The Alpha's Crimson Vow

Katherine Chris Winters is already seated when I arrive at the restaurant. He stands as I approach—a tall guy, decent-looking in a bland, forgettable sort of way. Maybe six feet tall, with neatly trimmed blonde hair and a face that suggests a losing battle with growing a beard. Polite enough, I suppose, as he circles the table to pull out my chair. But there’s no warmth in the gesture, just a practiced air, like he’s following some kind of manual on “How to Impress a Woman.” “Mr. Winters. Good evening,” I say, keeping my tone neutral, my defenses already on high alert.Men like him always bring that side out of me. There’s just something about the way he looks at me—like everything I’ve worked for, all my accomplishments, even being the CEO of Pinnacle Group, somehow doesn’t matter. Like I’m just something to be looked at, something to stir his fantasies. Before this date, I looked him up, and he’s not the kind of guy I’d ever be excited to sit down to dinner with. He smiles, but it’s more a display than a genuine expression. “Let’s not be so formal. Just Chris will do, Katherine.” I nod and take my seat. Before I can settle in, Chris snaps his fingers at a nearby waiter like he’s calling for a dog. The waiter steps forward promptly but apparently not quickly enough for Chris’s liking. “Hurry it up!” he barks, his sharp tone making my eyebrow lift ever so slightly. I don’t say anything, though. “We’ll have the Lasagna alla Bolognese and a bottle of wine,” Chris says. The waiter jots down his order, then turns to me with a professional smile. “And for you, ma’am?” I reach for the menu, but before I can even open it, Chris cuts in. “I already said we’ll have the Lasagna alla Bolognese. Didn’t you hear me the first time?” The waiter pauses, clearly thrown off by the abruptness but still trying to maintain his composure. “Apologies, sir,” he says with a slight bow before heading off. I glance at Chris, a mix of amusement and irritation bubbling under the surface. “You didn’t let me order,” I say, my voice steady but pointed. Chris shrugs, flashing an awkward smile. “Trust me. You’ll love it.” The waiter returns shortly with the wine, pouring Chris a glass first. When he moves to pour mine, I raise a hand to stop him. “No, thank you. I’ll just have water.” The waiter nods and leaves, returning moments later with a glass of water that he pours carefully. Chris watches the exchange, then leans back in his chair, a smug expression creeping onto his face. “You strike me as the type of girl who doesn’t like being told what to do… or doing what she’s told,” he says, a faint chuckle in his voice like he’s trying to come off playful. “Evidently,” I reply, my tone flat, not bothering to entertain whatever joke he thinks he’s making. "It must be overwhelming," he says, swirling his wine. "Such a big company for someone so... inexperienced." I take a sip of water, wishing it was something stronger. "I assure you, I'm quite capable." "Of course, of course." His smile feels phony. "But surely you understand the need for a strong guiding hand. Someone to help you navigate the complexities of leadership." "You mean someone like you?" I arch an eyebrow. "Well," he preens, "I do have extensive experience in corporate leadership. My father always said women in business need.." "Let me stop you right there," I interrupt, placing my napkin on the table. "I don't need guidance, Christopher. I need respect. And you clearly aren't capable of providing that." "A woman in your position needs someone to handle the real challenges so you can...focus on what you're good at," he continues, his eyes trailing over me in that familiar way that makes my skin crawl. I've seen that look a thousand times. Men who think my model-worthy features somehow negate my Harvard MBA. “What I’m good at?” I echo, leaning forward. “And what might that be, Mr. Winters?” “Managing the details. Socializing. Looking pretty.” The glass in my hand is dangerously close to shattering. I take a deep breath, forcing a smile. “That’s fascinating. Tell me, what exactly do you bring to the table?” His smile falters, but he recovers quickly. “Connections. Influence. The kind of power your family wants in a partnership.” “Well,” I say, grabbing my purse. “It’s been enlightening. But I don’t think you and I are a good fit. So I’m afraid your ‘partnership’ is off the table.” He opens his mouth to say something, but I get to my feet. “What I meant by that, Mr. Winters, is that this foolish date is over.” The finality and command in my tone stuns him into a gaping silence. I almost smile. He looks better when he has nothing to say. I drop a couple of hundreds on the table and turn away, my louboutins click-clacking against the marble floor as I leave. “That arrogant b***h! Who the hell would ever marry a woman who thinks she can act like a man?!” I hear his furious complaints on my way out, but I couldn’t care less as I stride out of the restaurant. What a total waste of my time. I don’t even know how I’ve managed to put up with all of this nonsense. It’s taking every ounce of patience I have. The world seems to be overrun with men like Chris Winters, and honestly? It’s pathetic. And me? Lately I’ve had the displeasure of crossing paths with guys like him way more often than my stomach can handle, all because The family elders won’t stop breathing down my neck. They’re always harping on about the importance of marriage—how I’m “not getting any younger” and how crucial it is for someone in my position to “secure the family legacy.” Chris Winters is just another one of their handpicked suitors, another one of their golden ducks they’ve wheeled out for me to endure an awkward encounter with. In a way, I get it—on paper, it makes sense. The Winters family has been a solid partner to Pinnacle Group for years, and Chris is the heir to their empire. Of course the elders see him as the perfect match. What they’re not considering, though, is that he’s an absolute dickhead.