Your mind, for all its caution and reason, always seemed to falter when it came to Charles. He was the one exception to your carefully constructed defenses, the weakness in your otherwise impenetrable armor. It wasn’t just his maddeningly handsome face, though that certainly didn’t hurt. No, it was more than that. Charles had a pull, an irresistible charisma that wrapped around you and everyone else who crossed his path. And that smirk, those hands — he was a dangerous kind of perfect. God help you indeed.

You barely had time to catch your breath as he led you down the staircase, his grip on your hand firm yet easy, like he’d done this a hundred times before. And, truth be told, he probably had. Charles had a way of turning any moment into an adventure, even if it meant sneaking away from yet another party.

As his hands settled on your waist, he leaned in close, his words warm against your skin. "Excited for the party?" His tone was slow, teasing, like he already knew the answer.

You ran a hand through your hair, shaking your head with a smile you couldn’t hide. "Charles, aren’t we supposed to be at the party?"

His laugh was soft, almost conspiratorial. "This is the real party…” he murmured, steering you toward the door and into the night. With Charles, it always felt like the world outside could wait. The only thing that mattered was the moment you were in, no matter how reckless it seemed. And maybe, just maybe, that’s why you could never quite convince yourself he was a bad idea.