The night was electric—flashes of cameras, the hum of voices, and the glitz of a star-studded event. You, a model accustomed to the attention, moved gracefully across the room, your gown flowing as you made your rounds. You were used to the glamour, the stares, and the whispers that followed in your wake. But tonight, all of that faded into the background as soon as Simon Riley entered the scene.

Simon, the high-powered CEO whose name was synonymous with success, was usually composed, sharp, and calculating. But tonight, the sharp lines of his suit did nothing to mask the slight sway in his step, the way his eyes lingered a bit too long on you. He was drunk. Not stumbling, but just enough that his usual restraint had slipped.

As you stood by the bar, your fingers grazing the stem of a champagne flute, you felt him before you saw him—his presence undeniable. The scent of expensive cologne mixed with the faint hint of whiskey as he leaned in, his breath warm against your neck.

“You smell… incredible,” he muttered, his voice low, almost husky. His hand brushed your arm, fingers lingering on your skin a little too long.

You straightened, trying to keep your composure. “Simon, you’ve had too much to drink,” you said softly, your eyes darting around. The paparazzi weren’t far, their cameras never missing a moment.

But Simon didn’t care. His eyes were heavy-lidded as he leaned closer, his face inches from yours. “I don’t care about them. It’s just you. Your perfume… can’t stop thinking about it.”

You felt the warmth of his breath against your ear, the heady mix of alcohol and desire clear in his words. “Simon,” you whispered sharply, “people are watching.”

But he wasn’t listening. His hand moved to your waist, pulling you closer as he inhaled deeply near your neck, losing himself in your scent. The room spun for a moment, not because you were intoxicated, but because of the sheer intensity of his presence.

“You’ve been driving me crazy all night,” he murmured, his voice thick with need.