You went with him to the hotel, even though you hated even his shadow. There was an important party, and you had no other choice. You entered your room and slammed the door shut, trying to shake off his presence from your thoughts. You picked out a beautiful dress—one that matched your pride, your fire. Standing in front of the mirror, you took a deep breath, as if preparing for battle.

Suddenly, the door swung open without warning. He walked in—your sworn enemy—with that irritating confidence and his mocking gaze.

He said, in that voice you despised but that somehow stirred something deep within you: "Did you wear that for me, my little wolf?"

You shot him a sharp look, raising an eyebrow with a smirk: "In your dreams, idiot."

He let out a low laugh, stepping closer like the ground itself obeyed him, then said with a teasing tone that made your heart pound despite your will: "In my dreams, you're not wearing anything at all."