
The conversation slid from sarcasm into banter, smooth as the wine he ordered without asking.
I hated how easily he made me laugh.
One smart remark turned into five. One glance turned into five seconds too long. His eyes dropped to my lips when I sipped from my glass, and I pretended not to notice.
"I don't like beautiful men," I glared.
"You're not as cold as you pretend to be," he said eventually, voice low and uncomfortably observant.
"And you're too cocky for someone I just met."
His smirk deepened like I handed him a compliment.
A slight dimple, barely visible, caught my eye.
And then—
"Versace! Sorry, I'm late—wait, who's this?"
I blinked.
Like, for thirty seconds, I zoned out.
A man stood at the edge of the table, awkward and confused. He was tall, wearing a crooked navy suit and a hopeful smile. The name my mom mentioned. My actual blind date.
Oh.
Oh, no.
Oh, fuck.
I turned to the man I'd been flirting with. The stranger. The wrong man.
My pulse spiked. "Who are you?" I asked, carefully.
His brow lifted, amused. "I thought you knew."
I shot up, pushing back my chair like it was burning.
My face was on fire. Humiliation and horror fighting for first place.
"I—I need to go—"
A hand wrapped gently, but firmly, around my wrist.
"Where are you going?" he asked, voice silk-wrapped steel. Like he was not used to people walking away from him.
My actual date glared. "She's mine. We have a reservation."
The stranger exhaled slowly, eyes never leaving mine. "You can go," he said to the newcomer. "I'll pay you for your time."
He leaned closer, lips at my ear now. "But she stays with me."
And then he delivered the final blow with a lazy smirk. "Next time, come early."
I should be angry. I should slap him. I should slap myself. I should walk out of here and never look back.
But the truth?
I didn't want to leave.
I sat down slowly, still flustered, still breathless—still recovering from that verbal chokehold.
He didn’t gloat, but he watched me, eyes amused but unreadable, like he was already ten moves ahead and waiting for me to catch up.
"You know who I am," I said quietly, folding my hands in my lap like they were not shaking a little.
"Barely," he admitted with a shrug. "I Googled your name on the way in. I'm scouting for a bride and was told you'd be here, so I came to observe. Didn't expect you to actually show up at my table."
I narrowed my eyes. "You realize my mother will hear of this, right?"
His smile sharpened, like he was looking forward to it. "Let her. I think she'd love the idea of someone like me as an in-law."
I let out a scoff. "You're bold."
"I'm rich," he said plainly, sipping his drink. "Bold comes with the territory."
He didn't say how rich, but the way he said it meant it wasn’t only the money. It was power. Old money. Silent rooms. Private armies.
"I don't know your name," I said in a small voice, still recovering from embarrassment.
"Aurelio. Aurelio Kashani."
No way.
"Wow. The Kashani? Now I want to dig a hole and bury myself in it." They were very rich and also known as the shadow family because they barely showed themselves.
"So still want to marry me?"
"One, I don't even know why you're at this restaurant or who you came to meet. Two, my mother decides who in the end."
"I could get used to this," he said with a smirk.
"What?" I questioned.
"Pretty boss-lady wife with a sassy mouth."
I could secretly get used to this banter.
I was back in my room by 4:30. Not bad. One boring vineyard heir that I did not meet, and a very possessive yet chill Shadow billionaire.
'Your mother doesn't need to meet me. I'll find her myself.' I remembered him saying.
I kicked off my heels, tossed the gold satin dress onto the nearest chair, and slipped into one of my oversized shirts, black silk, gold lining. Like everything else in my closet, it whispered rich, bored, and emotionally unavailable.
There was a knock on the door.
"Busy," I said flatly, brushing my hair out.
The door creaked open anyway. Of course. Boundaries meant nothing to Alvaro, the Head of Security and my mother's right hand.
He stepped in, arms crossed, dressed in his usual black-on-black. "You look like someone who made a man cry."
I met his gaze in the mirror. "I was merciful today. He cried internally."
He smirked, then got to the point. "We're rotating your protection detail."
I paused. "Why?"
"Because your last date ended with three broken ribs and a dislocated jaw. We need someone who doesn't flinch."
"You mean someone expendable."
He shrugged like that wasn't true. "He's good. I think you'll like him."
That was what they always said.
Another knock.
This time Alvaro opened it.
He walked him.
Storm-grey eyes. Jaw like a bad decision. And that damn hair.
Oh.
Oh! My aspiring criminal.
This was going to be fun.
His gaze locked on me, widening for a split second before his face smoothed back into indifference.
I didn't say anything. Neither did he.
Alvaro glanced between us. "Everything okay?"
The biker guy didn't answer right away. His jaw clenched. "Yeah."
Alvaro blinked. Then, he gestured toward him. "This is Zorian Odarion. He is your new personal bodyguard and shadow."
Yeah, right.
"And Zorian, this is the heiress to the House of Versace and your master, Miss Versace Versace."
I stared at him through the mirror. This was going to be so much fun.
I picked up one of the blades in my collection and tossed it in their direction.
Alvaro dodged it, and Zorian caught it by the sharp end, blood pooling down his wrist.
"W-why!" he asked, confusion in his voice.
I shrugged. "Just checking your reflexes. We wouldn't want someone who can't catch a knife to save me from a bullet or something."
Alvaro smirked and nodded in dismissal, practically dragging Zorian away from the room.
This had been one hectic day. Not just one man, but two were introduced into my life.
Ping.
I glanced at my device, turning the screen up.
One unread message from 'Asvikiss??'
A smile crept onto my face as I tapped the video call button.
"Yo yo!"
I moved from the chair to the comfort of my warm bed, kicking my feet up in the air.
"I have got to tell you about my day."
"Shoot."
ZORIAN
I walked behind Alvaro, my head low as my mind ran wild. The crazy girl was actually an heiress.
My bleeding hand was bandaged. I sighed internally.
Suddenly, I bumped into Alvaro, realizing he had stopped walking.
"Is there an issue? You've been off since we met Miss Versace."
"I'm a bit shocked. That's all."
He turned to face me this time, hands in his pockets. "Why so?"
I sighed, brushing a hand through my hair. "She stole my bike."
Silence enveloped the room. Alvaro stared at me, no emotion, while mine grew darker.
"I'm serious," I deadpanned.
Alvaro raised a brow. "You're telling me she—" he pointed a thumb at me, "—stole your bike?"
"Tried to," I muttered, making no effort to hide my annoyance.
Alvaro shook his head. "Come on, let me show you something."
I walked alongside him to a small building separate from the mansion. And then he opened the door, the lights flickering on with every step.
The garage door slid open like in a damn movie scene.
And yeah, I'd seen some shit in my life. But this?
Rows of motorcycles. Custom builds. Imported beasts from Germany, Japan, Italy. Polished to gleam. All black, chrome, matte finishes, and serial numbers that looked more military than civilian.
Ferraris. Lambos. Bentleys.
A matte black Ducati that probably had more kill count than I did.
"This is her collection," Alvaro said casually. "Wait till you see her mother's."
I stood there like an idiot. Like the guy who just realized the girl who stole his bike didn't need to steal anything.
She just did.
For fun.
To flex.
To make a point.
"Are you sure she needs a bodyguard?" I muttered.
Alvaro smirked. "No. But she keeps getting herself into trouble anyway. You are her shadow."
I didn't say anything, only stared at the Ducati again.
This was going to be a problem.
And I think I liked it.