My brother told me to play innocent, to be the good boy, and seduce his business rival into falling for me. I glanced at the photo of George Chase: fiery red hair, a slim waist, a killer ass, and a wild, rebellious smirk. He was the very picture of a rich playboy who treated life like a game—fickle, demanding, and utterly impossible. But more importantly… My face went pale. “Adrian,” I said, my voice dead, “I’m straight…” Later. George was lying back, a cigarette dangling from his fingers, glaring at me. His pale, perfect thighs were covered in swollen, red bite marks. He kicked a leg out, his breath catching. “So this is what you call being ‘straight’?” “The only thing straight about you is how you can’t look away from me.” 1 On my third night back in the country, my own brother asked me to seduce a man. Dim light spilled over the corner booth of the club, a hazy, intoxicating glow. Adrian’s words from that morning echoed in my mind. “Remember, George Chase likes them innocent.” “You just got back from studying abroad. You’re exactly his type.” I was speechless with rage. “Adrian, is this the brilliant business strategy you stayed up all night cooking up?” I didn’t even know what this George guy looked like, and just because my brother was desperate to win some project, I was being sent to honey-trap his rival? A male rival, at that. The color drained from my face as I tried to refuse. “But… I’m straight.” “You owe me, Ethan.” Adrian slid a photograph across the table. “If I hadn’t protected you from the rest of the family back then, you wouldn’t have survived.” “For a spoiled heir like George Chase, relationships are just a game.” “I need you to break his heart. Wreck him so completely he can’t recover.” I stared at the man in the photo. Slim waist, killer ass, a handsome face framed by a defiant shock of red hair. He was grinning at the camera, a look of pure, untamed arrogance in his eyes. A bad man. The kind that was nothing but trouble. “Can you do it?” Adrian asked. My lips pressed into a thin line. I said nothing. 2 The truth was, I didn’t think I could. I didn’t even have to dig for dirt on George Chase; a quick search was all it took. 【HEIR TO CHASE CORP. SEEN WITH NEW MALE COMPANION AT GALA】 【TEN-DAY FLING ENDS, GEORGE CHASE REPORTEDLY SINGLE AGAIN】 【A COMPREHENSIVE LIST OF GEORGE CHASE’S EXES AND THEIR COMMON TRAITS】 It was all just tabloid trash. George Chase, the sole heir to the immense Chase family fortune, couldn’t care less about the family business. He spent his days indulging in every whim, a trail of broken hearts in his wake. His partners came and went like seasons. The only real thing he’d ever done was open a high-end club, a place where he and his fellow trust-fund brats could drink their lives away. It was only recently that his father, fed up with his antics, had tossed him a minor project bid to manage. As I lost myself in thought, a flash of crimson appeared at the bar, right in the spotlight. He was perched lazily on a high stool, his long legs crossed casually, a tailored suit clinging to the sharp lines of his body. I swirled the ice in my glass and stood up. 3 “The usual. Negroni,” George said, his voice a low, lazy drawl as he leaned against the bar. I slipped past the tips of his fiery hair and took the seat next to him. “I’ll have the same,” I told the bartender. “First time here? Don’t think I’ve seen you around,” George said, turning to give me a once-over, one eyebrow arching in playful curiosity. His gaze was intense, but as our eyes met, a strange calm settled over me. Adrian was right. George was interested. “Yeah, I just got back to the city,” I said, pitching my voice a little lower, a little softer, trying to sound younger than I was. “A friend recommended this place. Said the vibe was great.” A knowing smirk touched George’s lips. “Exchange student?” “Architecture major,” I said. “Took a year off to come back and deal with some family stuff.” A half-truth is always the easiest lie to sell. If everyone in this world wore a mask, why couldn’t I? “I get it.” George suddenly held out a hand, his smile pure mischief. “George Chase. I own this joint, ‘Nyx.’ Heard of me?” I shook my head, my fingers lightly brushing his. “Ethan. Should I have?” “Heh… Don’t look me up just yet.” The heat from his palm lingered on my skin for a second before he pulled away. “Trust your gut. First impressions are more fun that way, don’t you think?” I nodded, my eyes on him, but my mind was already made up. My first impression was set in stone. A hopeless, decadent playboy. The bartender slid two glasses toward us. Clink. George tapped his glass against mine. “A good boy like you should stay out of clubs, you know. You’ll get eaten alive.” As he said it, he casually unbuttoned his perfectly tailored suit jacket. He wore no tie, revealing the sharp, clean lines of his collarbones. The corners of his eyes tilted up in a devil-may-care smile. I had to admit, he was even more captivating in person than in the photograph. I shook my head, my voice warm. “With Mr. Chase watching over things, I’m sure I’ll be fine.” George’s eyes narrowed. “Just George is fine.” I took a sip of my drink, my voice soft. “George.” His wrist twitched. I heard him mutter a quiet “Fuck” under his breath. When he looked up again, the tips of his ears were faintly pink, though his smile was as cocky as ever. “You just get back? Where are you staying?” “A condo on the waterfront for now,” I said. “It’s a little empty, though. Doesn't feel much like a home.” He grinned. “What a coincidence. I have a place over there. If you ever get bored, you know who to call.” Before I could answer, he turned to the bartender. “Get this gentleman… an ‘First Encounter.’” He turned back to me. “My treat. It’s not too strong. A toast to our fateful meeting.” The scent of cedarwood from his cologne mingled with the rich aroma of alcohol, making my head spin. His face was a perfect, roguish masterpiece, his thin lips a deep red, and his eyes… they looked at everyone like they were the only person in the world. He waited patiently for my answer. “No, thank you, George.” I shook my head gently and stood up. “I’ve had enough for one night. I don’t want to get drunk.” George raised an eyebrow, his fingertips catching the sleeve of my coat. “Then at least give me your number.” I turned my back to him, gently pulling my sleeve free. “Let’s leave the first impression to tonight. And wait for the fate that brings us a ‘Reunion.’” Behind me, I heard him curse softly again, followed by the sound of him downing his drink. But I didn’t look back. 4 I saw George again a few days later. “The Spire restaurant. Window table, top-tier view of the fountain show.” The message from my brother glowed on my screen. I checked the time—7:57 PM. George should be here any minute. Adrian had told me someone had spotted George with a new boy toy, and they were supposed to be having dinner here tonight. He urged me to make my move before someone else beat me to it. It was as if he was foolishly betting everything on me. Just then, a languid, magnetic figure appeared at the entrance. George had his arm around a slender young man, guiding him toward the main dining area. He was wearing a black silk shirt, the top buttons undone, accentuating his long, lean frame. He looked like he’d walked straight out of a magazine. The boy with him had brown hair and was clinging to his arm possessively. He was the innocent, clean-cut type, but he paled in comparison to George. “I picked this spot specifically,” George was saying, his tone nonchalant. “From here, you can see—” His voice trailed off. The boy asked, “See what, Mr. Chase?” I pretended to look up, my gaze locking with the fiery, amused eyes of the man with the red hair. George dropped his arm from the boy’s shoulders and strode over to my table, a slow grin spreading across his face. “Well, well. Look who it is.” “Here by yourself?” he asked me. “I…” Before I could finish, the boy hurried over, interrupting me. His eyes raked over me with suspicion before he turned back to George, his voice a whiny coo. “George, darling, the fountain show is about to start. Shouldn’t we go…?” George’s gaze lingered on the boy’s face for a few seconds before he suddenly grabbed his wrist. “You can go home,” he said, his eyebrow arched. “But we just got here—” “Do I need to repeat myself?” George’s voice was still light, but an unmistakable chill ran through it as he let go. The boy’s face fell. He smoothed his sleeve and stalked off, fuming. Too eager, I thought. Too obvious. Did he really think George was just some rich idiot? “Mind if I join you?” Without waiting for an answer, George pulled out the chair opposite me and sat down. 5 “Not at all,” I said quietly, lowering my gaze. “What a coincidence, Mr. Chase.” He smirked. “So you found out.” “It’s only natural to be curious about the owner of Nyx,” I said. “I just didn’t expect you to be the Chase…” My voice trailed off as a waiter respectfully placed several dishes on our table. George raised an eyebrow, about to stand. “Oh? Looks like I’m interrupting.” “George, stay,” I said, my voice warm, stopping him. I gave him a small, wry smile. “My friend had to cancel last minute. I ordered for two… I can’t possibly finish all this.” “Heh.” George looked down at me, a low chuckle escaping his lips as he settled back into his seat. “You do that on purpose?” “An unfortunate coincidence,” I said peacefully. His wine glass tapped against mine. “To fortunate reunions born from coincidence.” Coincidence was a sly and gentle liar. George asked me nonchalantly, “So, now that you know who I really am, how’s that first impression holding up? Shattered to pieces yet, good boy?” The red tips of his hair seemed to dance in the light. He looked wild and untamed, utterly unconcerned with my answer. I pushed a plate and a sauce dish closer to him. “A little,” I answered honestly. George looked up, his eyes fixed on me. “But first impressions tend to stick,” I said, meeting his gaze directly. “The same goes for you, doesn’t it?” The primacy effect. The first image you form of a person dominates your mind, coloring all future judgments. “…Hah.” George was the first to break eye contact, a soft laugh escaping him. The rest of the meal was slow and surprisingly comfortable. George would occasionally ask about my time abroad, and in turn, told me about his own travels. Listening to him speak, he sounded less like a reckless playboy and more like a worldly, sophisticated gentleman. He elegantly cut a small piece of foie gras and held it to my lips. “Try this.” It was an intimate, slightly transgressive act. A test. I hesitated for a second before leaning forward, my lips closing around the tines of the fork. The rich flavor melted on my tongue. “Good?” George’s eyes darkened, his smile turning wicked. “You seem a little tense.” I nodded, my fingers brushing against the back of his hand. Swoosh. He grabbed my wrist, his skin searing hot against mine. He looked down at me, his gaze intense. “You know my preferences, right? And I’m single at the moment.” I met his eyes and offered a soft, gentle smile. My voice was calm and steady. “George. Let go.” He raised an eyebrow, the smirk on his face deepening. After a silent moment, he released my wrist. “Fuck… are you training me like a dog?” I rubbed my wrist, shaking my head. “Not at all. I just want us to be equals, George.” “So, Ethan…” he asked, his voice low, “do you want to… be my boyfriend?” His eyes, full of charm and mischief, were locked on me. Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, the fountain erupted in a brilliant display of light and water, a kaleidoscope of colors against the night sky. It was the perfect moment to accept a confession. It felt like if I just said yes, I could easily become the latest in George Chase’s long line of lovers. And then, in a month or two, he’d get bored and toss me aside. Adrian would get his project, and George would probably never hold it against me. But none of them had ever treated me like a person. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m not into men.” For the first time, a flicker of something—surprise, confusion, a loss of control—crossed George’s face. His fingers tapped against the table before his shoulders started to shake with silent laughter. “Ethan, just give me a chance, okay?” “I’ll make you like me.” “…” He slid his phone across the table. “Give me your number. So we can at least keep in touch.” The night was dark by the time I left the restaurant. George offered to drive me home, but I politely declined. As I walked along the river, the cool night wind brushed against my face. My phone buzzed. A text from an unknown number: 【Thanks for dinner tonight. My treat tomorrow. You free?】 【You look good in a turtleneck, by the way. Don’t overthink it. It’s just a compliment.】 6 George was true to his word. He began to “pursue” me. Over the next few weeks, his efforts were relentless, almost overwhelming. It was clear he had never tried to court someone with patience before. He’d never encountered a problem that money couldn’t solve. Bouquets of flowers delivered to my door daily, designer shoes, luxury items that cost more than my living expenses for years—they all arrived as if being delivered wholesale. He often invited me back to The Spire, the restaurant where we’d had our second encounter. Even though I never gave him a clear answer, he didn’t give up. It seemed the notorious playboy, the subject of endless gossip columns, had genuinely changed his ways for me. Adrian was pleased. He was delighted to see George completely focused on me, paying no attention to the upcoming project bid. But what about me? …I didn’t know what I felt. I didn’t know if this connection with George was a product of my own deceit or if it was something we both genuinely needed. “What are you thinking about?” A familiar voice, laced with a faint smile, came from behind me. I was standing at the entrance to the art museum, ticket in hand. I turned. George was wearing a dark gray turtleneck under a long black trench coat. He looked tall and striking, like a model from a fashion magazine. Unlike his usual styled look, his reddish-blond hair was unkempt, falling softly around his face. It softened his sharp edges, giving him a gentler look. “Nothing,” I said as he approached. “Just wondering if you’d be late.” “To see you? I’d be an hour early,” George said with a wink. “Come on, it’s not too crowded today. We can take our time.” I took a couple of steps, then turned back when I realized he wasn’t following. He was holding out his pale, elegant hand, a roguish grin on his face. “Humor me, will you? Let me hold your hand. Please?” 7 The inside of the museum was spacious, autumn sunlight streaming through the glass dome of the ceiling, casting a golden glow on the paintings. George seemed to know the place well, leading me confidently through the various galleries, occasionally leaning in to whisper the history of a piece in my ear. “Do you come here often, George?” I asked. His thumb drew slow circles in my palm. “My mother used to bring me here when I was a kid. She was a painter. This was her favorite place.” He paused, and for a fleeting moment, I saw a shadow of sadness in his eyes. “After she passed away, this became the only place where I could still feel close to her. She never picked up a paintbrush again after I was born. I was the reason she gave up her art.” The sudden confession left me stunned. I knew this was the perfect opening, the perfect way to get closer to him, to touch his heart. But I couldn’t bring myself to be so shameless, to turn this moment of genuine pain into another move in my deceptive game. “I’m sorry,” I said softly. George just shook his head, pulling me forward. “Come on. I want to show you my favorite painting.” The heat from his hand was a constant presence. For all his wild, reckless energy, his hands were soft and delicate, like warm silk against mine. He led me across the gallery to a massive oil painting. The canvas was a sea of profound darkness, but in the very center, a single, faint beam of light pierced through the clouds, illuminating a small patch of a lake below. The entire piece was filled with a strange, haunting mix of loneliness and hope. “Forget what I think,” George said with a smile. “Do you like it?” “I do.” “I like this kind of darkness,” I said. “It’s dark enough to offer an escape, a place to be free. But that single ray of light shows you there’s still a path forward, a reason for hope.” It was what I had always been searching for myself. “That’s ironic,” George said, his shoulders shaking with a quiet laugh. “This is my favorite painting, but I hate the dark.” “Something happened when I was young,” he said, his voice barely a whisper. “Ever since then, the night has been nothing but darkness for me. No light at all.” “Let’s go, Ethan. There are better things to see up ahead.” 8 For the rest of the tour, George was clearly distracted. He no longer leaned in to whisper in my ear. He moved mechanically through the crowds, his responses to me brief and distant. In all the research Adrian had given me, in all my time with him, I had never seen this side of George. All the arrogance and confidence were gone, replaced by a raw, helpless vulnerability. Remember, he’s still a bad man, I told myself, repeating the words like a mantra. Outside, under the shade of an old oak tree, I helped him to a bench. “George, are you okay?” He looked up at me, forcing a cocky smile. “What, worried about me?” “Yes.” He was sitting, I was standing. For once, I was the one looking down. I could see the flicker of surprise in his eyes, a stark vulnerability he couldn’t hide from this angle. “Heh.” He let out a dry laugh and looked away. “What a mess… I’m completely screwed when it comes to you, aren’t I?” “Ethan, sometimes I really envy you.” “Envy me for what?” “Your purity,” George said, his gaze returning to mine, his eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “There’s this… this clean, untouched quality about you I can’t describe.” “I live in a world where no one tells the truth. Everyone who gets close to me wants something, and I always know what it is. They’d never say no to me, they’d do anything to cling to me… but even when they were pressed right up against me, they could never hear what I was really thinking.” “But you’re different, Ethan. You’re like that beam of light in the painting.” George’s eyes roamed my face. The evening breeze rustled his hair, making him look younger, more fragile than usual. The corners of his upturned eyes were tinged with red. “…” Fuck. What was so pure about me? How was I any different? A wave of frustration washed over me. I turned away, needing to escape his gaze. Swoosh. He grabbed my sleeve again. He looked up at me, his reddish-gold hair clinging to his damp cheeks, his usually arrogant eyes now filled with a broken, watery plea. “Will you kiss me? Please.” … I grabbed the collar of his shirt, tangled my fingers in his hair, and bit down hard on his lip. 9 The kiss was nothing like I had imagined. It was fierce, almost violent. I was practically holding him by the collar, my teeth breaking the skin of his lip. The metallic taste of blood filled my mouth, silencing everything that needed to be said. “Ngh…” George let out a muffled groan, stunned by my aggression. But after a moment’s hesitation, he wrapped his arms around my neck, closing his eyes and deepening the kiss. His long, pale neck arched back as he pressed his body against mine. But a surge of anger made me dig my fingers into his lean waist, hard. “Mmph…!” He flinched, a shiver running through him. I didn’t know what I was so angry about. Was it his weakness, the way he used his vulnerability to corner me? Or was it my own disgusting hypocrisy, pretending this was real? His eyes, already glistening with tears, grew hazy. Just as he tried to pull me closer, I pulled away. “Haah…” George gasped for air, his chest heaving. He looked up at me, his eyes wide. “Be with me, Ethan.” “I know I’ve been a bastard in the past, but I’m serious this time.” “Say whatever you want to me, do whatever you want. I love you.” I stood over him, saying nothing. Sensing my hesitation, George looked down, lighting a cigarette and holding it between his fingers, forcing a casual tone. “If you don’t believe me, forget it. Just… go home.” “I…” I opened my mouth, but my throat was painfully dry. “We’ll see how you act,” I finally said. “If you go back to being a useless playboy, then it’s over.” That wasn’t what I had planned to say. I was supposed to agree. George stared at me for a second, then broke into a low laugh. It was a deep, rumbling sound from his chest, filled with surprised delight. “Ethan,” he said, stepping closer, his fingers brushing against my earlobe. “Then you just watch me.” The glowing tip of his cigarette hovered near my chest. George’s eyes darkened, a smirk playing on his lips. “I’ll make it impossible for you to say no.”
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