The club was all velvet, smoke, and whispered deals—but none of that mattered because he was here. Expensive colognes filled the air, golden lights glowed low, and everyone talked in hushed tones. Fancy place. But honestly? I didn't care. Not even a little.
Because Karthiel Coldmere was here.
Poor Grandpa begged me to come with Karthiel and seal the deal. Collaboration. Business stuff. Me? I was busy planning our wedding in my head. God really outdid himself with Karthiel—height full of 6'3, built like a lamppost, cheekbones sharp enough to cut glass, eyes like gunmetal that could melt me on the spot.
Those eyes were so deep, I could happily drown in them forever.
His presence? So cold the entire club felt like it dropped two degrees when he walked in.
People parted like the Red Sea. He didn't even bother looking at anyone unless absolutely necessary.
And me? I was doing exactly what I shouldn't be doing.
Staring. Drooling. Mentally unbuttoning that matte black shirt, one slow inch at a time.
And I wasn't even a little ashamed.
He was sitting just across the table—untouchable, unreadable, perfect. Supposedly, we were here to discuss a joint tech venture between Coldmere Corp and Winterose Industries.
Grandpa sent me and practically begged, "Handle it"—which clearly meant "look pretty and don't embarrass the family name."
Oops.
Who's gonna tell him I'm just busy planning our wedding? Of course, me—Evaric Winterose—always gets what I want.
While Grandpa wanted his business deal, I wanted him whole. But he seemed completely uninterested, of course. But hey, that just made him hotter. I rested my face in my palm, watching him.
My heart beat faster, excitement mixed with nerves. I'd been crushing on Karthiel for a year now, ever since I saw him at a random, boring business banquet. Which, yes, Grandpa also bought me to "gain experience" and meet business people. But honestly, I spent the whole night sneaking glances and drooling over Karthiel. He had no clue—because I was as sneaky as a mouse.
After that night, I never got to meet him again—until yesterday. Grandpa asked me if I could help him get on good terms with Karthiel for business stuff. Of course, I said yes. How could I pass up this chance?
So here I was, in my own luxurious club—yes, I'm the owner, but who cares? I only cared about him. He was so damn good-looking, so charming, so hot.
My thoughts broke when my best friend, assistant, and babysitter Marcus nudged me discreetly from the side.
"You're literally drooling. Wipe that saliva off, creep."
"I know. I'm working very hard." I shot him a look while eyeing Karthiel's body. I'm pretty sure he was hiding eight-pack abs under those clothes.
"At business?"
"At seduction."
Marcus groaned under his breath and took a sip of his drink to drown his secondhand embarrassment. I didn't blame him.
Meanwhile, Karthiel hadn't said more than ten words since we sat down.
The two men beside him handled all the talking with his assistant, while he leaned back like some frozen god carved from ice and indifference. Then.. it happened. His eyes flicked toward me.
Just a glance. Sharp, exact, and very calculating. "I see," he said flatly, cutting off his team mid-sentence. His voice was like frost over glass—cool, controlled, dangerous. "Mr. Evaric Winterose," he said, eyes locking onto mine like a silver dagger, "seems rather interested in me, not the business."
Marcus choked on his drink.
Me?
I didn't even blink.
"Well," I said, letting my smile stretch wider as I leaned in just enough to break the rules of polite distance, "that's because your face is a terrible distraction from stocks and shares. I'm not sure if I'm negotiating a deal or falling in.. well, something magical."
His eyes stayed cold, but I caught a flicker of amusement. "Flirting doesn't close deals," he said, slowly sipping his drink, never taking his gaze off me.
"Neither do people who pretend they don't enjoy it," I shot back, resting my chin on my hand with my best 'I know I'm cute' pose. "But I'm very good at multitasking."
He didn't answer right away. Just stared. Coldly. Like he was trying to figure out what kind of storm I was—and whether it was worth stepping into. He shifted his eyes slightly, twirling his glass, then spoke—his voice deep enough to throw me off guard. "This place belongs to Mr. Winterose, am I right?"
"Yep. So, a million percent right," I nodded confidently.
"Then I hope Mr. Winterose can show me the VIP lounges here.. so we can talk." He added, low and serious, "Alone." With that, he gestured to his assistant—business was done, and the rest was up to him to handle. I blinked.
"Oh?" I blinked again, pretending innocence. "Of course.. So, is this the part where we finally talk proper business? Or should I keep drooling?"
He didn't answer. Instead, he stood up—smooth, silent, and lethal—and walked toward the private wing.
I followed, shooting Marcus a "See? I got him" look, before practically running after Karthiel with the stupidest, most satisfied grin on my face.
He walked ahead without a glance back, like he didn't care if I followed.
But of course, I did.
I led him into the lavish VIP room. Walls of black velvet, soft amber lights glowing low.
Did I care about the fancy decor? Nope. My heart was already pounding. The air smelled like Karthiel—dark, smoky, expensive. It made me feel things I wasn't ready for. The heavy door shut behind us. Just us now. No noise, no backup, no exit signs.
Tall. Godlike. Unreadable. And dangerously close. Karthiel stood near the table, slowly slipping off his black suit jacket with a grace that should've been illegal.
Every move was smooth and controlled—no rush, no mistakes. He draped the jacket over the chair like it owed him money. Still no words.
"You know," I said, my voice thinner than I wanted, "usually when people invite me into private rooms, they offer a drink, not a—"
"Sit," he said, nodding to the velvet chair across from him. Oh. I sat. Obediently.
He poured us both amber liquid from a sleek decanter—just two fingers' worth. His hands didn't shake, not one wasted move. I was pretty sure even the glass obeyed him. Then he looked at me.
That stare. Expressionless. Intense. Calculating. But something changed.
The air shifted.
Charged.
I could feel it.
"You're not what I expected," he said, voice low, calm, devastating. "But you're persistent."
"Persistent is just a fancy word for passionate," I breathed. "And passion gets results."
He stepped closer. One slow, silent step at a time. I didn't dare move.
Then his hand—cool, steady—slid under my chin, tilting my face up just slightly.
"Do you always flirt this hard for attention, or is this something personal?"
I'm dead.
I swallowed. "Very personal."
He nodded like he expected that.
And then he kissed me. Not rushed. Not rough. Composed. Like he had all the time in the world and knew exactly what he was doing. His lips were warm, firm, devastating. No chaos. No fluster.
Just control. The kind that made my heart trip and fall down a flight of stairs.
I melted. I dissolved. My brain flatlined.
Just when I tried to kiss him back—maybe fiery, messy, mine—He pulled away. No smile. No blush.
Eyes like winter glass, studying me.
"Is that what you wanted?" he asked.
"No," I whispered, breathless. "It's just the beginning of what I want."
He sat down across from me again, calm as a glacier. Sipped his drink.
Like nothing had happened. I stared, brain rebooting, heart doing backflips.
And all I could think was, I'm so screwed. And that might be a good thing too. He finally looked at me, long fingers deliberately undoing his shirt cuffs and loosening his tie.
"Every single piece of cloth on your body. Off. Now," he ordered.
I froze. Wide eyes, body locked. Nervous, shocked, scared. But damn, I liked where this was going. I wanted every second of it. The night was hella exhausting but insanely passionate.
Everything was perfect. I felt like I was floating on cloud nine, even though my body ached like crazy.
All I could think about were his unbothered eyes, his low moans, and that deep, smooth voice. We went wild. Every inch of him was pure fire.
Then morning hit. I woke up to find a credit card on the table. No sign of him anywhere.
My mind raced.
Did he just pay me for last night?
Of course. I forgot who I was dealing with—Karthiel Coldmere. The man with a heart of steel.
Fine. I'm going to melt that steel. Just wait. Ignoring the pain, I jumped up, threw on my white shirt and jeans, freshened up, grabbed a bite, and rushed out to the city's tallest building—the business tycoon's fortress everyone feared. And the owner? Karthiel. Of course.
I stepped inside. Heads turned—employees and suits whispering, some confused, some curious. But no one stopped me. I'm no less powerful. What could they do? I pushed open the office door wide and strode in. The room fell silent—his assistant and team froze mid-conversation.
There he was. Karthiel Coldmere. Sitting on his desk like the king he was.
"Karthiel Coldmere," I said, voice sharp. "Are you seriously treating me like a one-night stand? And what's this?" I pulled out the credit card he left. "You think twenty million can satisfy me? The great Evaric Winterose? Do I look that cheap?" I chuckled and flicked the card aside.
Karthiel's face stayed unreadable, but I could swear he expected me to react exactly like this. He raised his hand, signaling his assistant and employees to leave.
The door closed softly behind them.
Then he looked at me, fingers drumming calmly on the desk.
"Mr. Winterose, I apologize if the amount wasn't to your liking. Please, tell me—how much do you want?"
Wow. No emotion. Not even a flicker.
But that was fine. As a good husband, it's my right—and responsibility—to fix my man.
"That's not the point, Mr. Coldmere. I don't want money. I have plenty," I said, locking eyes with him.
"Then may I ask," he said slowly, "what do you want?"
I smirked and stepped closer, slamming my hands on the desk as I leaned in.
"You. I want you," I said firmly. "I love you. Marry me."
He didn't even blink, just sighed softly.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Winterose, but that's not something I do."
"I figured as much," I shrugged. "You haven't done it because you haven't met me yet. Now that I'm here, you will. And by 'it,' I mean falling in love with me." I smiled smugly.
"That's not possible," he said calmly, elegant as ever, hands now interlaced resting on his crossed legs.
"It is possible. Just give me a chance," I said, serious and determined.
"Mr. Winterose, I'm not interested in love," he said politely, unbothered. "What I want is physical contact—which we had plenty of last night. If you agree, we can continue that."
I furrowed my brow for a moment, then nodded. "Okay, physical contact it is." For now. Later, I'd make it emotional, too. He seemed pleased by my answer and nodded, still as relaxed as ever.
I smirked and stepped closer. His eyes followed me as I reached for his necktie and pulled him near.
Our eyes locked—deep, sensual, intense. I pressed a long kiss to his cold lips, warming them. Then I smiled, all teeth and mischief. "Be prepared to get tangled up with me, my dear Karthiel Coldmere."
"I'll look forward to it, Mr. Evaric Winterose," he said, voice low and calm.
I only smirked, just you wait to fall for me. It's a deal, I'll make sure to win.