The man who works as a teacher invited me for a date. Honestly, I wasn’t expecting much. We knew each other casually — friendly hellos in the hallway, the occasional chat about books or current events — but nothing deeper. So when he asked me out, I was a little surprised but decided to say yes. After all, why not?

He insisted that we go to my favorite restaurant, which is known for being quite fancy. I felt a flutter of excitement as I stepped inside. The soft golden lights, the elegant tables, the subtle hum of polite conversation — it was everything I loved about that place.

We started with appetizers — a delicate charcuterie board, fresh oysters, and a light salad. He listened attentively as I described why I loved that restaurant — the atmosphere, the attention to detail, the way the food always felt like an experience rather than just a meal.

We had drinks — a couple of cocktails he recommended. They were delicious, and I found myself relaxing. The conversation flowed easily, from favorite books to travel dreams to silly stories from childhood. I thought maybe this was going to be the start of something nice.

Dinner arrived, and he had ordered for us both without asking — salmon for me, steak for him. I was touched by the gesture, but also a bit surprised that he took the lead so firmly. Still, I brushed it off. Maybe he was just confident.

We ate slowly, savoring every bite. I told him about my job, my family, my hopes for the future. He shared stories from his classroom — funny and heartwarming moments with his students. It felt… comfortable, like we were both opening up.

Dessert was the final course — a rich chocolate mousse topped with fresh berries. We joked about how no one ever wants to share dessert, but somehow we found ourselves splitting it evenly, laughing as we reached for the last spoonful at the same time.

When the server brought the check, I assumed he would offer to split it or at least mention it. Instead, he took it from the table without a word, smiled politely, and handed over his card.

Later, when the server returned with the receipt, I glanced at it and nearly choked. The bill was over $500.

“Wow,” I said quietly.

He shrugged, like it was nothing. “I wanted to make sure you had a nice time.”

At first, I felt flattered. Who doesn’t want to be treated like royalty once in a while? But then he leaned in, his tone suddenly different — sharp, almost clinical.

“Look,” he said, “I’m doing you a favor. This is a one-time thing. I don’t date people who can’t appreciate something like this. Don’t text me or call. You got your fancy dinner. That’s enough.”

My smile froze.

“What do you mean?” I asked, stunned.

He stood, gathering his coat and keys like he hadn’t just dropped a verbal grenade. “It’s simple. Some people expect everything for nothing. I don’t do that. Consider this your lesson.”

And with that, he walked out.

I sat there, stunned. The warm evening, the effortless conversation, the shared laughter — it all unraveled in an instant. None of it had been real. It was a performance. A transaction. A power play.

He didn’t take me to dinner out of kindness or interest — he took me there to feel superior.

Right then and there, I pulled out my phone and blocked his number.

Because respect and kindness aren’t currency to be traded for approval. They’re basic human decency. And no dinner — no matter how expensive — is worth anything if it comes with strings attached.