The room was dim, with only a sliver of sunlight sneaking through the gap in the curtains.
She was curled up in white sheets, her eyes softly closed. Those slightly parted, dewy red lips looked like they were tempting someone closer. It felt like someone had pulled her into a tight embrace, their warm breath brushing past her ear, tangling in the air between them.
"If you don't want this, just say the word."
"…"
Isabella Fisher's fingers curled up instinctively. A flush crept onto her cheeks, and her mind felt hazy, like she couldn't snap out of it.
That voice again.
So vivid, it felt like she was actually there, reliving it all over again. Her scalp tingled, her heart thudding so hard she couldn't tell if it was just a dream or something more.
His voice... way too dangerous.
—
Under the cool glow of the vanity lights, Isabella slipped into a black spaghetti-strap dress. The exposed skin was porcelain-smooth, her curves outlined perfectly—total showstopper vibes.
Her phone was tossed beside the makeup kit, speaker on.
"So your grandpa faked being sick and teamed up with the butler just to trick you back home for this arranged marriage?"
Isabella kept her eyes on the mirror, checking her makeup. She laughed softly. "He’s hung up on some old war buddy thing. Thinks this is Mr. Stevenson’s dying wish or whatever, so he’s dead set on me marrying into their family."
Yesterday at the old house, all the talk was marriage, nonstop. No wonder she ended up dreaming… that sort of dream.
Her cheeks still burned just thinking about it.
She glanced at the rows of makeup bottles and ended up picking a bold shade from GC's Fire collection. “Where did you say Ethan’s going to be tonight?”
The perfume had a sultry top note that slowly unfolded into a warm, heady trail—pure temptation bottled up.
"Nightshow Bar. The usual crowd’s there. Rumor is some big shot just came back into town, so they threw a party."
"But if you're so against the engagement, why are you keeping tabs on Ethan?"
Her perfectly shaped eyes narrowed slightly. "Grandpa’s not budging, so I gotta get the Stevensons to back out first."
Ethan liked the sweet, innocent, damsel-in-distress type.
Naturally, Isabella was gonna flip the script—go bold, go seductive, stir the pot.
Once the Stevensons pulled the plug themselves, Grandpa wouldn’t keep chasing this ‘last wish’ thing.
—
The private room door opened, and a tall man walked in. He slipped off his coat and handed it to the server without missing a beat.
One glance, and it was clear—this guy had that commanding presence that instantly took over a room.
“Sorry, had to take a last-minute conference call,” Gabriel Stevenson said evenly, his deep voice calm but crisp.
The moment he spoke, the others at the table all chuckled politely. “Totally understandable, Mr. Stevenson. You just got back, must be tons on your plate.”
Ethan quickly stood up with a respectful nod. “Hey, Uncle Gabriel.”
Gabriel gave him a slight nod in return, his eyes sweeping casually over the room as he made his way to the only vacant seat at the head of the table.
His aura was strong—so much so that even the big names in that circle seemed a little tense.
Naturally, Ethan grabbed the spot right next to him.
Barely moments after they sat down, his phone started buzzing non-stop. Texts, calls—everything at once.
Ethan got up and stepped out, making up an excuse. “Hey, Amber.”As soon as the call connected, there was a hint of sobbing on the other end. “Ethan, I… am I interrupting you?”
Ethan Stevenson’s brows tugged slightly together. “What’s going on? I’m on my way, don’t panic.”
At the same time—
Isabella Fisher stepped in with the click-clack of thin heels echoing softly underfoot. Her fair skin practically glowed under the lights, and she brushed right past her so-called fiancé without even recognizing him.
The Fishers and Stevensons had been tight for ages, but Isabella had never once met Ethan in person. No surprise she didn’t know what he looked like.
Emily Bennett texted her, [Sending you the room number now! The Stevenson family’s super low-key, not much out there—but don’t worry, the best-looking guy in the crowd is definitely Ethan.]
Isabella fired back, [Got it~]
Things were pretty hushed inside the private room when suddenly, the door opened.
All heads turned. Eyes instantly tracked to the girl walking in—some were openly checking her out.
She wore a sleek black spaghetti-strap mini dress that hugged every curve. Her collarbone stood out, waist slim and delicate—it was a look that demanded attention.
She had just stepped inside when she spotted him—her supposed fiancé.
He lounged casually amid the group, long fingers resting on the table. His expensive watch subtly masked the strength in his wrist.
Crisp white shirt with a dark tie—nothing flashy. But the man’s face and presence? Distraction levels: maxed. Silent, intense, with an oddly magnetic edge.
The mysterious, dangerous kind of attractive.
“This young lady says she’s here for Mr. Stevenson,” a waiter spoke up behind her, hurriedly clearing the air.
Mr. Stevenson?
And, as it happened, there was only one Stevenson left in the room.
The man lazily lifted his gaze, eyelids low, finally sparing her a glance.
From where Isabella stood, she could just make out his sharp profile and perfect bone structure.
Maybe she imagined it, but it kinda looked like there was a tiny smirk tugging at his lips when he saw her.
“Uh, you sure she’s for Mr. Stevenson?” someone at the table whispered, clearly surprised.
Yeah, Gabriel Stevenson had been overseas for years, known to be brutal in business—but no one had ever seen him around women.
Isabella paid them no mind, heels tapping softly as she walked straight up to Gabriel’s side.
She leaned down, slowly, just enough to bring her face closer to his.
Her dress dipped with her movement, out of view from the others but right in his line of sight.
Pure white skin standing out starkly against the black fabric—it hit with full impact.
Eyes curved like crescent moons, she drawled in a teasing tone, “Yup~ specially for you, Mr. Stevenson. So... you like the arrangement?”
You. Like. It?
The way she said it—like honey laced with mischief—could melt steel.
Others at the table subtly shook their heads. Beautiful as she was, it didn’t matter. Gabriel was infamous for being immune to these games.
He’d probably ignore her or call someone to get rid of her.
What a waste of such a stunning woman.
But—surprise, surprise—the man actually let out a faint chuckle.
Voice low and smooth, he replied, “And what exactly do you think counts as liking?”
