The late‑autumn air felt cold and sharp.

Natalie Sullivan traced the rim of her coffee cup with her fingertips. Her stomach was a mess of sour heat. She’d drunk way too much tonight; she looked normal enough on the outside, but her head was floating like it wasn’t screwed on right.

She lifted her gaze.

Looked upstairs.

The whole place was a luxury resort villa—ski slopes in the back, the sea out front. They were supposed to head out on a yacht for the party tonight, but a sudden downpour killed the plan.

So now this pack of rich kids was trapped inside a mansion big enough to drown in.

And meanwhile…

Her official boyfriend was upstairs right now, all over some gorgeous overseas‑return girl.

A small smile tugged at Natalie’s lips, though even she couldn’t tell what emotion sat behind it.

Her coffee had gone cold.

Natalie stood up.

The white cheongsam embroidered with pale blue looked nothing like the usual elegant, proper style on her. On her, it was straight‑up dangerous—charming in a way that felt almost wicked. And unlike all those heiresses chasing the super‑skinny “pure and sweet” look, her figure was lush, bold, impossible to ignore. Paired with her cool, distant face, the contrast was almost shocking.

The first floor was lively, noise spilling everywhere. The place was so massive that even one floor alone could fit over a hundred people partying at once.

Natalie checked the time in her head.

Fifteen minutes ago.

Quentin Fitzgerald had taken that returnee girl upstairs, slipping into a room with the crowd as cover.

Three minutes of flirting.

Two minutes of making out.

Two minutes undressing.

Three minutes of mutual teasing.

Five minutes of warm‑up.

Yeah, by now they should’ve moved on to the real show, right?

If not… then wow, Quentin Fitzgerald must really be useless.

Natalie Sullivan walked up the stairs, heels tapping lightly.

The layout on this floor was way more complicated—rooms crisscrossing, mirrors everywhere behind her like a giant kaleidoscope, dizzying to the eyes.

She stopped in front of one of the doors.

No sound from inside.

The soundproofing was too good; the party music downstairs was still thumping nonstop.

Natalie leaned against the faintly reflective mirror wall. Her stiletto scraped against the floor as she shifted her weight. She toyed with her phone, already turning on Bluetooth. There was a huge projector downstairs, unused. If she synced her phone now, she could stream everything live.

A free, high‑definition morality lesson for everyone.

Her expression was relaxed, even lazy; she had time to unwrap a candy and pop it into her mouth before opening the camera app.

Just as she lifted her leg, ready to kick the door—

Click.

A sound came from the room next door.

Natalie instinctively turned her head, and the recording phone caught the other door squarely in frame.

The door next door swung open. She had no idea what the person inside had been doing, but he happened to be standing right at the full‑length mirror, adjusting a white casual shirt. The man’s back was to her—tall, ridiculously tall, shoulders broad, waist narrow, proportions scandalously good. He lowered his head slightly, fixing his cuffs with slow, unhurried movements. There was this strange, restrained allure about him, like temptation breaking out of self‑control. His fingers were long, joints smooth, skin almost shockingly pale.

Natalie’s gaze drifted lower.

His waist was lean, tight, powerful. For a split second, it felt like something short‑circuited in her brain.

Looks like someone who’s very good at… that.

The thought echoed in her mind before she could stop it.

Natalie pressed her tongue against the candy, suddenly remembering the conversation she overheard earlier—Quentin had a cousin who’d just returned from overseas, a doctor, apparently attending this party too. In Harbor City, the only family who could cover the sky with one hand was the Fitzgeralds.

And this man… fit the rumor just a little too well.

The Fitzgerald family had branches all over the place.

Quentin Fitzgerald was one of the younger ones in a side branch.

Natalie Sullivan had met pretty much everyone under that branch, could call their names without thinking.

But this man—

She didn’t know him. Not even a flicker of recognition.

Her instincts were razor‑sharp. One glance at his hands and she froze for half a second. Those fingers were too precise, too clean—hands made for holding a scalpel.

A doctor. No doubt.

Natalie narrowed her eyes a little.

Quentin’s cousin… seemed like he actually held more power than Quentin did.

All that flashed through her mind in just a few seconds.

Her thoughts spun fast, shifting directions like a sudden gust of wind.

Going live to expose Quentin sleeping with some rich girl—sure, it’d make him a temporary laughingstock, but it wouldn’t really hurt him. And Natalie Sullivan had never been the type to just swallow a loss. Anyone who crossed her… she paid back tenfold. This matter wasn’t going to end with some mild embarrassment.

She paused.

Then she turned off her phone screen and walked toward the man.

Maybe it was the click of her heels—

He lifted his eyes in the mirror, glancing sideways at her.

That look was cool, detached, the kind of calm you’d expect from someone who wanted nothing from the world.

Like he’d been carved by cold spring water.

A chill ran down Natalie’s spine; it startled her, yet something stirred in her chest at the same time. She kept walking under his gaze until she reached the doorway.

“Mr. Fitzgerald?”

Gideon Fitzgerald looked at her with that cool, sideways glance of his and said, “What is it.”

Natalie Sullivan pressed the candy under her tongue, feeling a thin layer of sweat crawl across her scalp. His gaze was icy, almost distant, yet the air around him felt strangely tense, like something unspoken pulsed beneath the surface. She curved her eyes into a smile. “I’m Natalie Sullivan. You probably don’t remember. We met at your grandfather’s birthday banquet last year. Well… it was mostly me noticing you from afar. You left in such a hurry that we didn’t really get introduced. But I… still remember it clearly.”

Her voice was soft, almost kittenish, carrying a natural sweetness she never had to fake.

Of course.

She was making it all up.

She only knew from Quentin Fitzgerald that this cousin came home every year for the old man’s celebration and that the Fitzgeralds were a century-old clan with constant visitors. Saying this wouldn’t raise any red flags.

A rare beauty like her claiming she’d kept him in mind for over a year…

Any man would feel something.

And she knew exactly how far to push—never too much.

Gideon Fitzgerald slowly turned toward her, lowering his gaze. She couldn’t read a thing from his expression.

After a moment, he said, “Ms. Sullivan, looks like you’re quite the sentimental person.”

That sentence felt like it opened a floodgate.

Natalie said, “Yeah… but, um, could you help me with something?”

Her shift in topic was so drastic it almost felt like whiplash.

Gideon brushed a thumb along his cuff, eyes lowered. “Go ahead.”

Natalie glanced past him into the room. “I was on the third floor just now and accidentally dropped my bracelet onto your balcony… can I take a look?”

Gideon stepped aside, silently giving her permission.

She walked past him, a trail of rich fragrance following her steps—not the tacky kind, but something unique. It was like smoke and pine tangled together, cool at first sniff but fading into something warm and lingering, as if a forest bonfire had just breathed over her skin.

Gideon Fitzgerald frowned without even thinking about it.

He’d never had much patience for strong perfume.

He turned slightly to look at the woman; she’d already stepped onto the balcony, bending down to search for something.

Her waist was slim as a willow branch, and her hips… well, hard not to notice.

The whole scene hit the senses like a punch.

But Gideon’s expression stayed as calm as ever.

Until—

Natalie Sullivan looked back over her shoulder. “It’s a bit lower. I can’t reach it. Mr. Fitzgerald, could you help me get it?”

Gideon was silent for a beat, then walked over.

Watching him approach, Natalie tightened her grip on the railing.

He stopped beside her.

She smiled, gently shifting aside, pointing down.

Gideon glanced over. Sure enough, a thin, glittering chain lay just beneath the railing.

He didn’t call her out. He simply bent down, reaching for it.

With his height and long arms, it took barely a second. The delicate chain hung from his fingers, catching the light. Natalie didn’t rush to take it.

“Mr. Fitzgerald,” she asked lightly, “why aren’t you downstairs having a drink?”

Gideon lowered his gaze. “Too noisy.”

Natalie almost snorted.

If he really hated noise that much, why show up at a party in the first place?

She tilted her head, her eyes falling to his hand holding the chain. As she reached out, her fingers brushed across his index finger—soft as air, yet enough to tease a strange, ticklish spark.

She curled the chain into her palm.

Then she looked up, her gaze steady and bold. “Want to grab a drink together?”