Alexander Marquez did not do blind dates.
So the fact that he was sitting through one meant only one thing.
His step mother had pushed too far.
The café was buzzing with midday chatter, sunlight spilling through tall glass windows and painting warm patterns across the polished wooden floor. The air smelled faintly of roasted coffee beans and baked pastries, blending with the quiet hum of conversations and the soft clinking of cups and saucers.
Alexander sat across from the heiress, his posture immaculate, his expression carved from stone. He looked as if he belonged in a boardroom rather than a café, dressed in a perfectly tailored dark suit, his presence alone enough to draw occasional glances from nearby tables.
The heiress leaned forward and smiled nervously, twirling the tip of her coffee mug with her finger, her designer bag perched delicately beside her chair. She had spent hours preparing for this meeting, rehearsing topics, memorizing details about him, trying to appear effortless and charming.
"I heard you enjoy sailing," she said, trying to sound casual. "My family owns a yacht in Santa Monica. Perhaps we could take a trip sometime. The ocean is so freeing, don't you think?"
Alexander's eyes flicked to her briefly, then returned to his untouched espresso. His gaze was calm but distant, as if he were already somewhere else entirely.
"I do not recall mentioning sailing as a hobby."
Her smile wavered slightly, but she pressed on, refusing to give up so quickly.
"Well, I also studied art history in Paris," she continued, adjusting her posture. "I thought you might appreciate culture. We could visit the gallery downtown. They are hosting a private exhibition tonight."
Alexander stirred his espresso once, the spoon clinking softly against the ceramic cup. The sound seemed unusually loud in the small space between them.
"I do not recall asking for this meeting," he said calmly. "And I do not recall telling anyone I needed company at an exhibition."
The heiress swallowed, her confidence faltering. Her fingers tightened slightly around the mug.
"Your stepmother said..."
Alexander's voice cut through her words, low and precise.
"My stepmother says many things. None of them concern me."
Silence fell between them, heavy and uncomfortable. Three tables away, his personal assistant shifted uncomfortably, pretending to check messages on a tablet while feeling the tension radiating across the café like cold air.
Desperate to salvage the situation, the heiress tried one last time.
"At least allow me to compliment your company," she said quickly. "Marquez Technologies is remarkable. Everyone in Pacifica Heights knows you are a visionary. I thought perhaps we could discuss your latest projects."
Alexander's gaze hardened slightly.
He rose from his seat, buttoning his coat with deliberate calm. His movements were slow and controlled, but the message was clear.
"This was a waste of time," he said. "Tell my stepmother I am not interested."
The heiress sat frozen, her carefully rehearsed charm crumbling as he walked out without a backward glance. Her hand tightened around the mug, her face burning with humiliation as she stared at the table, unable to move for several seconds.
Outside, the midday air was cooler and sharper than inside the café. The noise of traffic and distant conversations filled the street. Alexander barely noticed any of it.
His phone buzzed in his hand. The caller ID flashed: Stepmother.
He answered, voice clipped and emotionless.
"You walked out again?" she snapped through the line.
"You arranged it, you endure it" Alexander replied coldly " I do not play games, Stop wasting my time with these charades."
"You're resting my patience."
"No." He said. " You are testing your limits."
"You know the conditions. Without marriage, your mother's inheritance..."
"Save the threats," he cut in. "Respect for my father is the only reason I tolerate this circus. Do not push me further."
Her silence on the other end was heavy and tense, but he ended the call before she could recover.
Alexander exhaled slowly, irritation simmering beneath his calm exterior.
How many more times will she parade strangers in front of me, as if marriage were a business transaction?.
His personal assistant hurried inside the café to fetch coffee for the office, leaving him alone near the curb. His sleek black Aston Martin gleamed under the sunlight, a symbol of power, wealth, and precision.
He was steps away from the car when it happened.
A woman rushed past him, clutching her bag tightly, her attention fixed somewhere behind her.
They collided.
The impact knocking his phone from his hand and sending it tumbling onto the pavement.
"Watch it," Alexander muttered, stooping to retrieve it.
"I am sorry," she said quickly, crouching down to pick her phone at the same time. Her hair fell across her face, hiding her expression, and her movements were hurried and slightly clumsy.
She did not hear his clipped apology. Instead, she whispered under her breath, just loud enough for him to catch.
"Some people think they own the sidewalk."
Alexander's jaw tightened slightly.
He straightened and watched her dart into the café without a second glance, disappearing through the glass doors as quickly as she had appeared. Irritation flared briefly, but something about her voice lingered in his mind.
He shook it off and slid the phone into his coat pocket before getting into his car.
Minutes later, Alexander was seated in the conference room of Marquez Technologies. The atmosphere was tense and focused. Charts and graphs were projected on the screen, showing a rival company closing in, their numbers climbing dangerously close to Marquez Technologies' latest product performance.
Marquez Technologies was a global empire specializing in artificial intelligence and digital media platforms. Innovation was their crown jewel, and Alexander was its cold and relentless guardian.
His gaze was sharp, his mind already calculating strategies and counter moves. He was known for his precision, his discipline, and his refusal to tolerate incompetence or nonsense. Everyone in the room knew better than to test his patience.
Then it happened.
A phone rang.
The sound was jarring, loud, and absurd in the serious conference room.
"We acting a fool again… hahahaha
hooligan… watch this, watch this beat going hooligan!"
Heads snapped up immediately. The ringtone echoed through the room, completely destroying the serious atmosphere.
Alexander's eyes narrowed slowly. His voice cut through the air like a blade.
"Whoever's phone that is, leave. Now."
No one moved. The ringtone stopped.
Then it started again.
His teeth clenched slightly.
"I said leave."
The atmosphere in the room dropped several degrees instantly. Employees lowered their heads, terrified to move or speak. No one wanted to be the owner of that ridiculous ringtone.
His personal assistant stepped closer and leaned down to whisper carefully.
"Sir… the ringing phone is coming from you."
Alexander froze.
"What?"
He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out the device. His brows furrowed immediately as the ringtone continued to blast loudly from the phone in his hand.
It was not his phone.
The lock screen displayed the photo of an unfamiliar Asian man smiling at the camera. A strange number flashed across the screen.
Alexander's irritation deepened. He swiped to answer.
"Hello… um, Mr. Marcus?" A female voice spoke on the other end, hesitant but clear.
His brows knitted slightly. A woman. And a Marcus?.
"Speaking," he said curtly.
"Oh, thank goodness," she breathed in relief. "I think I have your phone. We bumped into each other outside the café this morning. I must have picked up yours by mistake."
Alexander stared at the device in his hand, realization slowly dawning.
The woman from earlier. The collision. The phone swap.
Coincidence?.