CHAPTER 6: THE DATE I DIDN'T ASK FOR
HENRY'S POV
Some dates you look forward to. Others sneak into your life uninvited, arranged over golf games between two powerful men who think affection can be negotiated the same way business is.
This was one of those dates.
The name "Ella" my father, Mr. Daukon Ukariwo, had mentioned a
favor he owed an old friend, Mr. Uzo, a man who belonged to the same circle of influence, wealth, and secrecy.
"She's his first daughter," my father had said, "Very beautiful. Educated. Independent."
That was the first red flag. When a woman's virtues are all external and recited like bullet points, it usually means something important is being left out.
"I told Uzo you would meet her, just dinner date, It's not a must commitment." he said.
"Dinner is never 'just' dinner when two fathers arrange it," I replied
dryly, though my tone carried no real defiance.
I had long since, learned to pick my battles with my father.
The truth? I wasn't against meeting someone new. I just didn't believe love grew out of favors or formalities.
Still, respect was a currency I didn't take for granted.
If my father asked, I would show up, polished, punctual, and patient.
By 5:15 p.m., I was seated in the reserved section of "Maison du Lys," a luxury French European fusion restaurant that catered to the elite. One of the most elite restaurants in town.
The lighting was soft, casting a golden sheen across the crystal-cut glasses and white linen.
I had already ordered sparkling water and declined the first round of wine.
I checked my watch, 6:30 p.m.
She was late.
When the door finally opened, a hush swept through the room.
And then I saw her, Ella.
She walked in like she owned every eye that trailed her, and she did.
She was stunning in that manufactured kind of way, like beauty that had been
sculpted, not discovered.
Her figure was impossibly alluring, her skin flawless. And those eyes, icy blue, cold enough to freeze the words in your mouth but fiery enough to ignite reckless thoughts in a man's mind.
She knew it too. That was the most dangerous part.
Her confidence wasn't just confidence, it was entitlement.
The kind of woman who had grown used to admiration, who walked through the world expecting men to surrender their dignity without a fight.
And yet, as she neared my table, there was something else.
Boredom.
Not nervousness, not charm, just the disinterested air of a woman who had been here too many times, meeting too many suitors who failed to keep her attention for more than an hour.
"Henry, I presume?" she asked, sliding into the chair across from mine without waiting for my reply.
"Ella," I said with a polite nod. "Pleasure."
She tilted her head, examining me like one would a rare wine, trying to
decide if I was worth sipping or sending back.
"So," she began, "are you one of those silent types, or are you planning to dazzle me with conversation?" she said.
I smiled faintly. "Depends. Are you the kind of woman who listens, or do you prefer the sound of your own voice?" I said.
Her eyes flickered with something, a mix of amusement and caution.
I had surprised her. Most men probably fell over themselves to impress her.
But I wasn't most men.
This wasn't a date I asked for. It was a test. A negotiation. A game.
And I had no intention of playing by her rules.
-----------------------------------------
Ella didn't waste time with small talk.
"So, you're the famous Henry Ukariwo," she said, propping her chin against her hand, her fingers elegantly curled as if she were in a photo shoot.
"You're a lot quieter than I expected." she said.
"And you're exactly as punctual as I imagined," I replied coolly, glancing
briefly at the clock.
She gave a short laugh. "Fashionably late. I don't believe in arriving early to meet people I haven't personally vetted." She replied.
"Good thing I'm not here to impress," I said, sipping my water. "Otherwise, I might've taken that personally." I said.
She raised a brow, then tilted her head with mock curiosity. "Oh? You're not here to impress? That's strange. Most men try to win me over by now." Replied Ella.
"That's probably the problem," I said calmly.
Ella leaned back in her seat and crossed her legs, slowly, deliberately.
She knew she was being watched, not just by me but by other patrons around the room.
She enjoyed it. The attention. The power.
"Are you always this," she paused, fishing for the right word, "unbothered?"
"By what?" I asked.
"By me." She replied.
I gave her the faintest smile. "I'm not sure you've given me much to be bothered by… yet." I said.
Ella's lips curled, not in offense, but in amusement.
It was as if we were sparring, except only one of us was playing to win.
A waiter approached, and Ella didn't even glance at the menu.
"Sparkling white wine, imported only. And for the appetizer, I'll have the oysters. Raw. Fresh batch." She said.
The waiter nodded.
"Don't forget the lemon wedges," she added, waving her hand without looking at him.
"And for you, sir?" the waiter turned to me.
"I'll have a medium-rare steak," I said. "No wine."
Ella raised her brows. "No wine? At a place like this?" she said.
"I prefer a clear mind when I'm trying to understand someone," I said. "Wine clouds judgment." I added.
"Now that," she said, "sounds like something a man says when he's used to being manipulated."
I didn't respond. I simply folded my hands and observed her as she toyed with the tablecloth edge like it was beneath her fingers.
She wore confidence like a gown, elegant, tailored, and stitched with
arrogance.
There was something about her that reeked of indulgence, a woman who'd never had to consider how others felt because everything she wanted was handed to her.
"What exactly do you do?" I asked.
She tilted her head again. "Why? You don't Google your blind dates
beforehand?" she said.
"I prefer face-to-face observation." I said immediately.
"Hmm," she smirked. "Well, I do a bit of everything.
Fashion PR, brand consulting, digital influence.
Daddy has a few businesses I help
manage when I'm not traveling."
"Traveling for work?" I asked.
She laughed. "For life. I like to disappear when things get boring." She said.
"And what makes things boring for you?" I asked.
She didn't hesitate. "Routine. Predictability. Men who don't know how to spoil a woman." She said
"Define spoil." I requested.
"Access. Freedom. Expensive gifts. Worship." She said.
There it was. Unapologetic entitlement, dressed as confidence. I observe.
"You don't ask for much," I said dryly.
She leaned forward. "I know what I'm worth.
I studied her. "And if a man offers you none of that, just honesty and
partnership?" I said.
She shrugged. "Then he isn't worth my time." She replied.
The waiter returned with our orders. She dug into her oysters like they were callpearls on a silver platter.
No grace, no appreciation for flavor. It was consumption for the sake of
performance.
"So tell me," she said, mouth half-full, "what's the real reason you agreed
to this dinner?" she asked.
"I respect my father." I replied.
"That's not very romantic." She said.
"It wasn't meant to be." I said.
She narrowed her eyes. "You're not trying at all, are you?" she asked.
"I don't perform," I said. "Not on command."
She leaned back, crossing her arms. "You must be boring at parties." She said.
"I don't go to parties." I said.
"And now I'm starting to see why." She replied.
There was a flicker of something in her eyes, judgment or irritation, I
wasn't sure. But she didn't stop there.
"You know, Henry," she said, swirling her wine lazily, "you're very uptight.
All that wealth, and you don't even know how to enjoy yourself." She asked.
"I've learned that enjoyment has many definitions. Some people drown in it." I said .
"Not me. I float." She said immediately.
I let out a soft exhale and reached for my water again.
She continued to eat, drink, and throw observations at me like darts.
She talked about parties she had attended in Santorini, flings with men from Dubai, designer shoes she only wore once and then gave away to assistants who idolized her.
"I've never been in love," she said suddenly. "Never wanted to. Too much vulnerability. Too many expectations." She explained.
"Then why agree to this?" I asked.
She chuckled. "Because Daddy insisted. And I was curious.
I mean, you're the last son of Daukon Ukariwo, legendary name, impressive bank balance." She expressed.
I froze at that.
She sipped her wine.
"You don't like talking about your mother, do you?" she asked with careless curiosity.
"They say she died young. Cancer, right?" she asked.
My jaw tightened slightly. "That's not something I usually discuss with people I just met." I said lowering my voice.
She shrugged. "I don't see the point of boundaries.
We're all just pretending not to be
curious about each other's wounds." She said.
"There's a difference between curiosity and cruelty." I replied.
"Only if you're too sensitive." She said.
I stared at her for a moment, and for the first time, I saw it clearly.
She wasn't just entitled. She was empty.
A woman so protected by money and power that empathy had never learned to bloom inside her.
She found entertainment in pain. Intrigue in trauma.
She didn't see people. She saw experiences. And I, well, I was just another "dinner date" on a long list of forgettable encounters.
She was beautiful, no doubt. But beauty, I had learned, meant nothing when it was unaccompanied by substance.
"I think we're done here," I said finally.
Her fork paused mid-air. "Excuse me?" she said.
"I don't believe in wasting either of our time. You don't like me. I don't
admire you. Let's call it what it is." I said.
"You're walking out on me?" she asked, laughing in disbelief.
"No," I said calmly. "I'm walking away from the illusion that this could ever be anything more than what it already is, a mistake." I explained.
I stood up, straightened my jacket, and dropped my card on the table.
She didn't say a word.
As I walked out of the restaurant, I didn't feel regret. I felt clarity.
I knew, without doubt, that this would be the last blind date I'd ever agree to.
Not because of Ella.
But because I had tasted the kind of love my parents had, and I refused to settle for anything less.