Rebirth: Love me Again

[EVE]

"Why are you wearing a mask?" Riri asked, her brow furrowed as I adjusted the plain white mask over my face.

"Do you really want me to walk in there looking like this?" I shot back, pointing at my reflection in a nearby window.

Riri gave me a once-over, her eyes narrowing as she scrutinized my perfectly fine appearance. Then, without a word, she grabbed the mask and shoved it firmly back onto my face.

"You know what? Keep it. Actually,

never

take it off. If you're not here to snag a boyfriend, at least don't make it harder for the rest of us. We're the ones who actually need this, okay?"

"Wow, thanks for the confidence boost," I deadpanned, rolling my eyes behind the mask.

"Let's go!" Riri chirped, dragging me toward the restaurant like her life depended on it.

The private room was cozy but lively, with a large sushi table surrounded by a handful of men and women who were already deep into conversation.

The air was thick with the unspoken tension of people trying to impress each other while pretending they weren't trying at all.

"Hey, Riri! Over here!" A cheerful voice called from the table.

"Is she the one filling in for the missing number?" someone else asked, their voice tinged with relief.

"That's right, everyone, meet Eve!" Riri announced like she was presenting the crown jewel of the evening. She gestured for me to sit down, and I did so as quietly as possible, trying to blend into the background.

That plan didn't work, though. As soon as I sat down, I felt every pair of eyes dart my way for a split second before quickly looking away.

The table was paired up neatly, each person with a partner across from them. My assigned "partner" was already seated, and I gave him a quick glance.

He looked . . . fine. Handsome, even, if you were into the whole "I know I'm better than you" vibe. He leaned back with his arms crossed, the very picture of someone who probably practiced his smirk in the mirror every morning.

Meanwhile, I noticed the women around the table were really pulling out all the stops. Skirts, lace, delicate necklaces, and perfectly styled hair—every detail screamed,

Pick me!

I even spotted a few exposed collarbones, which, judging by the way some of the guys were sneaking glances, was apparently a calculated move.

And Riri? Oh, she was

in it to win it

.

I caught her sneaking peeks at the guy across from her, her eyes practically sparkling like a Disney princess. Her shy little smiles and the way she tucked her hair behind her ear? Pure performance.

She even leaned forward just enough to make it look natural but still show off her neckline. I had to hand it to her—she came prepared.

The girls had arrived, each armed to the teeth—not with actual weapons, but with strategies so precise they could write a survival guide titled

How to Catch a Boyfriend at a Mixer: Expert Edition

.

There was the 8-degree selfie tilt, a universally accepted angle for maximizing cuteness. The logic? Science! It somehow made their already cute faces even cuter.

And then there were the subtle moves: casually handing over the menu while showing off a delicate wrist (apparently wrists are the unsung heroes of attraction).

But the pièce de résistance? The strategic approach: start a casual conversation from a respectable one-meter distance, then slowly close the gap until you're right in the

prime interest zone

. Add a smile that's calibrated to be 300% more effective, and you've got yourself a battle plan.

These girls weren't just showing up—they were deploying tactics. And honestly?

Respect

.

This wasn't just a mixer; this was a skill showcase. They weren't messing around—they were pros in the art of making an impression.

I, on the other hand, was just here for moral support and maybe a free sushi roll. Sitting there with my mask firmly in place, I couldn't help but feel like the odd one out.

Not that I minded. The less attention, the better.

As the conversations started flowing and introductions were made, I realized something: mixers were . . . an experience. Watching everyone navigate this awkward dance of trying to look casual while screaming

Date me!

Inside was both entertaining and mildly horrifying.

"You're name's Eve, right?" the man across from me asked, leaning forward like he was about to share the meaning of life.

I nodded politely, bracing myself for what was clearly going to be a monologue.

"I'm George Frogue. My family owns vineyards. Not just any vineyards—we're the

major

suppliers of grapes for wine worldwide. You've probably heard of me." He gave me a smug look, clearly expecting applause.

I tilted my head, smiled faintly, and said, "Uh, no. Not really."

His face faltered for a split second before he regrouped. "So, what do you do, Eve?"

"I'm still a student."

"Ah, a student. And your family? What's their line of work?"

"Business," I said, keeping it vague because, frankly, I was in no mood to explain anything deeper.

George's smile widened like I had just confirmed he'd won the lottery. "I can see you're a woman of substance, even with that mask covering your face. But I can tell—you're a beauty, aren't you?"

I stayed silent, sensing where this was going.

"I'll get straight to the point," he said, puffing his chest. "How about you and I get together? I've got a degree in chemistry, a spotless reputation, and frankly, you'd be lucky to have me. I bring the total package."

I raised an eyebrow. "Is that so?"

"Yes. And here's the deal: I'll give you everything money can buy. You'll live comfortably, travel the world, have all the luxuries you could imagine—

if

you promise to stay loyal to me and do exactly as I say."

I blinked. "So . . . you want me to be a . . . trophy girlfriend?"

"Let's call it a fair trade," he said, shrugging like he was negotiating the terms of a grape shipment. "I bring in the money, and you get to live the dream. Sounds reasonable, right?"

There were moments in life when you meet someone so staggeringly full of themselves, you wonder if you're being pranked. This was one of those moments. I was so stunned I barely noticed the door to the private room opening.

"Sorry I'm late," a familiar voice said.

I turned my head, and my jaw nearly hit the table. There, standing in all his imposing glory, was Cole. His hair was freshly dyed, his posture reeking of authority, and—a

mask

covering his face. But I knew that it was him.
Continue your journey with empire

What the heck was he doing here?!