Perhaps because he was such a misfit, Alaric Blackwood was half-shrouded in shadow. He sat with his long legs crossed, arms draped over the back of the sofa in a kingly sprawl. That arrogant, untamable aura made him impossible to miss.

The private room was crowded and chaotic, but Sophie Shaw found him in a single glance.

She wove through the crowd toward Alaric Blackwood and bent down, intending to help him up, but he suddenly seized her by the wrist.

The man used brute force, yanking her so hard she stumbled forward. At the same time, his other hand snaked around her waist, firmly pressing her into his embrace.

She smelled alcohol on him—not overpowering, just a light, tipsy scent.

Mingled with the scent of alcohol was the fragrance of oud, one she was now familiar enough to recognize clearly.

She was pressed down on top of him, her legs forced to bend as she knelt on either side of his body.

Her bottom was jutting out.

The position was exceptionally ungraceful.

She struggled to get up, but a sharp SLAP landed on her rear.

Sophie Shaw’s face burned. She lifted her eyes to look at Alaric Blackwood. "Didn’t you ask me to come pick you up? What is this?"

Alaric Blackwood lowered his gaze, his eyes meeting hers. "Oh?"

He scoffed, the hand on her waist loosening. "My apologies. I thought you were one of the party girls in the room."

’So he mistook me for someone else?’

’A true playboy. Utterly shameless.’

A second ago, she’d thought he was different from the other rich fops in the room. Now, Sophie had already banished that thought from her mind.

She stood up, said nothing, and took Alaric Blackwood’s arm to help him to his feet.

The moment he was upright, the man pulled his arm free, only to sling it over her shoulder. His large hand gripped her shoulder tightly.

"This is more stable."

As he spoke, he took the arm she had pressed against him and wrapped it around his narrow waist. "If I fall, it’s on you."

His tone was thick with threat.

Sophie didn’t say a word, simply supporting him as they walked out.

Behind them, someone started catcalling, "Did a woman just pick up Mr. Blackwood?"

"Who was that woman?"

"Never seen her before."

"Does anyone know her?"

...

Once they were out of the private room, the heavy door shut out the cacophony from within.

Sophie was wearing flats. The swelling in her foot had gone down, and though it hadn’t fully healed, she walked slowly but with steady steps.

Alaric Blackwood tilted his head slightly, watching her from beneath his long lashes.

He was the type who didn’t flush when he drank, and with his cool, fair skin, the harsh hallway lights made his face look almost pale.

"Are you really that drunk, Mr. Blackwood?"

Sophie didn’t think he was as drunk as he let on.

Though he was leaning on her, he wasn’t putting his full weight down. She could feel Alaric Blackwood holding back, and she suspected he could walk perfectly fine on his own.

Besides, the smell of alcohol on him was so faint...

"Mm, I’m drunk."

A deep, magnetic voice sounded from above her head.

Sophie glanced up and met a pair of charming eyes, now looking hazy and drunk.

Her heart gave a strange flutter.

’He was getting to her.’

She quickly averted her gaze and continued supporting him toward the elevator.

As the elevator descended, Alaric Blackwood seemed to intentionally go limp, slumping against her and burying his handsome face in the crook of her neck. "Feeling a little dizzy."

His warm breath tickled her neck. She swallowed, struggling to bear the weight he was pressing onto her, and her shoulder bumped against the elevator wall.

Alaric Blackwood’s hand was on that same shoulder, acting as a cushion.

She wasn’t hurt by the impact, but the searing heat of his palm, now pressed more firmly against her through the fabric, felt all the more real.

"Are you pretending to be drunk?"

Alaric Blackwood hummed, his tone rising at the end as if in question. "What did you say?"

"You..."

’Forget it.’

’Maybe he’s just a lightweight who can’t handle his liquor.’

She stopped dwelling on whether he was really drunk or just pretending and simply endured it. As soon as the elevator reached the basement level, she immediately helped Alaric Blackwood out.

"Where are the car keys?"

"In my pocket."

"Which pocket?"

"Back pocket."

"..."

Sophie froze.

Seeing her bite her lip, completely stunned, Alaric Blackwood’s lips curved into a barely perceptible smile.

He pressed closer to the side of her neck again. "Hurry up. My head is spinning."

"You... you get the keys out yourself."

"You get them. They’re right in my pocket."

The man rested his chin on her shoulder like a dead weight, his eyes landing on the tips of her ears, which were already turning red.

’She’s turning bright red again.’

He couldn’t help but chuckle. ’This woman is so thin-skinned,’ he thought.

’All it takes is a little teasing to make her blush.’

The garage was full of cars and dimly lit. It was impossible to spot exactly where Alaric Blackwood’s car was parked at a glance.

She had to get the car keys first.

She tightened her grip on Alaric Blackwood’s waist, turned to face him, freed a hand, and slowly reached for his back pocket.

Her fingers brushed against the fine fabric of his trousers and, beneath it, the firm muscles of his glutes.

Her fingertips felt as if they’d been scalded.

She quickly snatched her hand back.

She had felt both sides. No keys.

She resorted to patting down the pockets of his suit jacket, but only found a phone.

"Mr. Blackwood... the keys..."

"In my pocket."

"..."

Steeling herself, she went back to feeling the side pockets of his trousers. Thankfully, she found the keys.

She pressed the unlock button on the key fob, spotted Alaric Blackwood’s black Maybach among the sea of cars, helped him over, pulled open the passenger door, and settled him into the seat.

She leaned in to pull the seatbelt across, but before she could buckle it, the man’s hand clamped onto the back of her neck.

A firm pressure guided her face to the left, and his cool lips pressed against her cheek.

"Mr. Blackwood, you— Mmph..."

The man dipped his head, tilting it slightly as he unerringly found her lips and kissed her.

Sophie’s pupils trembled.

She was stunned for a few seconds before she came to her senses and immediately pulled away.

With a CLICK, she buckled the seatbelt, then quickly pulled back. In her panic, the back of her head slammed into the top of the doorframe with a THUD.

"*Hiss*—"

She clutched her head, the pain forcing her to squat down on the ground.

Alaric Blackwood raised a hand and gently rubbed the spot on the back of her head where she’d hit it.

"Clumsy little thing."

Tears welled up in Sophie’s eyes from the pain.

For a moment, she didn’t know whether to be angry at the drunkard in the car or at herself for being so clumsy.

"Can you even drive in your state? If not, I’ll call a designated driver."

Alaric Blackwood’s voice was husky as he adopted a deliberately questioning tone.

The more he acted like this, the angrier Sophie got.

"You’re not so drunk that you’ve forgotten designated drivers exist. Why did you call me?"

His actions were completely unnecessary. Or maybe he just wanted to mess with her late at night for his own amusement.

"I just remembered I could call a designated driver."

Alaric Blackwood said lightly.

He had an ’I’m drunk, I’m innocent’ look on his face. As he finished speaking, he withdrew the hand from her head and leaned back against the seat, looking drowsy.

Sophie sighed in resignation. Once the throbbing subsided, she rubbed her head, stood up, closed the passenger door, got into the driver’s seat, and started the car.

"Mr. Blackwood, don’t fall asleep."

She watched the man in the passenger seat as she drove.

The man who had just looked like he was about to pass out was now turned toward her, staring at her with an unblinking gaze that seemed to have hooks in it.