"You don't have to like me, Mr. Hale," Elena continued, her voice steady, her gaze unwavering. "You just have to stand beside me."
The silence stretched again, but this time Elena broke it first.
She leaned back slightly, her fingers brushing against the table as she exhaled softly.
"I didn't expect an interrogation tonight," she said, her tone light, almost teasing. "I have to admit… It made me a little hungry."
A faint curve touched her lips.
"If you're done questioning me like I've committed a crime," she added, "maybe we should order something."
Alaric didn't smile. "It wasn't you," he said flatly. He paused, leaning towards her. "It was your father who committed a crime against my mother."
The words landed clean.
No hesitation.
Elena stilled for a second but she didn't look away.
"You should already know why I'm giving you an easy way out," Alaric continued, his voice steady, direct. "So don't mistake it for kindness."
He smirked.
"Take it as a convenience."
Silence followed between them, not long but enough to tighten her chest.
Elena tilted her head slightly, studying him… not offended, not defensive.
"I never mistook it for anything else," she said calmly, making Alaric frown but he didn't let it show.
That was it.
No argument.
No denial.
And somehow, that made it harder to read her.
Elena reached for the call button, her movement calm, unhurried.
Before she could press it…
"I'm not here to dine with you." Alaric's voice cut in, flat and uninterested.
His gaze remained on her, steady, almost challenging.
"So drop the act."
Elena's hand paused in the air for a fraction of a second. Then she pressed it anyway.
A faint breath left her, almost like a quiet sigh, before she turned her attention back to him.
"Mr. Hale," she said, her tone even, untouched by his dismissal, "we can have a conversation and still fulfill the purpose of being here."
A slight tilt of her head, her expression composed.
"There's no reason to end a perfectly good evening in haste."
Alaric's jaw tightened just slightly.
Perfectly good evening. My foot.
That wasn't how he would describe this.
The soft chime broke the silence for a brief second before fading again.
"If you'd prefer to leave, you can," she said, her tone even, almost indifferent.
Then her gaze lifted to meet his.
"But you're still here."
A slight pause.
"So I assume this isn't entirely your decision either."
Alaric's expression didn't change.
But something in his eyes sharpened.
"You assume too much," he said.
"Do I?"
Her voice didn't rise, didn't challenge.
If anything, it softened.
"Then prove me wrong."
That… wasn't what he had expected.
For a moment, neither of them moved.
Then… a knock at the door.
The waiter entered, polite, composed, placing himself just far enough to not intrude, yet close enough to be acknowledged.
Elena didn't hesitate.
"I'll have the chef's recommendation," she said calmly, her attention already shifting, as if the tension from moments ago had never existed. "And something light to drink."
The waiter nodded, then turned to Alaric.
There was a brief pause.
Alaric looked at him, then back at Elena.
Then back again.
"Nothing for me," he said.
The waiter hesitated for a fraction of a second before nodding and excusing himself, the door closing quietly behind him once more.
Silence returned.
But it wasn't the same.
Elena rested her hands lightly on the table, her posture relaxed, her expression composed.
"You don't have to sit through this like it's a punishment," she said after a moment.
Alaric let out a quiet breath, leaning back slightly.
"Then stop treating it like it's normal."
Her gaze held his.
"It is normal," she replied. "For people like us."
That made something in him still.
Just for a second.
Silence lingered after her words, quieter but heavier. Alaric watched her for a second longer than necessary.
"For people like us?" He repeated, his tone lower with rage.
A faint edge crept in.
"People like you, you mean."
Elena didn't react to his emphasis.
"You seem very comfortable with all of this," he continued, leaning back slightly, his gaze steady. "Almost like you've done it before."
He paused trying to read her..
"Agreeing. Playing along. Moving on."
Her fingers stilled for just a fraction of a second against the table.
Then resumed.
"And what exactly do you think I've done, Mr. Hale?" She asked calmly.
Alaric didn't hesitate. "Walked away." The words were blunt but true. "You've broken engagements before. More than once." His eyes didn't leave hers. "So what changes this time?"
A brief silence followed.
Elena held his gaze, refusing to blink or to show if his words affected her.
"I told you," she said softly, "I don't walk away without reason."
"That sounds convenient, it almost feels like you're putting up and act," he replied.
"And your assumption doesn't?" she returned just as evenly.
That made him pause. Not long. But enough to understand beneath her words.
"You think I don't know what you're doing?" she added, her tone still calm, but sharper now in its clarity. "You're trying to push me into refusing."
Alaric didn't deny it.
"You're giving me an exit," she continued. "Not out of kindness… but because it benefits you."
There it was.
Laid out plainly.
"And yet," he said, his voice steady, "you're still here."
Elena leaned back slightly, her expression unchanged.
"Yes."
There she said it.
"Because unlike you, I don't have the luxury of walking away from everything that's inconvenient."
That landed.
Harder than he expected.
For the first time, something in his gaze shifted… not softened, but… reconsidering what was his purpose here.
"You're choosing this," he said.
"No," she corrected quietly. "I'm accepting it."
The distinction was small.
But it changed everything.
Alaric studied her again, more carefully this time.
Not her reputation.
Not her name.
Simply her.
And for the first time since this conversation started… he realized something didn't add up.
She wasn't defensive.
Wasn't manipulative.
Wasn't even trying to convince him.
If anything… she sounded like someone who had already made peace with something she never had control over.
That didn't fit the image he had built in his mind about her.
And that… was a problem.
The knock came again, softer this time, and before either of them could respond, the door opened and the waiter stepped in with quiet efficiency. He carried a carefully arranged spread, placing each dish with precision at the center of the table, as though the presentation itself held meaning.
It wasn't a simple meal.
It was elaborate… thoughtfully paired dishes, delicate plating, portions meant to be shared. Not a random selection, but something curated… intentional.
A couple's feast.
The realization settled between them almost instantly.
Alaric didn't say anything as his gaze lingered on the table for a moment before shifting toward Elena. He didn't need to ask. This, too, had been decided for them.
Another detail arranged in advance, another silent reminder that this entire evening had been planned down to the smallest element.
Even this.
Especially this. He clearly didn't order for himself but still a beautifully plated dish was served to him.
Elena followed his gaze, her eyes resting briefly on the spread before lifting to meet him. There was no surprise in her expression, no discomfort, no visible resistance.
Instead, a faint smile touched her lips… soft, knowing, as if she had already understood the implication the moment the dishes were set down.
It wasn't happiness.
It was recognition.
And somehow, that made it heavier.
Something in Alaric stilled as he held her gaze, the contrast between them becoming clearer in a way he hadn't expected. She wasn't reacting to any of this… not the setting, not the arrangement, not even the quiet imposition of choice being taken away from her piece by piece.
She had already accepted it.
Or worse… she was used to it.
The thought didn't sit well with him.
Because he wasn't.
This wasn't something he had prepared for, something he had learned to live with. It felt imposed, suffocating in a way that tightened something in his chest the longer he sat there, surrounded by decisions made without him.
And yet… she sat across from him as if it were nothing more than another evening.
Another expectation was fulfilled.
His gaze hardened slightly as he leaned back, the quiet pressure of the moment finally finding its way into words.
"I hate your father."
The statement was direct, stripped of any politeness or restraint.
Elena didn't interrupt.
Didn't react.
So he continued.
"That includes you."
The words landed heavier this time, carrying intention behind them, as if he were testing the weight of his own conviction.
"I will always hate you," he added, his voice steady, his eyes fixed on hers as though searching for something… any crack, any reaction that would justify what he felt.
"Can you live with that?"
The question lingered in the air, not loud, not aggressive, but unyielding in its presence.
For a moment, Elena didn't respond.
Her gaze remained on him, steady, unreadable, before it shifted… slowly, almost deliberately… toward the table. Her fingers moved, not hurried, not hesitant, as she reached for the cutlery placed beside her plate.
The small, ordinary motion felt strangely out of place against the weight of his words.
She picked up the fork.
Calmly.
As if the conversation hadn't just turned into something far more personal.
As if his hatred wasn't something she needed to defend against.
"I can live with many things, Mr. Hale," she said at last, her voice soft but steady, carrying no trace of offense, no attempt to argue or justify herself.
She lifted her gaze back to him, meeting his eyes with the same quiet composure.
"Hate is one of the easier ones."
There was no challenge in her tone.
No bitterness.
Just a simple, unguarded truth.
And that… made something shift in him.
Because people didn't say things like that unless they had lived through something worse.