At Pandecea City's Lava Bar...
Nicole Valander tugged at her clothes, her skin glistening with sweat as she stared at her reflection in the mirror.
Scooping up a bit of cold water, she splashed it on her face, but it did nothing to cool the heat coursing through her body. Tonight was the graduation party, and although she had only had a little to drink, something was definitely wrong.
Her head swayed as she struggled to focus on the path ahead. No matter how hard she tried, her vision grew blurrier by the moment, leaving her feeling helpless.
Biting her lip, she steadied herself against the tiled wall and took slow, shaky steps forward. She intended to head for the front door, but her sight betrayed her, and she unknowingly wandered into the men's restroom.
This was the second floor, where the private suites were located. As she entered, the room was eerily quiet. She saw a vague outline of a door, mistaking it for the exit, and stumbled toward it.
"Taxi…" she mumbled under her breath.
The sudden sound was jarring in the silence of the restroom.
As Nicole stepped further in, a pair of dark eyes locked onto her, watching as her flushed face revealed her intoxication. She was undeniably beautiful, dressed in a sleeveless long gown. The soft yellow chiffon fabric complemented her naturally fair skin, enhancing her captivating appearance.
At that moment, with her drunken gaze and glistening eyes, she looked irresistibly alluring. Her long lashes fluttered like butterfly wings, thick and graceful. Below her dainty, sculpted nose, her lips were a delicate shade of pink, glistening like a freshly bloomed flower.
Nicole tilted her head, her blurry vision registering a shadowy figure in front of her. Mistaking him for a taxi driver, she staggered forward, nearly collapsing into the man's arms.
"I need to go to Straton Garden, No. 33," she slurred, blurting out her home address.
She wobbled on her unfamiliar, narrow high heels, which had already left her feet swollen and sore. Just as she was about to fall, strong arms caught her around the waist.
"Who told you to drink, Nicole?" a deep, rich voice laced with a faint chill broke the silence.
There was an unmistakable authority behind the words, tinged with a trace of anger. But to the intoxicated Nicole, the reprimand went unnoticed. Her head felt stuffed with cotton, and all she could do was tilt her face upward, trying to make out the man in front of her.
Her vision was filled with swirling stars, and although the man seemed familiar, she couldn't place where she had seen him before.
"How… do you know my name? I get it; you have a crush on me, don't you?" she teased, letting out a drunken hiccup.
Byron Thornfield's face darkened as he looked down at the slipping Nicole. Dressed in his military uniform, he exuded an air of nobility and perfection. His tall, imposing frame, standing at 1.9 meters, loomed over the petite Nicole, who was only 1.6 meters tall, adding to the overwhelming pressure she felt.
"Get up. I'm taking you home," Byron said coldly, his expression hardening as he tried to lift her.
But Nicole's body slipped again, and this time, she collapsed fully against him. Byron's face turned stormy.
"I think… I'm gonna be sick," she suddenly muttered.
Under Byron's murderous glare, Nicole bent forward and promptly vomited all over him.
Byron's fists clenched tightly as his dark eyes bored into her, barely containing the urge to devour her on the spot.
"It's so hot," she complained after vomiting, tugging at her clothes. Her face flushed even deeper, resembling a flower in full bloom—beautiful and dangerously enticing.
Just then, Nicole reached out, grabbing the hem of Byron's shirt.
"Give me a hand," she murmured.
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