|18+| ❛𝒕𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝒊𝒕 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒈𝒐𝒐𝒅 𝒈𝒊𝒓𝒍 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒎𝒊 𝒂𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒆 ❜
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Dark mysterious eyes.
Fierce blazing eyes.
Two enemies under one roof under the binds of an arranged marriage.
While trying their best to ign...
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Four years ago
I hate people. Wait let me rephrase that, I hate crowds.
People stopping to chat or even touch me. Pisses me the fuck off. I don't know what I was thinking, allowing Gio talk me into organizing this party. True, I'm starting to see the change of how some major clients talk to me, how they interact since I gave them the special invitation.
Everything about this party annoys me. The drinks? Too bland. The waiters? Clumsy as fuck. The guests? Too touchy and chatty. Every single thing has proven to make my skin crawl. Except her.
I stood at the railing, cigarette smoke curling lazily from my lips as I watched her stumble through the crowd, wineglass to wineglass, her cheeks flushing a deep pink.
Her feet seem to tangle beneath her as she moves, her steps growing slower and more uncertain.
She looks so lost in the sea of guests, the wineglass her only companion. She lifts the glass to her lips, looking around the crowd before her gaze lands on mine through the glass door.
Before I could even react, she was marching down to meet me, surprisingly with more steadiness for someone tipsy. As she slides the glass door open, her brown eyes locked onto mine, the party's murmur, laughter and chatter spilling out before the door clicked shut behind her, enveloping us in the balcony's hushed stillness.
She steps closer to me, or rather, grips the railing, her breathing ragged, as she seemed to drink in the night air. The smoke wafted out from my lips, and her face contorted in distaste, her body reflexively recoiling from me.
"Why the hell are you smoking?" she snaps and I lift my brow at her question.
She sighs before looking heavenward, eyes on the night sky. At least that's a plus, the hotel that the party is held has a clear view of the stars and not the city lights.
She stays quiet for a while, her gaze piercing through me before she turns to face me again. Her eyes narrow, a glare etched on her face as she says, "You know it's bad for your health, right?"
I lift a shoulder in a lazy shrug, puffing out a stream of smoke that wafts towards her face. She doesn't flinch, her expression unwavering even as the cloud envelops her. When it dissipates, her glare remains, her lips curling into a deep grimace.
When did she even step closer?
Her voice drops to a low tone as she asks, "Are you suicidal?"
