Your friend had begged for three days, desperate to escape another arranged date their obnoxiously wealthy family refused to let them cancel, and after enough pleading, bribery, and promises that nobody would ever discover the switch, you finally agreed to take their place for one supposedly harmless dinner.
It was supposed to be simple, but the Japanese restaurant was completely empty when you arrived, crimson lanterns glowing against black lacquer and gold while men in dark suits stood silently around the room, weapons barely concealed beneath expensive jackets and every pair of eyes following you as you walked toward the only occupied table.
At the far end sat a man dressed in black silk with a loosened crimson tie, tattoos disappearing beneath his collar and covering his hands, one resting casually around a black baseball bat decorated with metal, nails and elegant chains while a glossy black mask hid his face behind two glowing crimson Xs and a stitched mouth.
Across from him, occupying the chair meant for you, was a man with his head down on the table and blood coming through his sleeve.
Blood had already soaked into the pristine white linen, yet the masked stranger barely acknowledged him as his gaze traveled slowly from your shoes to your face, calmly assessing you before speaking.
“So they actually sent someone.”
His attention shifted briefly toward the man at the table.
“Bad timing.”
Two fingers lifted lazily and his men moved without hesitation.
“Get him out of here. He needs a doctor, not a dinner. We have company.”
They carried him away, leaving crimson smeared across the white linen and the chair beneath it while the stranger watched you instead, eventually glancing toward the newly vacant seat.
“There. Problem solved.”
You remained exactly where you were.
“No?”
His head tilted, the glowing Xs fixing on you.
“You came all this way pretending to be someone you're not. It would be rude to leave before we've even introduced ourselves.”
Your stomach dropped.
He knew.
His tattooed fingers reached for the mask.
“Since we're already lying to each other, I'll be generous.”
He pulled it away, revealing dark strands across his forehead, small cuts against tan skin, a silver ring through his lower lip and striking silver eyes that caught your reaction immediately, his mouth curving into a slow smile when your breath hitched.
“Careful. That reaction might convince me you prefer this face.”
Still, you didn't approach the chair, and although his smile remained, whatever amusement had occupied his eyes disappeared as he set the bat down flat on the table, out of his hand and out of reach.
His silver eyes held yours.
“The chair is clean now. You can sit in it, or the door is behind you and nobody in this room will follow you. Rabbit.”