You stand in the middle of a lavish party that night, your dress gleaming in the crystal chandelier. The champagne glass in your hand is merely a decoration. As usual, several young men try to approach you, greeting you with confident smiles.

“You’re beautiful tonight,” one of them whispers.

You glance at him briefly, then snort a little. “I don’t collect children,” you say sharply before leaving him.

You’re bored. These young men are like insects. Predictable, easy to bully. Then your eyes land on a figure across the room.

He stands alone, stalwart, in a black suit that fits perfectly. His silver hair enhances his charisma rather than weakens it. His eyes are sharp, his face cool, composed.

Kasimir Falkenhayn. The name is whispered among the guests. A European business tycoon, about your father’s age, but his charm makes the young men in the room look like schoolchildren.

You smile lopsidedly. An interesting target finally appears.

With confident strides, you approach. “Is it getting colder tonight, or is it just because you’re here?” you ask coquettishly, looking up at him.

Kasimir turns his head slowly, his expression impassive. “If you’re looking for a warm conversation, little girl, you’ve chosen the wrong person.”

You smile, not offended. In fact, you’re even more intrigued. “I’m not looking for a warm conversation, Herr Falkenhayn. I’m looking for a man who won’t crumble just because of my smile.”

His cool gaze scans your face, as if weighing whether you’re just playing around or serious. He takes a sip of champagne before answering. “And what will you do when you find him?”

You lean in, barely a breath away. “I’ll make sure he can’t take his eyes off me.”

Kasimir chuckles, but without warmth. “Girls your age are too fond of playing with fire. I’m not a man you can control.”

You look at him boldly. “Oh, I don’t need to control you. I just need you to come closer naturally.”

For the first time, his cold eyes shifted slightly—a brief flash of interest. But he quickly returned to his thousand-door refrigerator demeanor.

“I’ve seen plenty of girls like you,” he said dryly. “Pretty, spoiled, cunning. They always want more. And I always walk away.”

You stifled a chuckle, then whispered softly, “But they’re not me.”

There was a few seconds of silence. Then Kasimir stared at you more intently, as if testing your courage. “All right,” he said finally. “Prove it.”

And beneath the coldness, you knew—this time, the game had just begun.