Chosen as the Cursed Alpha's Seventh Bride

Emilia’s POV

The waiter handed us the menus, and Sebastian gestured for me to order first.

I pushed the menu back across the table. "You order. I don’t know this place. No clue what’s good."

He didn’t argue. Just flipped open the menu with that lazy confidence of his, rattling off items to the waiter without even glancing at the pages. Grilled Atlantic salmon with lemon butter sauce. A prime ribeye, medium rare. Truffle fries. The roasted Brussels sprouts with balsamic glaze. And for dessert, the dark chocolate molten lava cake.

I stared at him.

Not because the food sounded good—it did—but because every single thing he ordered was something I actually liked. Salmon. Steak. Truffle fries. Dark chocolate. How the hell did he know?

I kept staring.

He snapped the menu shut and looked up.

Our eyes met.

I looked away fast. Like a kid caught with her hand in the cookie jar.

"Spill it."

I blinked. "What?"

"You’re staring," he drawled. "Should I pretend not to notice? Whatever’s going on in that head of yours, just say it."

"I was just wondering why you suggested going out to eat. That’s all."

"What, is it against your tyrannical rule to accept a meal?" he scoffed.

I shook my head. "No. I just didn’t peg you for someone who eats dinner. I figured you survived on pure arrogance and black coffee."

His lips twitched. "There’s a lot you don’t know about me. No one expects you to know everything."

He gestured toward the drink list with one long finger. "Want a couple of drinks?"

"No. Absolutely not."

The memory of my last drunk episode flashed through my mind. No thank you. Once was enough embarrassment for a lifetime.

The waiter came back quickly, setting down plate after plate. The food smelled incredible—rich and savory, exactly what my growling stomach needed. I grabbed my fork and dug in without waiting for him.

"Good?" he asked.

I nodded, mouth half-full. "Really good."

"Better than instant noodles?"

I paused, chewed, swallowed. "Much better," I admitted.

I kept eating, genuinely enjoying myself. The salmon was cooked perfectly, flaky and buttery. The steak melted on my tongue. I hadn’t realized how hungry I actually was until I took that first bite.

But a few minutes in, I looked up and noticed something strange.

Sebastian wasn’t eating.

He was just sitting there, watching me eat.

I put my fork down. "You’re not eating."

"No."

"Why not?" I raised my eyebrow. "Don’t tell me your pockets aren’t deep enough for two meals. Because if that’s the case, I’m going to feel really guilty about eating the ribeye."

He let out a low laugh, like I had offended him and entertained him at the same time.

"It’s one in the morning, Emilia."

"I can read clocks. Sometimes," I said.

His mouth twitched. "The only reason you’re eating ribeye this good at this hour is because I own the place."

I stared at him.

For once, I had no comeback.

Of course he owned the place. Because apparently being a rich, arrogant Alpha wasn’t enough. He also had to win the argument.

"So..." I narrowed my eyes. "You just came here to watch me eat?"

"I came to make sure you actually ate something decent." He leaned back in the booth, arms crossed. "Consider it my good deed for the day."

"Your good deed," I repeated slowly. "Right."

I picked up my fork again. "Well, in that case, I should’ve ordered the most expensive thing on the menu."

"Doesn’t matter," he said simply. "You could eat this place into bankruptcy. It wouldn’t put a dent in my accounts."

I snorted. "Modest."

"I’m not modest. I’m accurate."

I rolled my eyes, but I couldn’t help the small smile that crept onto my face. This was... weird. Weirdly normal. Weirdly pleasant. Two people sitting in a quiet restaurant at one in the morning, bantering like we’d known each other for years.

I took another bite, but when I glanced up again, I caught something in his expression.

Softness. Almost... pity?

I froze.

My fork clattered against the plate.

"Okay," I said, putting both hands flat on the table. "Why did you bring me out here? And why are you looking at me like I’m a stray cat you found in the rain?"

Sebastian’s expression went blank. "I have no idea what you’re talking about."

"Yes, you do. You had that look." I narrowed my eyes. "The kind of look that makes me feel like you’re about to offer me a pity blanket and a bowl of warm milk."

"I don’t own a pity blanket."

"Sebastian."

He was quiet for a moment.

"If you don’t tell me," I said, picking up my fork and pointing it at him, "I’m never eating out with you again. And I don’t eat leftovers I’m given as charity. So spill it. What’s going on in that head of yours?"

He let out a long sigh. "The last time I took you out, it was to that barbecue joint."

"And?"

"And it wasn’t... appropriate." He looked away. "I decided you deserved better than that. So I brought you here."

I stared at him. "That’s it? You couldn’t flex your wealth last time, so you had to do it tonight?"

He opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.

"Just eat your food, Emilia."

He stabbed a piece of steak with his fork and shoved it toward my mouth before I could argue.

I chewed, mostly because I wasn’t about to waste good steak.

But inside, I was fuming.

Why couldn’t I read his mind? Why was he so impossible to figure out? He was clearly feeling sorry for me, but why? I didn’t need his pity. I was fine. I was more than fine. I had a job, a plan, a way out of this mess.

So why did he look at me like I was something to be saved?

An hour later, we stepped out of the restaurant. The city was quiet, bathed in silver moonlight and the soft glow of streetlights.

I checked my watch.

Almost three in the morning.

I let out a breath. I’d never stayed up this late before. I was always strict with my schedule—early to bed, early to rise, survival mode 101. But standing here, under the stars, with the cool night air brushing against my skin... I felt a rare kind of peace.

"Are you going to stand there all night, or are you coming?"

I turned. Sebastian was already in the driver’s seat, window rolled down, looking at me like I was an idiot.

"Coming. Coming."

I slid into the passenger seat and stared straight ahead. "Okay. Let’s go."

"Well?"

He gestured toward my seatbelt.

"Oh. Right."

I waved a hand dismissively. "It’s fine. We’re almost home."

"Don’t test my driving skills."

Before I could react, he leaned over and grabbed the seatbelt, clicking it into place. His face was inches from mine. I held my breath.