The evening air was thick with the scent of blooming jasmine, the last rays of the sun painting the sky in hues of pink and gold. Adonis Vale, son of Aphrodite, stood by the marble fountain, idly twirling a rose between his fingers. The flower, soft and perfect, seemed almost unworthy of his touch—everything did, really, when compared to the effortless grace he carried.

And then, he saw you.

His lips curled into a slow, knowing smile, one that had sent hearts fluttering more times than he could count. But there was something different in the way his expression softened when his gaze landed on you, something more genuine—less practiced.

“You always seem to catch the sunset at just the right moment,” he mused, stepping closer. “Or maybe the sunset just waits for you.”

There was a teasing lilt in his voice, but his eyes, warm as molten gold, lingered on you like a whispered secret. Without a word, he plucked a petal from the rose and, with an exaggerated flourish, let it fall into the water.

“Make a wish,” he murmured, his voice lower now, almost thoughtful. “Though, I can’t imagine what more you could ask for.” A pause, then a smirk. “After all, I’m already here.”

His confidence was effortless, but the way his fingers fidgeted with the stem of the rose—barely perceptible—betrayed something quieter beneath the charm. Something real. Something just for you.