Aira blinked.
She looked from the man’s annoyingly perfect face to his infuriating smirk. She wanted to launch the metal spoon on the table at his forehead. Preferably at high velocity.
“Aceon Rael,” she said flatly, finally connecting the name to the face.
He put a hand on his heart, mock-wounded. “I’m surprised you even remember. I figured you’d erased me along with other insignificant life forms.”
“I did. You just crawled back like a stubborn parasite.”
He laughed. Loudly. “God, I missed this.”
She frowned. “You’re… an actor now?”
He gave a lazy shrug, sipping his wine. “They pay me to lie with style and wear tailored suits. Not very different from being a mafia prince, honestly.”
She blinked. “Excuse me?”
“Nothing,” he said quickly with a grin.
Her glare sharpened. “What did you just say?”
Aceon grinned wider. “You’re still fun when you're suspicious.”
Across the restaurant, waiters whispered and pointed discreetly. Phones were lifted. Pictures were being taken. The most famous face in the world, sitting with a girl no one recognized.
Aira didn’t even notice.
She was too busy glaring at the menu like it had personally offended her.
Aceon leaned closer.
“You still have the same concentration face. Remember when you tried to rewire the class fire alarm to play Beethoven and set off the sprinkler system instead?”
She cracked the tiniest smile before catching herself and flattening it into a frown.
“Stop talking. I’m only here because my family threatened to revoke lab access.”
He sipped his drink. “That’s harsh. I’m here because my mother told me you’d be a disaster and I had to see it for myself.”
Aira raised an eyebrow. “You didn’t say no?”
“I never say no to chaos.”
She blinked. Something about the way he said that—it wasn’t a joke. It was a confession.
Flashback:
Aira, age 9.
Hair in twin braids. Metal frame glasses slipping off her nose. A tiny prototype spider bot crawling across her palm.
Aceon, age 11.
Taller. Arrogant. Flicking a lighter with fascination as he watched her from behind the science camp dorm window.
He threw a paper plane at her head. “Hey, Mad Doctor!”
She didn’t look up. “Your brain’s smaller than my spider’s eye sensors.”
He grinned. “I’m gonna marry you someday.”
She hit him with a wrench.
Back at the table, Aceon noticed her fingers twitch slightly.
“You remembered,” he said, watching her carefully.
“No,” she lied.
“Yes, you did. You always do that thing with your hand when you remember something stupid.”
“I do not.”
“You just did.”
“Are you always this annoying?”
“Only with you.”
She stood up abruptly. “I’m leaving.”
He didn’t stop her.
But as she walked past him, he said casually, “You’re working on the X7-Nanorover again. Impressive improvements to the spine sensors. But I think your surface micro-lattice still generates too much heat under magnetic fields.”
She froze mid-step.
Slowly, she turned.
“…How do you know about that?”
Aceon met her eyes calmly. “I read your paper. And the draft you didn’t publish. Your friend Reya’s firewall isn’t as solid as she thinks.”
“Are you stalking my research?”
“I’m investing in it,” he said smoothly. “Or I will, if you let me.”
“I don’t need funding.”
“No. But you need freedom. The kind your institute will never give you. And I can offer that.”
She squinted. “What’s the catch?”
He smiled darkly. “Marry me.”
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