me the black rose in his hand. "For you, my goddess of death."
Unamused by his theatrics, I brushed past him and made my way over to the table set for our date. A quick glance didn't reveal any traps or manacles or torture instruments laid out. Did he simply plan on drugging my food? Seemed like his style. I sat down carefully, laying my keys and phone on the table beside my cutlery.
Chase was unperturbed by my rudeness, just cleared his throat and sat opposite me at the table, smiling like we were celebrating our anniversary or some shit.
"There's no need for such hostility, Darling," he purred, totally at ease in his seat. Totally in control of the situation. Bastard.
His man, who'd patted me down, seemed to be the only other person in the room, and there was an edge of familiarity about him. The lighting was so low that very little was visible beyond the sphere of candlelight on our table, so I filed that away in my brain for later.
Chase reached for the champagne, poured a glass for each of us, then indicated I take mine.
"You must think I'm an idiot," I murmured, shaking my head as I sat back in my chair. "I'm not risking being drugged tonight, thank you. I agreed to come to dinner; I never agreed to eat or drink."
Chase's single eye narrowed in annoyance, and he snapped his fingers impatiently. His guard silently approached the table and picked up my champagne flute. Watching me from under low lids, the man raised my glass to his lips and took a noticeable sip before placing the glass back down.
As he swallowed and licked his lips, recognition sparked. He was the same guard who'd been outside the Locked Heart offices the night I'd first confronted Chase. He'd seemed familiar then and even more so now. How strange.
"You see?" Chase snapped. "Perfectly fine. No drugs."
The silent guard arched a brow as if confirming that he was, indeed, not drugged. But shit, call me paranoid, I still didn't trust my certifiably crazy ex.
To avoid things turning nasty so soon, though, I gave a tight smile and raised the glass to my own lips. Chase held my gaze as I took a sip, seeming satisfied, and didn't seem to notice when I simply spat the champagne back into the glass again before lowering it.
Such a douche, he let his own arrogance and ego blind him to simple deceptions. No doubt that'd work in my favor at some stage.
"What am I doing here, Chase?" I asked when he just sat there looking at me for an uncomfortably long time. To be fair, the total lack of ambush or assault had thrown me for a loop, and I was way off balance.
He tilted his head to the side. "Enjoying a nice dinner date with your fiancé, Darling. What else?" He gave a sick, evil laugh. "Can't a man just want to spend quality time with his future wife?"
My stomach churned. "You're deluded," I muttered.
"Or determined," he shot back. "I hope you're hungry; the chef has cooked quite the masterpiece for us tonight."
That poor chef had probably done it all with a gun to his head.
Restraining the urge to fidget, I carefully avoided looking at my phone. But I'd placed it there on the table deliberately so I'd see if anyone called with an update on Seph. Not that they'd had any luck as of the last time we’d spoken to Demi, but a girl could hope.
"I see polite conversation is asking too much this evening." Chase sighed when I didn't respond to his comment about dinner. "Would you feel more comfortable if we spoke about our shared interests?"
"Oh, we have those?" I replied, sarcastic as hell.
Chase gave a soft laugh. "Darling girl, we're so much more alike than you care to admit. We always have been, remember? You used to call me the other half of your fucked up soul. We were made for each other, something you proved when you so ruthlessly shot your Reaper lover without hesitation."
His eye sparked with excitement as he said that like he was remembering the moment and slightly getting off on it. Sick fuck.
"We're nothing alike, Chase," I lied.
He just sneered. "Speaking of your dead lover... he was awfully fascinated with the Lockhart legacy, wasn't he?"
Confusion rippled through me, but I didn't let it show. "Were you always this self-important? Or is this something you've picked up since suffering a bullet to the head?"