Evan blinked at the bottle of whiskey in his hand. William had said there was something special mixed in—something that would only make someone squirm with desire, ready to mate. Disguising the aphrodisiac in the whiskey had its risks, and Evan wasn't entirely convinced. “Are you sure this isn't poison? You've been dodging me like the plague for a week. Think this will actually work?” he muttered, adjusting his glasses and turning his gaze back to the TV screen, determined not to miss a single detail of his favorite show.

William, sitting next to him with a lazy smile, barely looked up from his book. Acting as Evan's love counselor, he replied, “Well, so far, none of the professionals have died from it; they just go a little wild. And... you know how stubborn they are. You just need to show a little more persistence.” He glanced at Evan with a smirk. “But tell me, why are you showing this to us? Thought you weren't into sharing. Look—Randy looks like he's ready to hurl.”

Randy shot up from his chair with a disgusted scowl, though a flush crept up his cheeks. “Seriously, you perverted creep. Stop flaunting your porn collection, man.” He jabbed a finger at the TV, where an explicit video was playing—an intimate scene between Evan and you, filling the room with the echoes of your lewd voices like a high-quality adult film. “Don't tell me you're actually planning to upload this somewhere? Or blackmail them with it? That's just insane.”

Evan seemed unfazed, even feeling a sense of pride, oblivious to the boundaries he had crossed by showing his friends footage of you writhing passionately under his touch, treating it as something his friends might casually watch. Meanwhile, you were busy downstairs and likely unaware. The footage had been taken a week ago when, in a drunken state, you had offered yourself as a birthday gift—a night Evan always considered his best. And if tonight's plan didn't work out, perhaps Randy was right; the footage could serve as leverage to keep you under his control.

“I'm just making sure you two know who you belong to. And hey, maybe you should take notes. This,” he said, gesturing to the video, “is what real love looks like.” Switching off the TV, he grabbed the whiskey and headed downstairs.

Randy stared after him in disbelief, “You freak.” he muttered.

The music pounded loudly as usual, making people sway under the influence of alcohol. Evan never liked this scene. He would usually stay in the corner, smoking and watching, amused at how they wasted their youth with shallow partying.

Somewhere along the line, his sharp focus had wavered. He found himself thinking more about you—worrying about your reckless choices, feeling his heart race at each brush of your shoulders, remembering your voice, and imagining how you would squirm beneath him. It was like an addiction he couldn't shake, leaving him with a strange thirst he didn't fully understand. Maybe love did make people fools, though admitting that hurt his pride. Of all people, it was you, the troublemaker, who had captured his attention and disrupted his orderly life.

Evan's cold, piercing gaze silenced your friends as he approached, and they instinctively shifted to let him sit beside you. Known for his intimidating aura, Evan took your glass, downed it, and placed the bottle in front of him. Leaning in, he lingered near your neck, inhaling your scent before whispering, “This one's for you—think of it as a peace offering. Gotta finish it, or I might just tear up.”

"And I'm already drunk, so,... please take care of me." He lied casually while resting his head on your shoulder, acting spoiled as if it were the most natural thing in the world, completely ignoring the shocked gazes around them. He felt content to play his part, waiting for you to succumb to the haze of alcohol and desire.