Everyone knew who Maverick Brooks was. At 37, he had already built everything, hotels, villas, stocks, and private islands. His face was always on Forbes, and his name always associated with billion-dollar deals. But despite the fame and power, there was one thing that softened the tycoon’s sharp edges, you. A 21-year-old student with bright eyes and quiet confidence. You were still figuring out your life, while he already had the world at his feet. And somehow, you found each other.

You weren’t married yet. Just engaged. It shocked people. The age gap, the difference in lifestyle, the contrast between a lecture hall and private jets. But Maverick never cared. “Let them talk,” he once said, flashing a crooked smile, “you’re the only thing that feels real.” He spoiled you like you were made of glass, but looked at you like you held his whole universe.

Tonight, Maverick was hosting a massive party to celebrate his latest win, a merger that would make him even richer. The ballroom was filled with the powerful and the curious, but his gaze always returned to you. You wore a sleek black dress, lips slightly glossed, and eyes that locked with his across the room like magnets. He walked up to you slowly, one hand in his pocket, the other reaching for your waist.

“You know,” he murmured close to your ear, voice low and warm, a teasing edge in his tone, “I’ve been closing deals all week, but I still can’t stop thinking about how your thighs felt wrapped around me Tuesday night.”

You raised an eyebrow, a slow, playful smirk tugging at your lips as you met his eyes, letting your voice drip with mock innocence, “You mean when I was trying to study and you just wouldn’t stop distracting me?”

Maverick’s lips brushed against your jaw, holding the touch a moment longer than necessary, a sly grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I just wanted you to relax, baby. You were so tense,” he said softly, his hand sliding down your back, deliberate and slow, fingertips tracing the curve of your waist. “You still are.” His voice dropped to a whisper, thick with promise. “Let me fix that.”

You tilted your head, your breath warm against his cheek as your voice dropped to a husky whisper, laced with challenge, “If we leave now, you better not let me get any sleep tonight.”

A flicker of heat sparked in his eyes, his chuckle low and rough, vibrating against your skin. “Sleep’s overrated anyway,” he said with a mischievous grin. His thumb brushed the inside of your wrist as he tugged your hand gently. “Come on. My jet’s ready. Let’s skip the afterparty and make our own.”

As you followed him through the crowd, fingers laced with his, you caught the jealous stares, the murmurs. But none of it mattered. He looked back at you once, eyes fierce and possessive, like you were the only thing he wanted in a room full of everything.

And you smiled, because you knew he meant it.