THE FATED OMEGA MATE

Chapter 15:Elais

We finally arrived at one of Damian’s favorite restaurants. I should have guessed. The second the car slowed to a stop, a strange weight settled in my stomach. I was ready to ask why we were here, but before the words could even leave my lips, Damian was already out of the car. A heartbeat later, he was at my door, opening it for me.

That small gesture, so unexpected, so unlike him, left me more confused than relieved. My throat tightened with the thank you I managed to murmur, but he only gave me a blank expression, as if my gratitude had fallen flat against a wall.

The manager spotted us immediately, his smile stretching wide as he greeted, “Good Afternoon, Mr. Blackwell. Welcome.” His tone was warm, almost reverent, and within seconds we were being guided into one of the private booths tucked discreetly away from the rest of the guests.

And then it clicked. The private space. The timing. of course. He was meant to have lunch with a shareholder. Ms. Beau. I remembered the note I had jotted down in his morning schedule. Why had I even let myself think this was about me?

I sat down, already pulling my laptop and iPad from my bag, fingers flying to create a new document to organize notes. My role was clear. To sit, observe and record. Nothing more. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught Damian holding the digital menu. That, too, was odd. He rarely ordered when I was present. Normally, he would rattle off what he wanted without looking up, leaving the waiter to hand me a menu as if I were invisible.

I blinked at him, unsure. When the waiter handed me my own tablet, I hesitated before asking quietly, “Should I call Ms. Beau to ask if she wants something besides steak?”

Damian’s eyes lifted to mine, unreadable. “What are you talking about?”

Heat crept up my neck. I fumbled for words. “I… I don’t know what she would like apart from steak. I thought you meant for me to..”

“I’m not asking you to order for her.” His tone was clipped but not cruel, which was strange in itself. “You are going to choose food for yourself. You haven’t eaten lunch yet, have you?”

I froze. My mouth opened, then shut again. His stare was sharp enough to pin me in place, but beneath it there was. Something else. Something I didn’t quite understand.

“Isn’t it necessary to eat during the day, Elias?” His voice lowered, and for a moment it almost sounded like genuine concern. “You take care of so much. So shut up, order, and eat your f*****g lunch.”

I lowered my head, my ears burning. “Yes, sir… thank you.” The words came out small, awkward. I couldn’t look at him.

The waiter waited patiently, and I pointed at a tuna pasta. Damian, without lifting his head from his own menu, asked, “What about an appetizer?”

I scrambled through the options again, stealing a glance at him. His expression wasn’t harsh, not even impatient. It was softer than I had ever seen it. “Mushroom soup, please,” I added quickly.

“Good.” His response was curt, but I caught the faintest trace of satisfaction in his voice.

When the waiter asked about drinks, I requested an iced tea. “With lemon, please,” I added, and the waiter nodded. Damian, surprisingly, didn’t override me, didn’t correct me, didn’t even flinch.

The waiter had barely left when the door opened and Ms. Beau finally swept in. She was as striking as I remembered. Draped in elegance and confidence pouring off her in waves. Her eyes softened into a seductive smile the moment they landed on Damian.

“Sorry,” she purred, sliding into the booth beside him without hesitation. “My car broke down, and I had to order a ride. I hate being late.”

Then her gaze flicked to me as if only just noticing. “Oh. Elias. I didn’t know you would be joining us today. How are you? It feels like ages since I last saw you.”

I forced a smile, ignoring the sting of her assumption. “I’m doing well, thank you, Miss Beau. It’s good to see you.”

She gave a nod before turning all her attention back to Damian, leaning close enough that her perfume hit me even across the table. “What did you order? You know I can never resist the steak here.” Her eyes sparkled at him, the flirtation obvious.

Damian didn’t even acknowledge her. His gaze stayed locked on the menu, his jaw tight.

The silence stretched, uncomfortable, so I stepped in, clearing my throat. “We ordered steak, Miss Beau.”

I reached for the call button beside me, pressing it lightly. The waiter reappeared, ready and smiling, and I gestured toward Ms. Beau so she could place her order.

“I’ll have the steak, of course,” she said smoothly. “And a bottle of champagne.” Her eyes never once left Damian’s face.

Keeping her eyes fixed on Damian, Ms. Beau tilted her head slightly and asked, “Would you like something light to start?”

For the second time, Damian ignored her completely. My heart gave a strange little jolt. What the hell was going on here? Damian was never warm, but he wasn’t usually this… cold. Not to her.

Unbothered, she waved to the waiter and added smoothly, “Salmon and steak pair beautifully with champagne. Bring the Cristal Rosé, 2008.”

I swallowed. That champagne was the kind that glittered in gold-rimmed glasses at royal galas. The bottle alone cost more than my monthly paycheck. And the way she ordered it. Like it was water, screamed of someone so drenched in wealth that extravagance was her default.

Then, her gaze slid to me. “Do you drink, Elias?”

Caught off guard, I straightened. “I’m sorry, Miss. I am on the clock, so I can’t drink.”

Her laugh spilled into the room, low and melodic. It wasn’t just amusement. It was a sound dripping with money, with class, with the ease of someone who had been catered to all her life. It rolled off her tongue like silk and left me feeling oddly small. And yet… she ignored my words.

I told myself I wasn’t the one driving us back. One glass of champagne couldn’t hurt. I could handle it, especially since champagne was light compared to whiskey or wine. My lips parted to agree just once, just to please her, when Damian’s voice cut the air like a blade.

“You shouldn’t drink when you are at work.”

I froze, recoiling into myself like a turtle retreating into its shell. The shame stung hotter than I expected, and I quickly swallowed back the temptation. I forced a polite smile and said, “I’m sorry, Miss. But not today. I will abstain.”

Her eyes narrowed with a faint pout, but she didn’t push it.

A short while later, the food arrived, set down with precision, each utensil aligned as though the table itself was part of the performance. My iced tea was poured with a slice of lemon, the citrusy scent rising up to calm my nerves. I wrapped my fingers around the cool glass and drew strength from it.

Ms. Beau raised her champagne, the crystal flute glittering in the low light. “Baby,” she purred toward Damian, her lips curving in an indulgent smile. “Isn’t this exquisite?”

Damian only lifted his own glass, took a measured sip, and gave no reply.

I pretended to smile at her words, sipping my tea. The sweetness mixed with the lemon left me wishing, aching,for a taste of champagne, but I swallowed the urge. I needed a clear head. Damian might ask for a breakdown of the conversation later. And if, God forbid, he drank too much, it would be my responsibility to get him home safely.

Then she turned her focus onto me, her tone intimate, almost conspiratorial. “I think I am losing weight because Damian doesn’t want me anymore.”

I blinked, caught between disbelief and awkwardness. My throat dried. The words that finally left me were soft but sincere: “No, Miss. You have only become more beautiful.”

And I wasn’t lying. She was stunning. The kind of beauty that belonged on magazine covers. Her skin flawless, the faintest shimmer of gold highlighter catching the light. Her hair cascading in rich, dark waves that framed her face like art. Her lips painted the shade of old rose, soft yet commanding. She looked like luxury personified, and her confidence only made her more magnetic.

She smiled at me, the kind of smile that both dazzled and unsettled. Then, as if to drive a knife into my chest, she placed her manicured hand on Damian’s arm.

Something in me tensed instantly. My pulse spiked, and it was all I could do not to lean forward, not to swat her hand away like some jealous child. The anxiety was sharp, raw and coiling in my gut.

“Tell me i am pretty,” she whispered to Damian, her voice syrupy and insistent.

But Damian only met her eyes with a look so blank it bordered on brutal. Nothing. Not a word, not even a flicker of indulgence.

Her grip on his arm lingered, but then her gaze shifted to me again, softer now, unsettlingly gentle. I squirmed in my seat, trying to focus on the plate in front of me, stabbing at my food like I hadn’t noticed her hand still there. But I had. God, I had.

The tension only broke when I felt Damian’s eyes on me. Slowly, reluctantly, I lifted my head. His frown was deep, his stare sharp, as if he’d read every thought running through my skull. Something was bothering him. Seriously bothering him.

Then, with a quiet decisiveness, he removed her hand from his arm. Not harshly. Not rudely. Just firmly, as though he had been tolerating it long enough.

“Let’s end the meeting here for today,” he said flatly. “After all, you have another appointment with Adrian, don’t you?”

Her painted smile faltered, then smoothed over again. “Oh… yes, of course. Sorry, Mr. Blackwell. It was wonderful to see you after such a long time.”

Damian didn’t respond. Not a word.