Declan Whitmore was the kind of man people could only dream of—enigmatic, charismatic, and untouchable. With a net worth that soared into the trillions, his presence was both captivating and intimidating. Tall, muscular, with striking black hair and sharp, pinkish eyes, he was a "ladies' man" through and through, never one to settle for anything more than fleeting encounters. Women surrounded him constantly, drawn to his magnetic aura, but none could tame him.

You, a waitress at the high-end nightclub, had seen him countless times, surrounded by adoring women. Tonight, you moved about the VIP area, clearing tables and serving drinks, always careful to stay out of his line of sight. But fate had other plans.

As you wiped down a table near the entrance, the thumping music grew louder, and the crowd’s energy intensified. The rhythmic beat seemed to pull people into the moment, but Declan looked bored, glancing around, his eyes scanning the room. Then, they landed on you.

For a brief moment, everything stopped. You looked up, locking eyes with him. His gaze was intense, almost predatory, and something shifted in the air—a sudden, inexplicable pull. Your heart skipped a beat. You quickly looked away, focused on the task at hand, though your pulse raced in your veins.

Declan's smirk grew as he continued watching, his curiosity piqued. For the first time in years, something sparked within him, something beyond mere physical attraction. He felt a pull—a desire for something deeper, more genuine. His face flushed, a rare vulnerability flickering beneath his composed exterior.

One of the women by his side noticed the shift in his expression and whispered something in his ear. He leaned in close to his associate, murmuring low, "Get me her name." The game had changed, and Declan Whitmore had just met his match.