Eric couldn't call his planned meeting with his future fiancée, Lady Annette, a "date."

First of all, he hadn't even agreed to it. And second—well, calling it a "date" implied some level of enthusiasm, which he absolutely did not have.

That's why when Eric had said to himself earlier, "Okay, let's get over this," it wasn't because of excitement. It was more of a desperate attempt to survive the day without losing his sanity.

Aside from that, he hadn't really thought about what he would do to ruin the date. Because, as everyone knows already, he had zero experience in dating (and the entire concept of it), and dating a woman felt as foreign to him as another language. So even if he wanted to sabotage it, he had no clue where to start.

Maybe Eric will just use the classic "It's not you, it's me" strategy as his sabotage plan.

If the situation permits or worsens, Eric would convince her that she deserves someone better, that her future fiancé (obviously him) is a hopeless case. Or maybe he'd tell her that he wasn't exactly the ideal man for a future husband, hoping that she'd take that as a turn-off and call the whole engagement thing off herself.

Or better...he could skip all that polite nonsense and just say it outright to her: "I don't have feelings for you, and I never will."

Yeah... that sounded like a solid plan.

Still, as much as he wanted to commit to that bold strategy, Eric sighed in defeat. Maybe he'd just let his fate handle everything. After all, fate clearly loved making a mess of his life anyway.

Now that he thought about all these stuffs, it was very ironic that he'd somehow managed to "date" two people in a single day: one was his fake lover, and the other one is his future fiancée.

Although for him, neither of those events were counted as a real date.

"Master Eric," Emil called as he pushed the door open just enough to peek inside. "Your father is already in the garden, waiting for you. If you're ready, please head down right away. And please—don't keep him waiting."

Eric adjusted his tie, straightened his jacket, and ran a hand through his hair (though it didn't make much of a difference). After a moment of staring at his own reflection, he let out a heavy sigh that seemed to carry every ounce of reluctance to meet his father.

"Alright, I'll be there in a moment."

That's right. Eric wasn't exactly thrilled to see his father. It had been a while since they last saw each other, and it was around four months ago. Now, they were meeting again for the worst possible reason: to talk about his arranged marriage to Annette, something that Eric had been against since day one.

Still, Eric hopes this would be his last chance to talk to his father properly—that is, if talking was even possible with a man as stubborn as him.

So, once again, he decided to leave it up to his fate.

After getting ready, Eric immediately walked down to the garden, where he greeted instantly by the smell of fresh leaves and blooming flowers, mostly roses. That garden belonged to his mother, Lady Margarette Vale, and all the plants there were planted and grown by her. It was nice to think that their caretakers were able to take care of what his mother had worked so hard to grow in that garden.

Unfortunately, his mother never got the chance to see the garden again after the divorce. Mrs. Vale now lived far away in the Southern Lands, devoting her time to researching medicinal herbs for her growing pharmaceutical business.

Eric took a deep breath and decided to walked deeper into the garden until he reached the elegant gazebo made of polished oak. There, he spotted his father calmly sipping a cup of freshly brewed green tea while waiting for his arrival.

Eric loosened his tie slightly the moment their eyes met. That familiar, heavy aura surrounding his father was enough to make his shoulders tense. He didn't need to hear a single word from his father to know what will happened next.

"Damn, this was going to be a long conversation," Eric said to himself. To be honest, he felt like being summoned to the principal's office, except that the principal was his own dad and obviously looks disappointed the moment he stepped in.

Meanwhile, Eric's father looked up from his teacup as his son approached. His gaze automatically scanned the young man like an auditor reviewing an unbalanced ledger. He didn't even offer a warm smile or an acknowledgment of his son's arrival. Obviously, this old man's way of greeting was strictly transactional.

"Good," he said, He gave a lazy glance at his expensive watch, then back to his son. "You're not late."

This man was Robert Vale—a fifty-year-old head of several major finance conglomerates in the Midlands and the proud owner of the famous Northern Vale Winery up north. Many people say he didn't look fifty at all. His build was still solid, not a single gray hair in sight, and his skin still had that annoyingly youthful glow. He was indeed a handsome man, but the kind whose arrogance showed the moment you met his eyes.

And for Eric, he's the kind of man who'd never settle for anything, or anyone, beneath his standards. His reputation for perfection extended to everything he touched, including how he managed his only child's life. That’s why sometimes—well, most of the time—Eric was convinced his father saw people’s lives the same way he saw his investment portfolios that needed to be controlled and maximized.

Still, Eric forced himself to respond with a polite smile despite his father's emotionless remark. Someone had to be the mature one here, and clearly, it wasn’t going to be his dad.

"Nice to see you too, Dad."

The garden may have been filled with roses, but Eric could already tell that his conversation with his dad was going to be full of thorns.