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.

I had never truly felt that the name "Marion" belonged to me. Over time, it had become less of a name and more like a code name of me as a marionette.

It had never been easy to be Olivia Caldwell's daughter. I could not even utter the name my father gave me with pride.

My father had named me Eucalina. The "Eucali" part of my name was taken from "Eucalyptus", a tree known for its strength and resilience, because he had wished for me to grow tall, strong and unshakable, just like the mighty eucalyptus tree.

The "Na" came from the name "Serena," which carries the meaning of peace and safety. By choosing this name, my father had offered a silent prayer, hoping that I would live a life filled with health and security.

However, my mother, Olivia, had something else in mind. She had wanted me to be nothing more than a shadow of her, a mere part of her that never dared to shine brighter. I had to remain dim, insignificant, always under her control.

I had been fully aware that the whole blind date charade had not been born out of any genuine desire for my happiness. It had been just another strategic move from her playbook, a way to dangle me as bait to secure a high-end endorsement.

Too bad for her, though. All the flowers from the young men representing those luxury brands she had wanted so badly had not ended up with me. They had been given to another man right in front of everyone.

It had been a shame for her that this might have been the last time she would attempt to walk down this road of influence.

I smiled quietly to myself, thinking back to Elliot's clear and gentle voice over the phone earlier. His soft "Eucalina" had echoed in my mind.

Only Elliot had known that I was once called "Eucalina Caldwell" and he had been the only one who reminded me of it, time and time again.

I cherished this name.

More than that, I cherished Elliot Sinclair.

However, because I liked him, I found myself being extra cautious around him. Because I liked him, my pride melted away whenever he was near.

Elliot was just like a flower of the high mountain in the eyes of all the girls since our high school days. He could only be admired from afar and considered unattainable. He was consistently ranked second in our grade.

Whenever the principal invited him to share his learning experience, Elliot would step up to the podium with an air of effortless grace, facing the entire school. He would take the microphone in hand, walk leisurely across the stage while speaking impromptu and answer each student's question with patience and care as if no inquiry was too trivial.

Despite all the praise, he always humbly insisted that he was not as intelligent as the top student in our class. Yet, unlike that top grader, who was always buried deep in books, wore thick black-rimmed glasses and constantly skipped physical education classes, Elliot managed to balance everything with ease. He found time after school to go to the art studio, where he would paint one vibrant landscape after another, his strokes full of life and color.

As a science student with an impressively high IQ, Elliot was not just brilliant in academics. Not only were his motor skills well-developed, but his mind was filled with humanistic ideals. He wrote with a sense of romance, painting a beautiful world with his words as much as he did with his brushes.

Needless to say, he was exactly my type.

I often found myself running to the studio just to watch him paint, quietly placing small snacks and desserts on the corner of the table where he kept his paints.

I would sit in a shadowed corner of the room, content to simply watch him, the sunlight filtering through the window and gently illuminating his long, delicate eyelashes.

Every now and then, he would turn his gaze toward me, a faint smile curving his lips and he would nod in greeting.

Each time I recalled this image, my heart would soften.

Though, of course, he never said anything particularly romantic to match the picture-perfect moment.

"Caldwell, if you really have time to spare, perhaps you should spend it going over more math problems in the classroom. You only scored a 71 on the last test."

And just like that, I would always find myself at a complete loss for words.

No matter how carefully I planned to talk to him or how perfectly I tried to present myself, I would always lose my composure when I was actually in his presence.

My roommates used to tease me about it all the time. They said it was almost amusing to watch someone like me, who always walked confidently across campus, chin raised slightly, with naturally curly black hair cascading down my back in a free-spirited and flamboyant way, suddenly lower her head, blush furiously and speak with a voice that turned soft and sticky whenever Elliot was around.

But the truth was, Elliot had never seen me the way I saw him. He had his own "special person".

And now, receiving this sudden phone call from him had left me feeling a little confused. The jealousy in his tone... had it been real, or was it just my imagination running wild?

No matter what, I had more immediate problems to deal with.

Though I said it was troublesome, the corners of my mouth had already curled up unconsciously.

It had been three days since I had last seen Vincent Blackwood.

This morning, as I got up and began tidying up my room, I noticed the long black dress I had worn on the blind date hanging near my pillow. My mind wandered back to the warmth of that day, to the touch of his presence lingering against my skin.

Strangely, I kind of wanted to see him again.

I stretched lazily, mentally planning a sandwich for breakfast, when I opened the door to my bedroom and froze at the sight before me. My mind went blank.

I rubbed my eyes to make sure I was not imagining things.

Scattered across the floor were countless photos, photos of Vincent and me, taken inside his car, capturing us in intimate moments.