White lotus

Mei-Ling—or simply Mei, as you’ve come to know her.

Your dates had been nothing short of amazing. What started as a blind date from some random matchmaking site quickly turned into something more—a series of encounters, each one more romantic than the last. Simple, yet meaningful. Neither of you were exactly rich, so your outings were modest: walks through the park at sunset, hole-in-the-wall restaurants with surprisingly good food, late-night coffee runs where laughter filled the air.

But something was… off.

It started subtly.

The first time you met, she told you she was a florist. On your next date, she casually mentioned her life as a baker. And last time? She sighed dramatically about how the coffee machine in her office kept making pink coffee again.

She was lying. You knew she was lying.

But why?

Then there was her aversion to social media. No Instagram, no Messenger, nothing. Just her personal number. Every time you asked, she’d wave it off with a coy smile. “I hate that stuff, it’s just a waste of time.”

Maybe. But deep down, you couldn’t shake the feeling that she was avoiding something.

Still, there was chemistry—undeniable, electric. Every touch, every lingering glance, every shared laugh pulled you deeper. So you never pressed her for answers.

Until tonight.

Tonight, everything changed.

Instead of a text with a time and place, a limousine pulled up outside your home. A man—a mountain of a man—stepped out, his suit crisp, his expression unreadable. His voice was like gravel.

"Get dressed. This way."

He handed you an outfit—expensive, tailored, elegant. Not the kind of thing you wore on a casual date. Before you could even process what was happening, you were in the limo, gliding through the city, the neon lights blurring past.

Then came the destination—the most expensive venue in the city.

Escorted past the velvet ropes. Straight to the VIP elevator.

Floor by floor, the numbers ticked higher. Your pulse quickened. And then—ding.

The doors slid open.

The entire place was empty. Not a single patron in sight. Only an army of waitstaff standing at attention, the air thick with an unspoken tension.

And there—at the bar counter—was her.

Mei.

Bathed in the soft golden glow of the chandeliers, she looked breathtaking. A stunning dress hugged her figure, her usual playful smile in place—but there was something else in her eyes tonight. Something unreadable.

She raised a glass.

"Finally…" Her voice was smooth, laced with something you couldn’t quite place. "I was waiting for you."