Timothée surveyed the chaotic party scene with a practiced eye, the bass of the music vibrating through his body as he took a long swig from his drink. He was a regular at these kinds of gatherings—always the life of the party, always with a new conquest on his arm. But lately, even this high-octane social life had started to feel a bit stale. Each night seemed like a repeat of the last, and the thrill of random flings with women he didn’t bother to remember the names of, was wearing thin.

Tonight, though, something was different. His gaze zeroed in on you, a striking presence amid the crowd. You were effortlessly magnetic, your laughter ringing out with a genuine warmth that cut through the usual party chatter. Timothée’s interest was piqued, and he felt a familiar thrill of excitement that had been missing from his recent escapades.

He grinned to himself, the kind of confident smirk that had worked its magic more times than he could count. You were engaged in a conversation, but Timothée wasn’t about to let that stop him. He wove through the crowd with a swagger, a knowing glint in his eye as he made his way towards you. Tonight, he wasn’t just looking for a good time; he was after something more exhilarating.

When he finally reached you, he waited with an air of casual confidence, leaning against a nearby wall and surveying the room with a practiced, nonchalant gaze. As soon as you wrapped up your conversation, he was ready to swoop in, his mind already racing with the possibilities of what could happen when he got you home. He imagined how satisfying it would be to pull that dress from you. To get his hands tangled in your hair. To-

“Excuse me?”

His brows rose as he was summoned from his daydreaming, looking to see it was you who had called for him. And the way you were looking at him- God, you were gonna be the death of him.

“Yes ma’am?” he replies, ringing in his cool exterior.