Mistaken Identity

"Kiel, son, take a look at these..." Amira Mortel, a woman whose elegance was only surpassed by her determination, swept into her son's office and scattered a collection of photographs across his expansive mahogany desk.

The photos were glossy and vibrant and depicted a parade of young women. Each seemingly vying for the title of "Most Eligible Bachelorette."

Thud!

The sound of the photos hitting the polished surface was sharp. It was cutting through the quiet hum of Zadkiel Mortel's office. He'd been immersed in a complex spreadsheet detailing a potential merger and his brow furrowed in concentration.

This interruption was… unwelcome.

"Mom? What are these?" Kiel raised his head. His dark eyes  which appeared the same shade of deep brown as his mother's turned questioning and slightly irritated. He was a man of sharp angles and controlled movements and his tailored suit emphasized his lean and powerful build.

"Haven't you even looked at them, Zadkiel?" Amira's voice was laced with a mixture of exasperation and theatrical despair. "Do you intend to spend your entire life alone and surrounded by nothing but spreadsheets and stock reports? Is that what you want?"

Kiel leaned back in his custom-made swivel chair and the leather creaked softly under his weight. He studied his mother as he took in her perfectly coiffed silver-streaked hair. The designer suit screamed "old money," and the carefully applied makeup accentuated her still-striking features. He loved his mother and he truly did, but her penchant for melodrama often tested his patience.

He wasn't opposed to the idea of a relationship, not in principle. But it simply wasn't his priority. He had goals, and ambitions that consumed his every waking thought. As the newly appointed CEO of the Mortel Group, he was driven by a fierce desire to expand their empire and solidify their legacy as a global powerhouse.

A relationship, particularly one imposed on him, seemed like an unwelcome distraction. It was like a possible derailment of his carefully devised plans.

"I'm not interested, Mom," he stated with his voice flat and devoid of any emotion. He didn't even bother to glance at the photos.

"Zadkiel Axton Mortel!" Amira's voice resonated through the spacious office and it echoed off the floor-to-ceiling windows that offered a panoramic view of the city skyline. It was a roar that would have made lesser men tremble.

"Mom, please. I'm in the middle of something important," Kiel said with his tone carefully neutral. He reached for his phone. A sleek and custom-designed model that reflected his status. "I'll call the driver. He can take you home." He began to dial and his thumb hovered over the screen.

Amira stood frozen with her perfectly sculpted eyebrows drawn together in a mixture of disbelief and fury. This wasn't going according to plan. She needed a daughter-in-law. A charming and well-bred woman to grace their family table and to produce heirs that would continue the Mortel line. And Zadkiel, her stubborn, infuriatingly focused son, was proving to be a significant obstacle.

'Damn it!' She had to think fast. This trip couldn't be a waste. She needed leverage, something to force his hand. Her gaze darted around the room, searching for inspiration. Then, she remembered.

With a sudden, almost frantic movement, she rummaged through her designer handbag, the soft leather whispering against her manicured nails. Finally, her fingers closed around a small, cylindrical container. Her prescription sleeping pills. A desperate gamble, but she was running out of options.

Amira lifted the pill container, holding it aloft like a twisted trophy. "Zadkiel," she said, her voice dangerously low, "if you don't choose one of these women for a blind date tonight, I swear I will swallow every single one of these pills. I'd rather be dead than see you throw your life away!"

Kiel's hand froze on his phone. His carefully constructed composure cracked, replaced by a flicker of genuine alarm. He stared at the pill container, his mind racing. Was she serious? His mother was dramatic, yes, but this… this felt different. A cold dread began to creep into his chest.

"I'm warning you, Kiel," Amira continued. Her voice trembled slightly, whether, from genuine emotion or masterful acting, he couldn't tell. She expertly popped the lid off the container and the small, white pills rattled ominously. "Choose. One. Now." She shook the bottle, the pills clattering against the plastic, a terrifying percussion to her son's ears.

God, please, son... just agree. I don't want to die! she prayed silently, her internal monologue a stark contrast to her outward display of defiance. She brought the container closer to her mouth, her eyes blurring with unshed tears. Was he going to let her do this?

"Mom, stop it!" Kiel's voice was sharp, his face pale. He couldn't believe this was happening. Was she truly that desperate? The thought, however absurd, sent a shiver down his spine.

"Promise me!" Amira bargained, her voice regaining some of its steel. Inside, she was silently thanking whatever deity was listening. Her gamble was paying off.

Kiel let out a frustrated groan, running a hand through his perfectly styled hair. "This is ridiculous, Mom! You're pushing me too far." He stood up, his chair scraping against the polished floor, and threw his hands up in surrender. "...Fine! Fine. Show me the damn pictures."

'It's just a blind date,' he reasoned with himself. 'One evening. One awkward dinner. And then it's over.' He could handle that. He could handle anything if it didn't interfere with his long-term plans.

He walked over to the plush, modern sofa that occupied one corner of the office and sat down heavily.

Amira, her face alight with triumph, quickly gathered the scattered photos. She carefully selected a handful, she considered the most promising, and joined her son on the sofa, sitting a calculated distance away.

Kiel took the photos, his expression is carefully neutral. He flipped through them, one by one, his gaze lingering on each face for only a moment. Most women were undeniably beautiful, their smiles perfectly practiced, their outfits meticulously chosen to impress. But they all seemed… artificial. Too polished, too eager, too… much.

Then, he saw her.

The photo was different. Unlike the others, the woman wasn't plastered in makeup. She wore a simple, elegant dress that hinted at a quiet confidence. Her accessories were minimal: a sports wristwatch and small, understated stud earrings. Her smile was genuine, and her eyes spark with an intelligence that seemed to leap off the glossy paper.

A faint smile touched Kiel's lips. Finally. Something about this woman resonated with him, a quiet authenticity that he found unexpectedly appealing.

"Mom, I'll see her," he said, holding up the photo.

Amira leaned in, her expression shifting from triumphant to subtly disappointed. "Her? She's… rather plain, don't you think? What about the others? Look at this one – she's the daughter of Senator Hawthorne. Or this one – her family owns half of the vineyards in Napa Valley."

"They look like they're auditioning for a reality show, Mom," Kiel said, his tone dry. "This one… she looks real. I don't like women who look like they've spent hours in front of a mirror." He looked pointedly at his mother.

Amira bristled, her hand instinctively going to her perfectly made-up face. His words, though not directed at her specifically, felt like a personal attack. I don't like women who look like they've spent hours in front of a mirror! Did he think she looked artificial? Did he find her unattractive? A wave of insecurity washed over her.

"What's wrong with wearing makeup?" she asked, her voice tight.

"It looks… messy," Kiel replied, his tone infuriatingly nonchalant.

Amira's carefully controlled temper finally snapped. She stood up abruptly, her heels clicking sharply on the floor. "You ungrateful…!" She lunged forward and smacked him, hard, on the back of the head.

"Ow!" Kiel yelped, his hand flying to the spot where she'd struck him. He glared at his mother, genuinely shocked. He hadn't expected that.

Amira stood over him, her chest heaving, her hands clenched into fists. She paced back and forth, her agitation palpable. "How dare you? Do you think I look… messy?"

Kiel sighed, rubbing his head. 'So that's what this is about'. He should have known. "Mom, you look beautiful. You're my mother. But I prefer a more natural look on women. It's just a preference." He paused, then added, with a hint of concern, "Besides, all those chemicals can't be good for your skin."

Amira huffed. "Your father likes  it when I wear makeup."

"That's Dad," Kiel said, dismissing the argument with a wave of his hand. "Look, Mom, you wanted me to choose someone, and I did. Can we be done with this now? I have work to do." He gestured towards the stack of documents on his desk.

Amira, still fuming but realizing she'd gotten what she wanted, reluctantly agreed. "Fine. But you're not changing your mind?"

"No," Kiel said firmly.

"I'll make the reservation. I'll text you the details," she said, her voice still clipped. She turned and marched towards the door, her back ramrod straight. She paused at the threshold. Then turned back to look at her son with one perfectly sculpted eyebrow arched. "Try to be charming, for once."

And with that, she swept out of the office, slamming the door behind her with a resounding BANG!

Kiel let out a long, slow breath. He was exhausted, and the throbbing in his head wasn't helping. His mother was… a force of nature. He shook his head, a wry smile playing on his lips. He had a feeling this blind date was going to be interesting, to say the least.

He stood up and walked back to his desk, settling back into his chair. He pressed the intercom button. "Micha," he said, his voice cool and controlled, "bring me a coffee. And make it strong."

Zadkiel Axton Mortel was known for his cold demeanor, his ruthless business acumen, and his complete disinterest in romantic entanglements. He was a man of logic, of strategy, of calculated moves. He avoided the frivolous social scene, the endless parade of parties and galas that other CEOs seemed to relish. He had no time for fleeting romances or meaningless affairs. He was focused, driven, and utterly alone.

He'd never experienced the dizzying highs and crushing lows of romantic love, and he wasn't entirely sure he wanted to. He'd seen firsthand the destructive power of love, the way it could consume and destroy. He'd seen people make irrational decisions, and sacrifice their careers, their families, their lives, all in the name of love. It seemed… illogical.

Knock! Knock! Knock!

The sharp rapping on the door pulled him from his thoughts.

"Come in," he said, his voice devoid of any warmth.

Micha, his secretary, entered making her movements carefully calculated. She was a striking woman, with long, dark hair and a figure that she often accentuated with form-fitting clothes. She placed the coffee mug on his desk, deliberately bending low, giving him a clear view of her cleavage. She stirred the coffee slowly, taking her time, her eyes fixed on his.

Kiel observed her, his expression unreadable. He was aware of Micha's attempts to attract his attention, but he remained unmoved. He saw her as he saw everything else. She's just an asset, a tool that means an end. He appreciated her efficiency and her loyalty, but nothing more.