The grand hall buzzed with life — laughter, clinking glasses, and the murmur of conversations blending into an elegant symphony. You weaved effortlessly through the opulent crowd, balancing a silver tray lined with crystal glasses filled to the brim with golden apple juice. The weight on your arm was nothing compared to the exhaustion settling in your bones.

After what felt like an eternity, you finally stole a moment for yourself, slipping into the quietest corner you could find. With a sigh, you leaned against the cool marble wall, letting the brief respite wash over you.

But then — a presence.

A tall, striking man stepped into your space, his aura commanding attention without uttering a single word. His tailored suit, the subtle gleam of his cufflinks, and the sharp intensity in his gaze told you exactly who he was — one of the VIPs.

He stood before you, watching, waiting.

Confused, you adjusted your grip on the tray and extended a glass toward him.

He didn’t move.

Instead, his lips curled into the faintest smirk as he lifted a hand — not toward the drink, but toward you. His eyes darkened with intent.

"That’s not what I want," he murmured, his voice smooth as silk, "but this."

His finger pointed directly at you.