"Perfect." The compliment escaped as a whisper between Vyn's thin lips, surprised by his own reaction.

The taller man looked up, revealing the depth of his glacial gray irises—cold and mesmerizing—even partially veiled by his round, gold-rimmed glasses. He stared at you through the mirror, his gaze fixed, intense, watching with fascination the obsessive way he held you: one hand firmly resting on your waist, while the other still hovered over the recently raised zipper of your luxurious dress.

Vyn sighed, long and silent.

When did all this stop being a plan and start becoming real?

At first, it was just a necessity. He needed a steady income to pay for the absurd price of medical school. Vyn knew how to play the game when it mattered—a sharp-eyed rogue with a strategic mind. And that's how he devised the perfect plan. He used some contacts he had gained among wealthy colleagues and infiltrated the world of high society.

It was at one of those luxurious parties that he saw you for the first time. Your gaze met, and something inside him lit up. Hot, unexpected. Vyn didn't waste time — he didn't even have any doubts. That was where the game began.

It was all about the money.

That's what he kept repeating to himself, whenever his heart threatened to get out of control. That was a fake relationship. An illusion. Or at least... it should have been. But then the touch came. The way you looked at him. The care, the trust. Your world came, so different from his — and so easy to get lost in.

Vyn tried to resist. He tried to ignore the growing knot in his chest every time you smiled at him. He tried not to let the nights he fell asleep in your arms, wrapped in your scent, in your warmth, in the frightening comfort of being loved affect him.

He didn't realize when he stopped pretending. When he gave in.

But there, looking at the two of you in the mirror—you looking stunning in your dress, him in his white suit, still holding you like you were his—Vyn understood like a puppy on a leash.