I Was Supposed to Marry a Grandpa, Not Rescue My CEO

That morning, I had dressed for doom. A tight red dress I hated, lipstick too bold for my comfort, and heels that pinched like hell. My stepmother insisted I needed to look “irresistible” for this blind date. Her exact words? “Old men love red. Especially the rich, single ones with dead wives.”

Yes. Dead wives. Plural.

I was about to meet a 65-year-old widower whose three previous wives had all died under mysterious circumstances. What in the N*****x documentary was I walking into?

But I had no choice.

We were neck-deep in debt, and I had been jobless since Damon Cross decided I wasn’t worthy of standing in his precious Sky Lounge. According to my stepmother, if I played my cards right tonight, I could become Wife Number Four—and possibly the last, if history repeated itself.

Finally, I set out for the restaurant.

The restaurant smelled like fresh basil and heartbreak.

I sat at a corner table, dressed in the most uncomfortable red dress I owned—tight in the wrong places, itchy at the seams, and too formal for my taste. My stepmother insisted it made me look “expensive.” I felt like an overdressed auction item.

I kept glancing at the door, hoping—praying—that the sixty-five-year-old mystery widower she arranged for me wouldn’t show. What kind of normal woman meets a man who’s had three wives… all of whom died mysteriously… and agrees to sit across the table from him, possibly as Wife Number Four?

Me. Apparently, I’m that kind of woman.

I stirred my mocktail with a shaky hand and sighed.

Just then, a movement across the room caught my attention. A man in a dark navy suit walked in like he owned not just the restaurant—but the land beneath it.

Sharp jawline. Cold expression. Deadly stride.

Damon Cross.

My eyes nearly popped out of my skull.

What in Satan’s suit closet was he doing here?

The same Damon who fired me just two days ago without blinking. The same Damon who humiliated me in front of the entire Sky Lounge and made me feel like a cockroach under his Louboutin sole.

And now he’s here… what is he here for?

I watched as a tall, stunning woman with flowing black hair and heels that probably cost more than my rent slid into the seat across from him. She looked like someone you’d find in a jewelry ad—perfect posture, bright smile, confident aura. The kind of woman that looked like she was born with a black credit card in her hand.

She sat in the chair facing Damon.

At first, everything seemed okay.

Oh, is this cold human being actually on a blind date?

I said to myself as I watched them from a distance. Their conversation didn’t look like business at all.

But within minutes, I noticed something strange.

Damon looked like he wanted to jump out of his skin.

His date, however, was glowing. She was leaning in, touching his arm, giggling way too loud. She looked like she was already naming their unborn kids. Damon, on the other hand, was frozen. Eyes darting. Jaw clenched.

Was the Cold CEO actually… panicking?

Now I was really invested. I took another sip, lowered my shades, and watched like I was front row at a circus.

From what I could gather—this woman was obsessed with Damon. And Damon? He couldn’t pull his usual arrogant escape because this wasn’t just any woman. Something told me she had powerful connections. And from the look of their table, it was clear Damon wasn’t interested at all. But she already wanted to marry him.

Of course, who wouldn’t want him?

Let’s forget about his lack of human feelings or his demonic behavior. He’s handsome, rich, educated, and smart. In fact, he’s perfect—on paper. So naturally, this woman wanted him. But Damon was showing zero interest.

Then it clicked.

Of course.

Someone who was too proud to fake a smile unless his reputation was at stake.

And right now, he was sweating.

I shouldn’t have cared. I shouldn’t have even watched.

But then I had a wicked idea.

If I helped him out of this disaster… maybe I could get my job back. Hell, maybe even a promotion. That way I wouldn’t need to marry a 65-year-old man to pay off my father’s debt.

My legs moved before I could think.

I stood, took a breath, and strutted toward their table like I owned the place. Heart pounding. Thoughts racing.

When I reached them, Damon looked up. He didn’t even recognize me.

I ignored his expression and slammed my hand (lightly, but dramatically) on the table.

“Honey,” I said, voice full of betrayal, “is this why you said you needed space for a week? Because of a little argument? You said you needed time to think—not go out on dates!”

His date looked between us, stunned. Damon blinked like someone had just slapped him with a fish.

“Hello—what—” he started, surprised.

I stepped on his foot under the table and gave him a deadly glare that said: Play along.

His brows furrowed… but then he caught on.

“Honey, wait, le… me explain,” he said, still trying to figure out who I was and still trying to play along because he would do anything to get out of that date.

“All right. I know it’s my fault for telling you I’m not ready to get married when your family is already pressuring you. But now I’m ready. I can’t watch you with another woman—I can’t take it!”

Damon coughed to cover his surprise. He still didn’t remember who I was—but he was just playing along, now that I was suddenly talking about marriage.

The woman shifted uncomfortably, clearly over it.

“So you already have a fiancée and now you’re on a blind date? No wonder they say never be fooled by a handsome face—they’re just venomous animals under shiny skin.”

She grabbed her purse and stormed off with the dignity of a woman who just realized she wouldn’t be Mrs. Cross.