I leaned back, eyes narrowed just a little. “That’s one hell of a Tinder bio.” Katherine laughed, almost choked on her wine, and even Lola cracked a smile.

  Dmitry just smirked, but sat down with a smile that somehow managed to be both charming and vaguely threatening. “Just enjoy your meal and the music,” he finished, like a host welcoming us to the final round of some upscale social game.

  “Uhm, music?” I blinked, scanning the terrace. No speakers, no visible wires. Just plants, candles, and the distant hush of the city. If there was music, it had ghosted in under my radar.

  “Ya! Super cozy,” Katherine beamed, eyes flicking toward the waitress who had appeared like some summoned NPC in designer chic. The staff here? Immaculate. Perfect posture, tailored uniforms that probably cost more than Lucas’ entire apartment setup.

  She slid beers in front of each of us with a fluid motion that said she’d done this a thousand times and would still judge you if you fumbled the glass. The bottle was cool beneath my fingers, condensation fogging along its surface.

  “Ya know what to do now!” Katherine’s grin never left her face, full of the kind of unfiltered joy that made me suspicious.

  “Uhm.” I glanced between them like a bad improv actor trying to remember the script. “We’re supposed to cling glasses and look into each other’s eyes, right?” My gaze bounced from Lola, who a shrugged, to Dmitry, who was inspecting tablet like it was a stock portfolio, and back to Katherine. Who was nodding with all the enthusiasm of a game show host mid-reveal. “Then we smash the glass on the table and drink?”

  “Exactly!” she declared, lifting her beer like a chalice. “Cheers! Na zdraví!”

  She leaned in and thunked her glass against mine with more force than necessary. The clink echoed through the garden like a tiny warning shot, and the foam threatened to leap over the rim.

  I followed suit. Glasses touched, eyes met, Lola’s were wide with amusement, Dmitry’s unreadable, and Katherine’s? Amazing as ever. And then we drank.

  The beer was cold, slightly bitter, and crisp at the back of the throat. A little too good, honestly.

  No need to stick with non-alcohol. Not anymore. Not when death was penciled into my schedule like a dentist appointment. Dying sort of canceled out all the polite rules of moderation.

  “Is beer really fitting to—”

  “Beer always good,” Katherine cut me off, waving one hand like the question itself was an offense to common sense. “And ya can ask him.” She jerked her chin toward Dmitry with the casualness of someone tossing a grenade.

  “Ask him what?” I blinked, caught between the bitter tang of the beer and the sudden shift in tone.

  “He an asshole,” she whispered, leaning closer like it was a shared secret between sisters. “But doesn’t need to be.”

  “I’m not…” Dmitry began, then stopped himself with a sigh. “I mean… yes. But what I do is efficient.”

  “Ya fired them because their numbers were ten percent down,” she pouted into her glass, cheeks puffed slightly, lips brushing the rim like she was whispering to the foam.

  I couldn’t look away.

  The pout, the soft lilt of hurt in her voice. It was disarmingly cute. Dangerous kind of cute. I forced myself to gulp and swivel my attention to Dmitry before my brain short-circuited.

  “It’s called restructuralization, darling.” His voice dipped into that smooth CEO confidence, like he was justifying war crimes with spreadsheets. “The company stopped bleeding money. It was the right decision.”

  “She was pregnant,” Katherine muttered, all joy drained from her tone as she stared into the bottle like it owed her an apology.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I caught Lola slowly raising her glass, hiding behind it like it was a social shield. If she’d had her tablet, she would’ve vanished behind that instead. Her classic: if I don’t see the drama, I’m not in it.

  “Rules are the same for everyone,” Dmitry said, shoulders tensing just a little. “You know mine. But is this really the time?” He threw both hands up, exasperated. “I do what I think is best. I hold power. I hold wealth. Words are cheap.”

  “Soft power has its place,” Katherine murmured, quieter now. The sparks that usually danced behind her eyes were dimming. “You help—”

  “I stand by my allies,” Dmitry cut in, more forcefully this time. “My father taught me that. He slapped me once—to remember it better—and told me to engrave into mind: always honor your allies. That’s power. Enemies should fear me. Allies should love me.”

  I blinked. Then waved my hands between them like some awkward traffic cop at a romantic fallout zone. “Uhm, this is all very dramatic and powerful, but can we maybe circle back to the actual point?” My voice went higher than I’d like. “What exactly are we talking about here?”

  They both paused. Mid-glare, mid-defensiveness, mid-trauma dump. And for once, blessedly, they both shut up at the same time.

  “About the movie,” Dmitry said, voice sliding back into boardroom mode.

  “What about it?” I glanced at both girls, hoping for backup. They shrugged in near-sync, which was zero help.

  Come on, Lola, throw me a lifeline here!

  “You co-own the production company,” Dmitry continued, polite but pointed. “So I think it’s prudent to ask… How will the marketing work? Riker was evasive about the details—”

  I snorted.

  Then laughed.

  Then absolutely lost it.

  If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  “Riker? You never know what he’s doing! I have no idea what he plans,” I wheezed, trying to rein it in, but it just kept coming. The image of Riker with twelve tabs open and a raccoon on his shoulder calling it ‘marketing’ was too real.

  “But… you control—” Dmitry looked baffled, like I’d just told him the stock market ran on moon phases. “How can you not know?”

  “She’s supposed to know,” I said innocently, tilting my head toward Lola and tossing the flaming hot potato straight into her lap.

  “Me?” she blinked like I’d thrown a squirrel at her. “I-I-I haven’t had time to learn all the details yet. But there’s a premiere we have to attend. And… some kind of tour?”

  “See?” I grinned. “She knows more than me.”

  “How—” Dmitry began, but his gaze shifted past me. His brows lifted slightly.

  Then I heard it too.

  Music.

  The kind that didn’t come from hidden speakers or ambient restaurant playlists. It started softly, strummed chords with too much personality to be accidental. The low twang of a guitar teased the air, flirtatious, layered with something percussive. A rapid, confident rhythm built behind it. Then another guitar joined. And a third.

  I turned.

  A band was walking toward us. Marching, more like it. Three guitarists, one acoustic, one electric, one absurdly oversized and custom-painted with a glowing holo-rune along its neck. A fourth musician had a tiny handheld keyboard that doubled as a synth. And in the middle of them all was the lead singer, holding a bouquet of exactly three roses.

  “Oh no,” I breathed.

  Katherine’s eyes sparkled like she was five seconds from proposing.

  The lead singer pivoted smoothly as he reached our table, the band trailing behind him in a wave of sound. He sang, loud, passionate. A ridiculous love ballad in a language I half-recognized, probably something dramatic about moonlight and betrayal.

  Without breaking rhythm, he presented the first rose to Katherine with a bow so deep it almost knocked over his mic. She giggled and accepted it like he’d offered her a diamond.

  Then, with a theatrical spin, an actual pirouette, the singer twirled and landed beside Lola. He dipped slightly, grinning, and handed her the second rose with the solemnity of a knight swearing fealty. Her face went crimson.

  She took it like it might explode.

  The music surged. Strings intensified. The synth let out a howl of ascending notes. And then… he turned to me.

  Oh no.

  Oh no.

  Still singing, the man did a sharp slide-step into a solo riff so fast I thought his fingers would combust. His hand blurred across the strings of the electric guitar, slapping, tapping, shredding like he was auditioning for the royal court musician.

  And in the same motion, he tossed the final rose into his own mouth, bit down on the stem, flipped the guitar behind his back—

  —and lunged forward, landing with one knee on the ground right in front of me, rose clenched between his teeth, head tilted like a matador offering his heart.

  I just stared at him.

  Speechless.

  My face was burning, eyes wide, breath caught like it got sucker-punched by drama.

  This is a date. This is a date now.

  Slowly, like someone reaching for a [Mana Bomb], I took the rose from his mouth.

  He winked.

  The people behind us applauded.

  Lola nearly choked on her beer.

  And I… just smiled.

  Rosy. Confused. But smiling.

  Because when life throws you a flamenco guitar solo and a flower, you take the damn rose.

  We didn’t talk much during the meal.

  It wasn’t an awkward silence, more like a ritual. The kind of dinner that reminded me of those royal wedding menus where forks came in triplets and the soup never made sense. I’d trained for that kind of situation. Watched etiquette vids at 2x speed, practiced posture, and learned how to chew without looking like a commoner.

  The quests granted more XP when looking like I belonged.

  Lola… did not.

  She fumbled the first bite, hesitated like the spoon might betray her, then sat hunched over like she was back in school cafeteria mode. The porridge, some kind of spiced oat-thing with lavender honey and citrus peel, was apparently sacred.

  Lola tried to stir it.

  Dmitry, of course, noticed everything. His gaze flicked from me to her, then to Katherine, who, Saevrin bless her, was eating like the porridge had personally insulted her. Elbows up. No mercy. A Viking in heels.

  I nearly snorted into my glass more than once. But honestly? It helped. Lola relaxed. Katherine’s chaos absorbed the spotlight, and I stayed graceful just enough to keep Dmitry mildly impressed.

  Then the beers came out again.

  More glass tapping. More borderline table abuse. Dmitry held his glass like a king about to declare war. After the collective “Na zdraví” and the heavy sip, he leaned back with the air of a man ready to negotiate kingdoms.

  “What are your plans?” he asked, tone casual, but his eyes ready. “I saw your execution. Your position in the empire is gone.”

  I bit the inside of my lip. Hard. “We’re not allies. Should I really be sharing that with you?”

  He didn’t flinch. Just turned his head slightly toward Katherine. “Why we couldn’t be? You are a soft leader. Na?ve. Exploitable. Lisa’s… a foolish girl. I enjoy… toying and playing with her. She’s a worthy opponent, entertaining. But neither of us has made a real move. Not yet.” He looked back at me. “That means there’s still space. For us to align.”

  “Real moves?” I arched a brow and glanced at Katherine.

  “Hostile takeover ‘rents Company,” she listed off like items on a grocery run. “Expelling from Van Der Lys. Horrible things. He promised not.” She gave a proud little nod. “He an asshole. She stubborn.”

  I nodded slowly, turning my beer between my palms. “Okay… so how does this allies thing work, exactly? How do we build trust?”

  “If I fit into your plans,” Dmitry said smoothly, rising from his seat, “then I promise to come to your aid.” He looked around the table, then gestured toward Katherine. “This dinner was for that. To show you who I really am.”

  “Katherine loves games. Loves streaming. I do too. And this project—Rimelion—it’s already huge. It’ll be bigger still. I wanted to prove I’m not just a villain.”

  “He is!” Katherine declared, raising her beer like a victory flag. “But he’s our villain!”

  Dmitry facepalmed.

  I let out a sigh that felt like it’d been waiting all night—heavy, loaded, the kind that takes a piece of your spine with it. “Sure. That makes everything clearer. Not saner. But clearer.” I narrowed my eyes at Dmitry. “For things you did to Frozna and Lisa, I still think you need a good spanking.”

  Katherine choked on her beer. Dmitry just raised an eyebrow, like I’d offered him a business proposal.

  “But,” I continued, lifting my glass, “I think we’ll need any help we can get our hands on. Not soon, mind you. I’ve got... quests. Ones that’ll take me off the board. Out of the public eye. Maybe for months.”

  Slavery. Fun times.

  I didn’t say it out loud, but it echoed behind my words like a bad soundtrack. For the foreseeable future in Rimelion, I’d be playing the role of “survivor NPC #407834691,” trying not to die while pretending I belonged in chains. I had plans to exploit whatever systems I could, twist the rules, break the scripts, but that only got you so far when your life came with ownership runes. That forced you to change your own mind and thinking. Hopefully, they won’t use those.

  At least for the first few months, I had to survive. After that?

  My eyes flicked to the candlelight dancing on the table. A flicker of something steadier inside me.

  I had a world fragment. One of the rare ones. And I had a deadline. One year to build a force strong enough to defend it, to anchor it, to make it mine forever. A duchy, founded in the forest between the countries. Not just surviving.

  Ruling.

  I’d hoped the empire would support me. Give it legitimacy. But it wasn’t strictly necessary. Just... harder.

  And Dmitry?

  He wasn’t the kind of guy you trusted. But he was the kind you used, if you were smart about it. He had capital. Reputation. Ruthlessness. He was the kind of man who made hard decisions without blinking, and if I played this right, I could offload some of the dirty work onto him while keeping my own hands clean.

  Katherine hadn’t brought him here for the food.

  She was playing the long game. Five steps ahead, maybe more. And now?

  Now I had our villain.

  I turned to him, extending my hand across the candlelit table. “Okay, Dmitry,” I said, steady. “I don’t know the exact timeline, but sometime within the next year, I’m going to need the strength of your Vainqueurs’ Imbattables.”

  His eyes met mine. Calculating and cold. Then warm. A flicker of something dangerous behind his smirk. He reached out and clasped my hand, grip firm.

  “Deal.”