𝐃é𝐟𝐢 𝐌𝐨𝐢

𝟏 | 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐂𝐚𝐥𝐥

(Don't forget to read the next chapter after this one >.< )

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I am officially done with the online social dating apps.

Now, I was a blink away from spilling my precious glass of Bordeaux on the face of my date, but its rich flavour and high cost begged me not to waste it on the sad face of the man seated in front of me for the evening.

I've swiped six dates this week from a dating app I use, including Mark Allen. He was obviously attractive, with broad shoulders, a well-built frame, defined jawlines, and a neatly cropped beard that gave him the ideal manly appearance for the CEO of a real estate company (whose name I don't recall). However, the man would not stop bragging about his expertise in the share market and his fondness for making large-scale investments.

All of his beautiful looks vanished the instant he opened his mouth and began rambling on about stocks.

He was all about himself when we got there at the table, and we didn't talk about anything other than fucking share markets and stocks.

He hadn't asked anything about me till now; he didn't even ask my name.

I sipped wine with a look on my face that told a street dog I didn't want to hear him bark, but this man obviously didn't get the message.

Plan two: verbal hints.

"Well, Mark," I sit up straight, leaving my now-empty glass of wine on the table, and his eyes widen as I interrupt him in the middle of his nonsense. "Why don't you ask anything about me now that I know too much about you?"

He tilts his head while humming. "I know you and about you." He shrugs before returning his attention to me. "Your name's Alysa, and you work as a psychiatrist."

I mentally face-palmed myself, resisting the impulse to roll my eyes for-I can't even remember how many-times.

I never used my real name on dating services and always used a fictitious name. My rule was to share my name only if I met my matches.

"My username." I implied. "That's not even my real name."

"Oh." He made a drawl. "But that's okay. We have so many dates planned after today; we'll get to know each other better in the future."

And the fucker is naive as well.

"So, I was telling you why it's so risky to invest -"

I'd had enough. "Bill please."

His brows rose high as his eyes widened again at my sudden call for the bill. "Do you want us to go somewhere else?"

"I want to go somewhere else." The waiter approaches our table with the server book and a card swipe.

"Wait, I should pay." The man in front of me stuttered, visibly taken aback.

"Why?" I raise an eyebrow. "Why should only you pay?"

"Because I am the man."

This time, I sincerely apologized to the wine in my heart before taking the half-empty bottle in my hand and throwing its contents at his gorgeous face.

"What the fuck!" He yelled, flinching as the scarlet liquid ruined his white dress shirt and dripped from his hair to his face.

"It's Rachel for you." I smirked. "Try to understand why I did this, and be careful the next time you go on a date. You never know which female could smash the bottle on your head instead of spilling the wine."

As he stood up and walked out, he let out a string of curses before vanishing through the exit.

I return my gaze to the waiter, whose eyes are still fixed on the vacant seat where Mark had previously sat. "Swipe."

He abruptly turned his face and cleared his throat, then held the swipe machine for me.

I swiped my card and entered my PIN. "Charge more for the mess. I'm waiting."

He shakes his head. "No, it's fine. You've already been charged for the wine bottle, and the maintenance is covered by the taxes you pay with the bill."

"Alright." I sigh and stand up from my seat, adjusting my outfit before leaving. "Thank you for the service."

I could feel people's eyes on me as I walked out, but I couldn't care less.

Others can adjust themselves in the name of love, but I cannot.

If the other person truly wanted me, he would try to win my heart in the way I desired, not the other way around, even if it meant dying single.

Coming out of the restaurant, I took out my phone from my sling bag to call a cab. But the abrupt ringing and the name that flashed on the caller screen made my spine stiff.

Dad.

He never calls me out of the blue, not even to find out how I was doing or if I was still alive.

This must be urgent.

My brow furrows, and a shiver goes down my spine as I swipe to answer the phone and place it to my ear. "Hello, dad?"

The next things he said turned my stomach upside down, and all the wine I had earlier was now at the back of my throat, daring to appear in front of me once more.

Fuck.

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