Chapter 268 Date

"Good grief, Amelie, what on earth happened in here?" setting a cup of tea down on the table, Mom walked over to my bed, deftly stepping over the clothes scattered across the floor.

Exhaling noisily, I picked up the cup and nervously glanced at the mess I had made for absolutely no reason. I had found nothing—not a single thing I could wear to stand next to Damian looking even halfway decent, rather than like a homeless stray he’d dragged out of an alley.

In the past, I had never cared about looking attractive to guys. I dressed purely for comfort: a sweater and jeans when it was cold, a t-shirt and shorts when it was warm.

But now, looking over my meager wardrobe, I realized with a bitter pang that I hadn’t bought anything new in quite a while. I felt genuinely ashamed to go out looking like this.

"I’m going to the movies and was trying to find something to wear," the moment Mom turned her head in my direction, I caught myself, cutting off mid-sentence. Hastily taking a gulp of tea, I scorched my tongue.

"O-o-oh! And who is this mysterious date with?"

The tension in the room skyrocketed instantly, and a dangerous glint flashed in Mom’s eyes.

"It’s not a date, just an outing," putting the tea back on the table, I nervously grabbed the collar of my t-shirt, giving it a slight tug to pull the fabric away, desperately trying to shake off the heat that was skating across my skin like prickly sparks.

Crossing her arms over her chest, Mom demonstratively flopped down onto my bed. Her entire posture screamed that she wasn’t moving an inch from that spot until I told her the truth. Oh man...

"Amelie Hart. I’m waiting for a name."

"Mom, I’m old enough to have a private life. Boundaries, personal space, teenage secrets..." shrugging my shoulders, I hurriedly averted my gaze from her.

Glancing thoughtfully at my old makeup bag, I groaned inwardly. Good grief. My makeup is at least five years old, if not more. All that’s in there is an eyeshadow palette with a fairy and a Chupa Chups-shaped lipstick. Which, by the way, tastes exactly like what it looks like: strawberries.

Thinking back, I realized the last time I actually wore makeup was for the autumn festival back in middle school. I was in the seventh grade, and I hadn’t touched cosmetics since. Should I try putting on a little makeup? Or not?

And why bother anyway? We’re supposedly just going as friends. What difference does it make what I look like?

Yet something deep inside me stubbornly protested at the mere thought of showing up in a stretched-out sweater, jeans, and a hastily thrown-together ponytail. I didn’t want to look like a mess in front of him—even though he had already seen me in every possible state, including the most humiliating attire imaginable.

"Oh, really? Well, I won’t let you go off with just anyone!" Mom suddenly flared up, stomping her foot indignantly. "Until you tell me who it is, I..."

"Damian Rainn."

Interrupting her mid-word, I watched as she instantly deflated, sagging heavily.

"Sweetheart... of all the normal boys, why him?" Mom whined plaintively. Turning her gaze aside, she let out a heavy sigh. "He’s terrifying."

I nearly choked on my own breath at those words.

"He’s handsome..." I blurted out, though I instantly caught myself and bit my tongue. "We’re just going as friends. And besides, you said yourself that he saved me. It would be rude to just ignore him now."

Turning toward the window, I suddenly froze. Damian’s black car was already parked down below. Quickly glancing at the clock on the wall, I frowned—a full hour remained before our scheduled time. Why had he arrived so early?

"That’s not what I’m talking about at all! Just the sight of him gives me goosebumps, you understand? He’s... he’s so twisted and amoral. Such a cruel boy. Besides, I did some digging, and his family is troubled. His father was a murderer in the past, and now he wears a white coat and sits in the government apparatus... Why on earth would you want such a dangerous person as a friend?"

"Mom, he saved me. Twice, for that matter," shifting a brooding gaze to my mother, I delivered the words a bit more harshly than I had originally intended.

I couldn’t fully comprehend why her words had instantly ignited a dull irritation deep within my soul. But lately, there was a lot about myself I couldn’t understand. It was as if somewhere deep inside my chest, behind my ribs, someone else besides me was living and dictating their own rigid rules, causing my thoughts to constantly short-circuit.

I knew full well that Damian was no harmless white rabbit. That he was mortally dangerous. That he was terrifying. But last night had put a lot of things into perspective. The hardest and most shattering realization was that I had simply stopped fearing him. Completely.

It was as though shame had replaced my primal, animalistic panic. A heavy, aching tightness in my chest and something else I couldn’t quite explain. This unknown feeling made goosebumps crawl across my skin at just a fleeting glance of his powerful hands, thick with bulging veins beneath his tanned skin. I remembered all too well just how cautious those hands could be.

"Then... at least wear those clothes we bought for the university," Mom swallowed hard, her eyes closing in defeat as she gave in.

"What clothes?" I asked blankly, scanning the room with an empty gaze.

"The ones we bought at the mall right after we moved. You packed them in a box, remember, and even threatened to throw out all your old junk."

And right then, it hit me like an electric shock. I remembered that we had bought new clothes for the university, and I had completely forgotten about them. And all because my old comic books used to be kept in that exact box before Dad put up a new shelf. Why on earth had I stored my new clothes in there of all places?

Walking over to the wardrobe, I dragged out the cardboard box and hastily began digging through the new items.

Then, jumping up sharply, I ran to the window and cautiously peered outside. To my luck, Damian was standing near the hood of his car, stubbornly ruining his health by smoking. He was wearing sharp black trousers and a dark shirt left carelessly unbuttoned at the top, clearly exposing his collarbones.

Heat instantly scorched my cheeks, and I whipped around, flying back to the box like a bullet.

Pulling out a simple black dress and a matching soft cardigan, I nodded to myself in satisfaction. Now I was truly ready—and I would definitely look good. After all, it was far better than a stretched-out sweater.

By the time I was finally ready, there were exactly ten minutes left before five. Shifting nervously from foot to foot, I held the children’s lip gloss hesitatingly in my hands. I couldn’t decide. After deliberating for a long moment, I applied just a touch of color to my lips—the absolute bare minimum. Then, dropping the tube back into my makeup bag as if it were a venomous snake, I rushed into the hallway to put on my shoes.

What am I even doing? We’re just going as friends, yet here I am all dressed up.

Slipping into a pair of black ballet flats, I called out to my mother that I was leaving and began my slow descent down the stairs. With every step, my knees trembled traitorously, and heat continuously flushed over my skin from my skyrocketing nerves. My prey instincts screamed at me to turn back, run up the stairs, dive into bed, and hide beneath the covers—safe in my fortress.

Just as I reached the ground floor, I nearly slammed right into a man. By some miracle, I leaped aside just in time, my fingers frantically grasping the cold metal handrail.

"Oh! Forgive me, I wasn’t watching where I was going," the stranger drawled, raising his hands in a placating gesture as he offered a smile.

"I-it’s fine," I stammered, instinctively taking a step back.

The man wore a black utility jacket loaded with pockets and standard dark trousers. He was quite tall, sporting a neat, stern haircut. On the surface, he looked entirely ordinary—except for his eyes. Sharp, piercing grey eyes stared at me almost point-blank, scraping over my skin like glass.

"Do you live here?"

"Why do you ask?" I questioned tensely, edging sideways past him in the narrow stairwell.

"Just that I haven’t seen you around here before."

The stranger’s smile widened, but his eyes remained completely dead and frigid.

"I haven’t seen you either. Excuse me, I’m in a rush," I blurted out, practically sprinting down the remaining steps toward the building exit.

His heavy gaze burned against my back until I finally shoved open the heavy iron door.

The moment I burst outside, a crisp gust of wind swept over my bare legs. Looking up, my eyes immediately locked onto Damian. He was leaning casually against the sleek black hood of his car.

The moment he saw me, dark sparks flared intensely in his obsidian eyes, making my heart skip a beat and slam violently against my ribs.

"You look stunning, Amelie..."

His low, gravelly voice vibrated across my frayed nerves like shattered glass. Deep in my core, a sudden, heavy coil of tension tightened sharply.

If I was going to react this violently to his mere presence, I was terrified to think how I would survive an entire movie date with him.