At the blind date event, I met a guy named Vincent Blackwood, the kind of young, jealous type who clung to his woman like a puppy.

In his car, when things were heating up between us, my first love suddenly called me. Yet, despite the interruption, Vincent's hands did not stop moving. It was as though he found satisfaction in watching me pretend to remain calm, all while my face burned red.

After I finished my conversation with my first love over the phone, Vincent lowered his dark eyes, his tone unwavering and said, "I'll give you a week to handle things with him. Don't make me find out on my own."

The weight of his words lingered heavily, but that was not the end of it. The very next day, when I opened the bedroom door, the sight that greeted me left me stunned. Intimate photos of Vincent and me taken inside his car were scattered across the living room floor.

***

That Sunday, I found myself at the International Hotel, reluctantly attending another blind date event.

My mother arranged it and she did not accept any refusal.

The setup was simple yet incredibly shallow. During these events, men would carry flowers and hand them out to the ladies. Based on the number of flowers each woman received, the top three would be crowned as the "most popular" and receive gifts.

I could not help but scoff at the absurdity of the rule.

While I appreciated the idea of men taking the initiative, I despised how women were reduced to passive participants, only able to be selected and ranked with no control over the situation.

I put on the fake smile I had mastered over the years, the one that never failed during these awkward social encounters. My long, black, slim-fitting dress accentuated my slender waist, while my head of voluminous dark chestnut curls framed my face. As the event dragged on, my hands gradually filled with flowers, one after another.

I smiled and nodded, gracefully accepting each bouquet, even as the strain in my cheeks became nearly unbearable. Just when I thought I could not take it anymore, I spotted what felt like a lifeline.

Sitting in the corner was Vincent Blackwood.

He lounged against the wall, his posture relaxed yet commanding. His hand rested nonchalantly on the armrest, his attention divided between the crowd and his phone. Despite the sea of people around him, he sat alone, swirling his wine glass lazily. His black suit, though similar to what other men were wearing, did not let him blend in with the rest. Vincent's aura remained cold, distant and utterly unique, making him stand out in this sea of pretense.

I stepped forward confidently, balancing on my high heels and walked up to him, my arms full of flowers that I had been collecting all evening.

"Hey, handsome." With a soft voice, I called out to him and gently pushed the bouquet of flowers against his chest, urging him to take them from me.

He lifted his eyes to meet mine, his expression clouded with confusion and a subtle hint of irritation.

Was he annoyed already? How interesting.

"Take this, I'm tired of carrying this around." Seeing that he did not reach out to take the flowers, I smiled. Without hesitation, I stuffed a handful of them into his arms.

Everyone around us turned to look. After all, not only had I broken the unspoken rules of the event, but I had also thrown off the delicate balance of their affections.

The question that lingered in the air was clear. Was that all a woman could do by taking flowers from all the men present and giving them to another man? Why couldn't they get even one flower?

Caught up in the whirlwind of my own thoughts, I paid no attention to the detached and indifferent look in his eyes as he glanced at me.

Finally, he broke the silence, frowning as he asked, "Are you interested in me?"

I nodded eagerly, my expression playful and full of intrigue.

"You enjoy being deceptive?" he added, his words carrying a slight edge.

Deceptive? So, a woman taking the initiative and showing interest was considered deceptive, while a man's pursuit was perfectly acceptable.

I felt a flicker of irritation but suppressed it, choosing instead to respond lightly. "Yeah," I said with a cheerful grin, "Alright, hottie, let's see those abs."

His brows furrowed briefly in response, but his expression quickly returned to its usual calm.

Without missing a beat, I lifted the hem of my skirt and sat down beside him. I reached for his wine glass, carefully avoiding the spot where he had been drinking and took a sip of the red wine.

Acting as if the drink had emboldened me, I moved swiftly, unbuttoning his suit and running my hand over his white shirt, feeling the defined muscles beneath.

Just as I had anticipated, his abs were perfectly toned. Satisfied, I withdrew my hand and smiled to myself.

"Have you touched me enough?" he asked, his expression unchanged, giving me a glance as though I were completely absurd.

"It feels nice," I replied with a wide grin, my face calm and composed, "Keep it up."

Vincent did not bother responding to me any further. Meanwhile, some of the people nearby began to chuckle and whisper among themselves.

"She's throwing herself at him and he's not even interested," one of them said.

"That's the heir of the Blackwood Properties. This woman must have known exactly who to target," another added.

"Looks like she's precision fishing…" someone else commented, their tone dripping with mockery.

***

The noise around was so loud. They could scare the fish away.

But honestly, I had no clue what the Blackwood Properties was about. Did they really think I was after money? How shallow of them to judge people like that. I mean, clearly, I was interested in him because he was handsome.

And a little aloof.

Vincent picked up the phone he had set aside moments ago. He glanced at the missed calls, then casually locked the screen again. As I watched him, a bigger smile started to form on my face. I leaned in closer, teasing, "You keep holding your phone... is that a hint for me to give you my number?"

Without missing a beat, I slapped my business card against his chest, feeling rather pleased with myself.

At last, he turned to look at me and for a split second, I thought I was about to be humiliated or brushed off, but then…

"Have you made up your mind?" he asked with a calm tone, catching me completely off guard.

The smile on my face faltered. "About what?"

He lowered his head slightly, motioning toward the bouquet of flowers still in his hand. Then, as his eyes met mine again, his face remained composed, almost serene, as he spoke, "About being my woman."

For a brief moment, I thought there must have been something wrong with my ears.

I was attracted to the type of guy who might say "no" with his mouth, but his face would practically scream "keep close to me," all while his heart was racing with excitement, almost like a young boy wanting to be close to me.

But this... this was completely different from what I had imagined.

"Regretting it already?" Vincent asked, his eyelids lowering slightly as he leaned back into his chair, looking at me with an almost casual confidence. Instead of being flustered by my flirtations, he turned the tables on me effortlessly.

However, my competitive spirit flared up. There was no way I could back down now, so I responded with a slight smirk. "There's no taking back flowers once they've been given."

I leaned in closer, brushing off any hesitation and gently placed the wine glass he had been holding onto the table. Then, without an ounce of shame, I reached out for his broad hand, rubbing his palm lightly twice. "Let's head to the stage."

His warm fingers twitched for a moment before gripping my hand a little tighter than I had expected.

Without hesitation, he stood up straight, his back perfectly aligned, making the black suit he wore look even more refined and sharp.

His grasp on my hand was firm, almost possessive, as we made our way toward the podium together. The eyes of the crowd followed us, their surprise evident in their stares.

Some people gasped and others started clapping and cheering as if it were some sort of wedding.

The host was quick to adapt and then grinned while announcing, "Well, it seems the romantic atmosphere here is exceptionally strong today! We've only just reached the first step of flower-giving and already, we have a perfect match!"

I glanced down at the growing crowd, watching as people began to gather in the banquet hall. Men and women alike were probably cursing me under their breath.

Just moments before this, several girls had stood huddled together, admiring Vincent from a distance, too afraid to approach him.

The host suddenly turned to me, thrusting the microphone into my hands with a beaming smile. "Miss Caldwell, why don't you share a few words with this gentleman?"

I took the mic hesitantly, casting a sideways glance at Vincent. My gaze was soft, full of affection, though mostly for show.

Time to perform.

My mind raced through countless romantic confessions, each more dramatic than the last, but when I finally opened my mouth, the first words that slipped out were: "Um... what's your name?"

Laughter erupted from the crowd below, but the host was professional, so he quickly attempted to smooth things over. "Ah, it seems our lovely couple hasn't even exchanged names yet, but look at that! Their hearts are already burning with passion! That's the beauty of true love. When you meet the right person, nothing else really matters, not even the little details!"

I could hear Vincent mutter under his breath, "So noisy."

From this close distance, the host must have heard it too.

How embarrassing. How awkward.

I was not familiar with such an ill-mannered person.

Despite the awkwardness, the host held on to his professionalism like a lifeline, his smile unwavering as he passed the microphone between us. "So, what's the first thing you two plan to do once you leave this venue together?"

"Make love," Vincent answered swiftly, his tone unwavering and his expression as calm as if he had just commented on the weather.

Wait, what?

For a split second, the entire room froze. Everyone's gaze snapped to Vincent, their eyes widening in shock. He, on the other hand, casually cleared his throat and added, "Or just do whatever she likes."

***

Could he please stop speaking so recklessly in public?

The poor host, his career being tested to the limits, valiantly carried on with the same level of enthusiasm, offering us his heartfelt congratulations amidst the growing noise in the room.

At some point during all this chaos, Vincent leaned in close to my ear, his voice dropping to a low, intimate murmur. "You caused this trouble yourself, so you won't have any chance to regret this."

I felt my heart begin to pound, each beat heavy like the rhythm of a drum. Sweat had started to gather on my palms.

Vincent must have noticed it because, at that very moment, his grip on my hand tightened. He leaned in once more, his voice laced with challenge as he whispered, "Is this really the best you've got?"

***

His voice had a certain tingling effect and the breath that accompanied his words felt like soft feathers lightly brushing against my cheeks.

I had met a master at this game.

After we walked out of the banquet hall, I subtly shook the hand I was still holding onto, hoping he would get the hint and let go.

But instead, he turned to look at me, his expression calm and composed, as he asked, "We just had a successful blind date and now we're breaking up already?"

I felt a bit cornered, unable to match his stubborn demeanor. Sighing, I replied helplessly, "Geez, I'm just asking you to let go of my hand. It's not breaking up."

He did not budge. "No," he said, his voice laced with an unmistakable stubbornness that left no room for negotiation.

We walked in silence towards the parking lot, side by side, until we reached the two cars parked in front of us. One was a small, unassuming black Beetle and the other was … a sleek, black Porsche Cayenne.

We both pressed the buttons to unlock our cars at the same time.

Then, we both stopped for a moment, the air between us freezing.

Gripping my hand firmly, he pulled me toward his car with no regard for my feeble attempts to resist.

He put me in the passenger seat as he calmly got in beside me, closing the door.

He turned to me, his gaze locking onto mine with a playful glint in his eyes. "My car has a lot of space and is quite convenient."

Convenient... for what?

Seeing the surprised look on my face, he leaned in closer, lowering his head until he was mere inches from my face. "You take advantage of someone and now you think you don't have to pay it back?"

From such an ambiguous distance, his warm breath sprayed directly onto my face and I could feel the temperature inside the car rising sharply with every second that passed.

He unbuttoned his suit, letting the fabric drape over his body, while one of his hands casually rested on the back of the seat beside me. With the other, he gently pinched my chin. "Don't you want to touch me?"

My entire body trembled at his words.

The corners of his mouth curved into a rare smile, his tone turning playful as he teased, "Just now, you were the one taking the initiative. How come now you're playing hard to get?"

I could not tear my eyes away from his gaze. Those calm, deep eyes were staring back at me. A few strands of hair fell loosely over his forehead and his jawline was so defined.

As he leaned even closer, I felt my mind go blank. The buzzing in my head became louder, almost like the alcohol I had consumed earlier was kicking in all at once.

Olivia Caldwell, you forced me into this blind date, but don't blame me if things progress too quickly!

In a sudden rush of boldness, I reached out, grabbed his tie and yanked it hard, pulling him towards me.

Our lips collided, not with the softness I had expected but with a kind of forceful clash. There was no hesitation. Even the exchange of breath between our lips felt like some kind of competition.

I opened my eyes just enough to catch a glimpse of his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed, the color in his eyes slowly darkening, intensifying.

And then, out of nowhere, my phone rang.

Without even thinking, I reached for it, intending to end the call quickly so we could continue our moment.

However, just as I was about to press the button, Vincent grabbed my wrist, his grip firm yet deliberate. Before I knew it, he had answered the call and even turned on the hands-free mode.

"Eucalina, I heard from your mother that you went on a blind date today."

My pupils shrank. Elliot? I had thought for sure it would be my mother, Olivia, calling to check in and lecture me.

But how on earth could it be Elliot Sinclair?

I was about to reply when I felt Vincent's fingertips sliding underneath the hem of my skirt, tracing slow, deliberate patterns along the sides of my legs.

My entire body went rigid, nerves lighting up like a live wire. I gritted my teeth, trying my best to answer, "... Don't get the wrong idea. She was the one who insisted I go."

"I have no room for misunderstanding," Elliot said, his tone dripping with irritation as though he could barely contain it.

Meanwhile, I was doing everything I could to stop Vincent's hand from traveling further up my leg, but he was relentless, pinning my wrist above my head.

While glaring at him, I tried my best to speak calmly, "...Are you coming back this weekend?"

There was a pause on the other end of the line and I felt my heart leap into my throat. If Elliot noticed anything strange in my voice or the tremor in my breath, the situation would spiral out of control.

But fortunately, his answer was as usual, "It's so busy here in the village, lots of patients, few doctors. I'll find some time to come back next month."

"Okay... see you then." Vincent's hand slid to my waist, his fingers brushing lightly across my skin. I felt my body tremble, but I managed to finish the call and end the conversation before it was too obvious.

But after I said this, Vincent stopped suddenly and withdrew his hand.

I looked at him in confusion and my high heels almost instinctively brushed against his muscular calves in his suit pants. "Why did you stop?"

His gaze was sharp, his eyes narrowing with a kind of deliberate caution. He paused for a moment before speaking, his voice low and deliberate. "What's your relationship with him?"

That question caught me off guard. A shiver of unease ran through me. I pressed my hands against his chest to create some distance between us, but it was like pushing against a solid wall. He did not budge at all.

Though I should not have been, I found myself thinking about how good it felt.

I could not meet his eyes for long. The sudden pressure of the situation made me glance away as I stammered, "Male... friend?"

Vincent exhaled softly. His lips pressed into a thin line as though he were holding something back.

Then, without warning, he sat up straight, his expression turning cold as he looked ahead, his tone clipped and distant. "You can leave now."

I blinked, completely taken aback.

He did not glance in my direction again, but his voice cut through the silence, his words clear and firm. "I'll give you a week to handle things with him."

He paused a moment before adding, "Don't let me find out by myself."

Before I could respond or even make sense of his words, he reached across me, his long arm stretching over my body to push the car door open.

I wanted to say something, but before I could say anything, I could not figure out why I needed to explain to him, so I got out of the car.

I had assumed this was just a casual encounter and that this cool guy probably only wanted something physical, like a fling. After all, with my looks and figure, I figured it was mutual. We could get what we needed from each other and move on. But now... I was not so sure.

Was he serious about this?

As I watched the sleek black silhouette of his black Porsche Cayenne drive away, a sudden realization hit me. I did not even have his number.

The drive home felt long, my hands gripping the steering wheel tighter than usual, my palms damp with sweat. Everything that had happened tonight seemed surreal.

What exactly was this between us now?

He had my business card, that much I knew. But would he actually contact me?

Thinking of this, I pulled another identical card from my bag. My eyes landed on the bold black print of [Marion Caldwell], my name standing out starkly against the white background.

I took a deep breath, the air catching slightly in my throat.

I pressed down hard on the accelerator, passing through just as the traffic light ahead turned red. The wind rushed past the open windows, howling like a warning and a cold shiver ran down my spine.