Alexander adjusted the strap of his bag, the weight pulling at his shoulder as he stepped toward the car. Morning sunlight stretched across the driveway, golden and lazy. The gravel crunched beneath his sneakers—mundane, familiar, grounding.
"Hey, son!"
He paused mid-step, turning back to see his father leaning against the doorway, coffee in hand, wearing that unreadable expression that always made Alexander squint a little.
"I'm meeting someone tonight," his father said casually. "I'd like you to come along."
Alexander tilted his head, a smirk forming on his lips. "What—your girlfriend ?"
He meant it as a joke, light sarcasm to tease the old man before heading off.
But his father smiled. Not sheepishly. Not awkwardly. Just... calmly.
"Yes."
Alexander blinked. "Wait... what?"
His father's smile deepened, the kind that usually followed bad dad jokes or surprises he thought were charming. "Yes, my girlfriend. I want you to meet her."
The word hit harder the second time.
Alexander's grip on his bag strap tightened.
Girlfriend?
The joke had turned into something real. Something with edges. Something serious.
"Uh... okay," he managed after a heartbeat, voice flat, a bit too steady. "See you tonight."
His father walked toward him and pulled him into a quick hug. The scent of his cologne lingered—familiar, grounding—but it didn't reach past the wall suddenly rising inside Alexander.
When the door clicked shut behind him, and he slid into the driver's seat, silence wrapped around him like a second skin.
He didn't move. Didn't start the engine.
His fingers drummed against the steering wheel.
He'd said it to be funny.
He didn't expect it to be true.
His father—dating? *Actually* dating? Why now? Why the need to introduce *her*? And why tonight of all nights?
The timing gnawed at him.
Alexander's mind drifted—back to the last girl he'd introduced to anyone. Back to his mom. Her laughter. Her sharp tongue. Her silence when she left.
And now this. A dinner. A new woman. A shift he hadn't seen coming.
He dragged in a breath and exhaled slowly, eyes narrowing at the windshield like it had answers.
Tonight wasn't going to be just dinner.
It was going to be war with the past.
Alexander slouched into the leather couch at the hotel lounge, arms crossed and eyes locked on the glass wall. The place sprawled beyond, all bright sun and golden heat, but it felt distant—like watching life through someone else's window.
The soft music, the hum of voices, the quiet clink of glass—all of it blurred into the background noise of his swirling thoughts.
Damon dropped into the seat beside him with a dramatic sigh, then gave Alexander a small shove with his shoulder.
"Hey, bro. You look off," he said, studying his friend's face. "Like... actually off. What's going through that head of yours?"
Alexander didn't look at him. "Just found out my dad has a girlfriend," he said quietly. "He wants me to meet her tonight."
Damon blinked. "Wait, wait—what ?Are you serious?"
"Dead serious." Alexander leaned back, dragging a hand through his hair. "I thought he was joking. I literally teased him—'your girlfriend'—and then the man just smiled and said, 'yes.' Like it was some normal Tuesday."
Damon's face lit up with disbelief. "You're kidding me! So you're about to get a stepmom?"
Across from them, Xavier glanced up from his phone, clearly amused. "Now that's rich," he said with a smirk.
Alexander shot him a look. "Don't laugh. You're in no position to talk."
Xavier raised both hands in surrender, still grinning. "Touché."
Damon leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. "Bro, real talk... I just hope she's not as evil as Xavier's stepmom. What's her name again? Lady Dragon?"
Xavier chuckled under his breath while shaking his head.
Their laughter mingled, rising briefly above the music. But for Alexander, it faded just as fast. His stomach churned. The thought of sitting at a dinner table with some stranger, acting like this was normal—like this woman wasn't about to shake the foundation of his life—felt unreal.
He tried to laugh along. To brush it off. But it lingered in the back of his throat like something stuck, something bitter.
He wasn't ready for this.
But he knew he'd show up anyway
Of course, Praise! Here's your **revised dinner scene** — enhanced with the pros we discussed: richer emotional beats, tighter pacing, clearer character cues, and a more realistic twist buildup. Let's make it pop and *hit hard* at the end.
---
The restaurant oozed elegance. Golden chandeliers spilled soft light over velvet-draped windows, casting warm halos across crystal glasses and polished cutlery. Conversations flowed in hushed murmurs, punctuated by the gentle clink of silverware and occasional laughter. It was the kind of place meant for secrets disguised as sophistication.
Alexander sat stiffly, back barely grazing the padded seat, arms folded on his lap beneath the pristine white linen. He could already feel a headache forming.
Across the table, his father looked perfectly at ease — fingers loosely cradling a wine glass, tailored suit hugging his broad shoulders, eyes flicking occasionally to the entrance like he was waiting for someone important. Maybe he was.
"She's not usually late," he said, trying for casual. But Alexander caught the flicker of something else in his voice — anticipation, or maybe nervousness.
Alexander glanced at his watch with exaggerated boredom. "Chronic lateness," he muttered, just loud enough to be heard. "Massive red flag."
His father chuckled. "Say something nice, kiddo."
Alexander leaned back, smirking faintly. "You look handsome, Dad." His tone was laced with mild sarcasm — not cruel, just guarded.
Surprisingly, his father rolled with it. "Thanks. You clean up nice yourself."
Alexander gave a small shrug. The silence that followed wasn't hostile, just... heavy. Like they both knew something was off but neither wanted to say it.
Then, the doors opened — and in she walked.
Rose.
She swept into the room like she belonged to it. A vision in sleek black lace, her heels clicked across the polished floor in perfect rhythm. Every step was deliberate. Her makeup was flawless, and the diamond earrings glinting beneath her golden curls caught the light like sparks.
"Darling," she purred, kissing his father's cheeks with a smile that dripped charm. Her hand lingered on his shoulder, fingers curling slightly as if she already owned him.
Alexander's eyes narrowed, his gaze trailing her movements like a silent warning siren. The way his father's face softened at her touch made something twist in his gut.
His father rose slightly. "Rose, this is my son. Alexander."
She turned toward him with a radiant smile, her presence magnetic — but then something faltered. A flicker passed over her expression. Not fear. Not shock. Just… recognition? Her smile dimmed for a heartbeat as she scanned his face, head tilting gently.
"Do I… know you from somewhere?" Her voice was velvet-smooth, but now tinged with genuine curiosity. The kind you can't fake.
Alexander blinked. "Not that I'm aware of," he replied coolly, eyes fixed on hers.
Her gaze lingered. "Hmm. You look really familiar."
Before he could respond, his father cut in proudly, "He attends Washington DC International Academy."
That struck a chord.
"Oh my God," Rose gasped, her eyes widening. She placed a delicate hand on her chest, laughter bubbling up in her throat. "My daughter goes there too!"
Alexander's world tilted.
His spine stiffened. A daughter?
He slowly turned toward his father, who now wore the smug grin of a man delivering pleasant surprises — utterly oblivious to the internal meltdown unraveling inside his son.
"Your daughter?" Alexander repeated, voice taut. "She attends my school?"
Rose beamed. "Yes! Patricia. I'm sure you've heard of her. She's quite... unforgettable."
That name hit him like a slap. His mind blanked — just for a second — before it flooded.
No.
No, no, no.
Not her.
Before he could even breathe, the restaurant doors opened again. The room didn't grow silent — but in Alexander's ears, everything else just... faded.
She stepped in like a slow-motion disaster. Her crimson dress hugged every curve, brushing just above the knees. Her hair spilled down in polished waves, and her lipstick matched the fire in her eyes. Every stride screamed confidence — until her gaze landed on him.
Patricia.
Time froze.
She stopped mid-step. Her body tensed. Her mouth parted slightly as her eyes locked on his, flickering with confusion, disbelief, and the slow realization of a very real nightmare.
Alexander stood too quickly, his chair skidding slightly behind him.
Her eyes narrowed. Her jaw clenched.
"What the fu—"
"What the fuck," Alexander whispered in sync.
Gasps echoed from a nearby table. A waiter nearly dropped a tray.
His father's brows shot up. "Language, son—"
But Alexander didn't hear him.
All he saw was Patricia— the girl who had made his school life a living circus — standing there in a red dress, frozen like a statue, staring at him with the same horrified expression he knew he must be wearing.
Across the table, Rose blinked between them, confused. "Wait... you two know each other?"
The air between Alexander and Patricia was electric — not the good kind.
The kind before a storm.
Whatever the night was supposed to be... it was now ruined. Beautifully, catastrophically ruined.
And somehow, it was only the beginning.