"Um, yes, I'm sorry about that," Nina said without trying to justify why she had stood him up.

Ritvik shook his head, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Shall we?" he said, his hand sweeping toward the car in a way that made it seem like an invitation to enter his personal kingdom.

Nina forced a smile, though she couldn't hide the skepticism in her eyes. She made a mental note of the Lamborghini's license number as she reluctantly shuffled toward it. The engine hummed like a smooth purr, the kind that only a high-end luxury car could achieve. Ritvik opened the door for her with a flourish. She slid into the plush interior, the leather seats so soft it almost felt like sinking into a cloud.

As she settled, she quickly took out her phone and texted Benny, making sure to not forget the number. A quick 'okay' emoji appeared in response. Satisfied that her friend would have her back, Nina relaxed, if only slightly, and let herself sink into the comforting embrace of the car's leather seats. This was part of the world she had never really belonged to, and it didn't feel any more familiar now.

When the engine roared to life, Ritvik glanced at her once more, before steering the car out of the parking lot. He gave her the most mundane self-introduction she could possibly imagine.

"I'm very well known in real estate. You must have heard of me. I'm in the news quite often too. Honestly, it's not easy—"

"Yeah. Being popular must suck," Nina interrupted, trying, and failing, to hold back the sarcasm that slipped from her lips like a reflex.

"Exactly!" Ritvik grinned, utterly pleased with himself.

Not the brightest kid in town, huh? Nina couldn't help but think.

"It's impossible to blend in with a crowd," he continued, clearly unbothered by her response. "Which is why I carry shades everywhere I go. People just keep flocking to me, you know. Of course, that's also because of my family. They're practically royalty."

I swear, praising oneself should be declared a crime, Nina mused to herself, her grip tightening on her clutch bag. She didn't even know if she could handle much more of this.

Her dad had already told her everything she needed to know about Ritvik. A real estate mogul from an even wealthier family. Harvard graduate. A car enthusiast. A money-making machine. As he recited these same tired details, Nina's mind wandered. There was nothing new in his words, and his monotonous bragging made it harder to concentrate on anything except the thrum of the engine beneath her. His every word was a dull echo of her father's.

Her thoughts, unwilling to stay grounded in the present, drifted to Eric, the guy she had mistaken for Ritvik. After cooling off this morning, she realized that her date with him had been harsh. He had been nothing but kind to her. And now, recalling his smiling eyes and the confidence with which he wore his open, honest personality, she felt a strange sense of regret. She had been too quick to judge him, to push him away.

She thought of Eric's easy confidence. His warm presence. Even when he had been teasing her, he had been genuine. There was something magnetic about him—something that Ritvik seemed to lack entirely.

Focus, Nina. Don't think about him now. But it was impossible not to.

As the car sped along, she began to play a mental game to pass the time. Catch the difference was her favorite game, and tonight, it was her only escape. She mentally compared Eric to Ritvik, sketching a picture of both men in her mind.

While they were both tall, Eric had much broader shoulders, solid muscle definition, and a commanding presence that made him seem... larger. When he had crossed his arms in that calm, confident way, she'd worried that his perfectly tailored suit might not be able to keep up with his frame. She had also remembered having to crane her neck more than usual while talking to him. Was he taller than Ritvik? Probably.

Nina allowed her thoughts to wander further. Ritvik—Trumpet boy, as she had now decided to call him—was arrogant and self-absorbed, and the more she observed, the more she realized how little they had in common. He was like a shiny, polished exterior that had no depth, just a series of rehearsed lines and posturing. A shallow guy with a shallow life.

She turned her mind back to Eric. His light brown eyes, the subtle ripples at the corner of his eyes whenever he smiled, like waves gently breaking against the shore. Ripples? She pondered the nickname, not quite sure if it made sense, but it felt right. There was something inherently warm about it, just like him.

Her thoughts were suddenly interrupted as Ritvik handed her a small red velvet box. She blinked, confused, before her eyes flickered to the box and then back to his face. What now?

"This is for you," Ritvik said, his voice as smug as ever.

Nina's brow furrowed. Ritvik had parked the car in front of the giant, imposing gates of the Desdemora Hotel. The place looked like something out of a lavish fantasy movie. He held the box in front of her, waiting for her to take it, though she wasn't sure what kind of response he expected.

She stared at the box as if it were a bomb. He opened it for her when she didn't make a move. Inside was a gleaming yellow gold ring, its band decorated with smaller diamonds, and at its center, a solitaire diamond that was larger than anything she had ever seen in her life.

It was beautiful, but the implication was clear.

"You're kidding, right?" she asked, her voice sharp and skeptical. She could feel the disbelief radiating from her.

"You don't like it? I had my sister hand-pick it," Ritvik frowned, his expression confused.

"This is our first date," Nina said, her voice a little more level than she felt. She closed her eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath. "You are giving me a ring on our first date."

"We are engaged to be married. Your father already spoke to my family about this. The ring is just a formality," he said, closing the box and handing it back to her.

Nina's eyes widened in horror. "I was engaged without even being there?! Are you going to use a mannequin instead of me at the actual wedding?" she snapped, her words sharp, aimed directly at his arrogance.

"If you have a problem with it, I can just call your dad and tell him to postpone the wedding," Ritvik said, sounding more annoyed than apologetic.

"The date's set?" she asked, horrified, her voice barely a whisper. Ritvik shrugged, as if this was just an inevitable thing. A necessary step in his grand plan. Nina's frustration flared, and she pulled out her phone, texting her father some choice words.

She received a response almost instantly: "If he gives you a ring, accept it. I know the Director of The Meriadora Art Museum."

That was a threat. Her father's words were never just words. She knew him well enough by now. If she didn't cooperate, if she didn't play her part, her father would make sure her entire future would be sabotaged. He would make sure she could never achieve her dream.

Letting out a slow, deliberate breath, Nina gave Ritvik an angry smile before reluctantly opening the box. As she held it, Ritvik maneuvered it out of her hand, slipping the ring onto her finger with an air of satisfaction. It fit snugly, almost too snugly—as though it was meant to bind her to something she didn't want. It felt heavy on her finger, and the sensation made her stomach churn.

Satisfied with his conquest, he smirked and started the car again, driving them toward the event. The car glided through the entrance smoothly, no questions asked. As Ritvik stopped in front of the entrance, he got out and walked around to her side, ready to open the door for her. Nina wasn't about to let him do that. She opened the door herself, stepping out in a fluid motion, ready to take control of at least this moment.

Ritvik sighed but held his arm out for her. Nina, deciding to cooperate for the evening, linked her arm with his as they walked into the gaudy gold vault that was the Desdemora Hotel's interior. Everything about it—the sparkling chandeliers, the people in glittering clothes, the extravagant auction items displayed like trophies—was so glaringly, obnoxiously rich that it made her stomach turn.

It seemed Ritvik wasn't lying about the attention he attracted. As they made their way through the crowd, people started flocking to him, eager to chat him up like he was the crown jewel of the evening. Nina, in her discomfort, was about to withdraw into herself when something caught her eye.

She turned her head to see him—Eric—standing barely ten feet away. He looked like a god, a vision in that perfectly tailored suit, his natural charisma and confidence radiating from him. He noticed her instantly, his gaze locking onto hers with a depth that made her heart skip a beat. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes—those eyes—never stopped studying her.

For a moment, she felt a shift in the air between them. Her mouth went dry, and her heart beat erratically, completely off rhythm.

Ritvik, oblivious to Nina's inner turmoil, suddenly grabbed her hand, pulling her back to the conversation he had been having with some random strangers.

He angled her hand toward them, showing off the engagement ring like it was some kind of trophy. Her face heated with embarrassment, but when she stole a glance at Eric, she saw the corner of his mouth twitch into a smirk.

I would never go out with the likes of you, she had told him. And yet, here she was, standing beside Trumpet boy, almost wishing she were with Eric instead. Almost.