“You know,” he murmured, leaning in, voice dropping, “it’s rare to find someone who can meet my stare and not flinch. Most people cave.”
“I’m not most people,” she retorted, a smirk tugging at her lips, her eyes daring him.
Manson’s grin widened, approving.
“Good. I like a challenge.”
At the same time, Hazel strolled down to the pool, only to spot Fiona and Manson deep in conversation, the air around them practically buzzing.
A wide grin spread across her face.
“Ah, my ship is finally setting sail,” she thought happily.
Quietly, she tiptoed to the side, giving them plenty of space, then sneaked back to the room, barely making a sound, as if she were their invisible cheerleader.
The tension was almost unbearable now, thick and electric, as the pool reflected the moonlight like a thousand tiny sparks dancing across their skin.
He extended his hand, teasing, letting his fingers hover just above hers in the water.
“Care to join me for a closer look?”
“Mmm…”
Her gaze locked onto his, trapped by the amber-gold blaze in his eyes burning, taunting, undoing her.
Her body reacted before her mind could intervene, and she quickly reached out, curling her fingers around Manson’s hand as if grounding herself.
“Not so bad,” he murmured with a lazy smile.
“Your emerald-green eyes are beautiful. And those freckles scattered across your face?” His tone dipped.
“Sexy.”
Fiona could only simper, warmth blooming across her cheeks as his words sank deep beneath her skin.
“Do you care for a game?” she asked lightly, though mischief gleamed in her eyes.
“A game?” Manson’s brows twitched, intrigue sharpening his expression.
“What kind of game?”
“Since we’re already swimming,” she said, voice smooth as water, “let’s race. To and fro. The first person to reach that end wins.”
“Well, I don’t mind,” he replied easily.
Still holding her hand, he lifted it to his lips and pressed a slow kiss against her knuckles.
“But tell me what’s the winner’s prize?”
“Mmm…” Fiona pouted, her lips moving in a teasing little motion.
“The loser does whatever the winner wants.”
The challenge hung between them, thick and electric.
What Manson didn’t know was that Fiona was an excellent swimmer.
And if she won tomorrow’s engagement dinner would unfold exactly the way she wanted.
Manson let out a low chuckle, the sound rolling from his chest like a provocation.
“Are you sure you wouldn’t rather choose something else?” he said, releasing her hand in a slow, deliberate slide, as if savoring the loss.
“I don’t like little girls.”
That did it.
“What the hell is wrong with you, who would even like you?” Fiona snapped, her shyness shattering on impact.
The way he’d said it, lazy, taunting, infuriatingly confident, was far too captivating, far too sexy, and she despised the heat that rushed to her cheeks because of it.
With a sharp breath, she dove toward the starting edge of the pool, water splashing as she turned to face him, eyes blazing.
“Let’s just get this done with.”
“Sure,” he drawled smoothly, amusement lacing his tone.
“If you say so.”
They stood side by side at the edge of the pool, a careful distance between them, the air thick with tension.
Fiona’s posture was taut, coiled like a spring, her gaze locked straight ahead.
“Ready,” she called out, her voice sharp and ringing.
“Go!”
She dove first, cutting through the water with perfect grace.
Meanwhile, Manson’s smirk lingered slow, unhurried, maddening before he finally plunged in after her, as if teasing her with every heartbeat.
The water thundered in Fiona’s ears as she pushed herself forward, muscles screaming, lungs burning.
Her arms carved through the pool with fierce precision, every movement honed and powerful.
‘I’ve got this,’ she cheered silently, confidence swelling in her chest with every stroke.
She reached the far end, tucked her body, and executed a swift flip turn, kicking off the wall and gliding forward with renewed speed.
When she finally broke the surface, she tossed her head back, dragging in a breath, a victorious smile already forming on her lips.
“I—”
The word caught.
Stalled.
Died.
Manson was already there.
He sat casually at the edge of the pool, one arm braced behind him, water trailing lazily down his skin as though he had all the time in the world.
Unbothered.
Unrushed.
Victorious.
His amber-gold eyes lifted to meet hers, glittering with unmistakable amusement.
Fiona froze, disbelief crashing over her in merciless waves.
“You’re slow,” he said lightly, a smug curve tugging at his lips.
In that instant, her triumph shattered into shock, irritation, and the bitter truth settling deep in her chest.
She had lost.
Just then, water slid down her face, and she couldn’t stop the small, instinctive lick of her bottom lip.
Her heart hammered violently against her ribs, each beat sending fire through her veins.
Wet strands of hair clung to her skin and then fell back in a wild, untamed cascade, framing her face in a way that made her almost unbearably irresistible.
“Sure you win, what do you want?” she asked, her voice low, breathless, and teasing, carrying a pulse of challenge.
Manson’s amber-gold eyes darkened, burning with a heat that made the space between them sizzle.
He couldn’t tear his gaze away, not for a heartbeat, not when she looked like this: fierce, drenched, intoxicating, and utterly captivating.
Every inch of her seemed to pull him closer, and the tension between them was almost tangible, sharp enough to cut.
“At the engagement tomorrow, I want you to act lovey-dovey with me,” Manson’s voice was low, confident, almost teasing.
“I trust you can do that after all, you are an actress.”
Fiona’s eyes narrowed, a flicker of suspicion crossing her features.
“What are you up to?” she asked, trying to mask the rapid beat of her heart.
“You shouldn’t question me,” he replied smoothly, his eyes sharpening, shifting from soft to fiercely commanding.
“I won the game, and this” he gestured subtly “was the prize you agreed to.”
Fiona froze, her heart skipping a beat as Manson’s expression snapped soft warmth vanishing in an instant, replaced by a fierce, commanding intensity.
The sudden change sent a jolt of fear through her, her stomach twisting as if she’d been caught off guard by a storm, only for Brian’s interruption to break the charged, terrifying moment.
“Sir, Mr. Kim Dahyun is here to see you,” Brian announced, voice formal.
Manson pushed himself up from the edge of the pool and walked toward his desk, where his tower rested.
He picked it up with effortless poise, then turned to Fiona, his expression unreadable.
“Very well, Miss. I’m afraid I can’t leave you alone in the pool,” he said, stretching the tower toward her.
Fiona stepped out of the water, brushing droplets from her skin, expecting him to wrap the towel around her.
“Here. Take it,” he said, his hand gesturing lazily.
‘This asshole,’ she seethed inwardly, taking the towel from his hand and wrapping it around herself, the fabric doing little to hide her flushed skin.
Manson, however, didn’t glance at her.
His gaze was fixed elsewhere, cold and detached, landing squarely on Brian as if she didn’t exist.
The sharp contrast between his indifference and the warmth she felt left Fiona’s chest tight with something she didn’t dare name.
“Escort her to her room, and then meet me here,” Manson’s voice cut through the tension, sharp and unyielding.
“Yes, sir,” Brian replied promptly, bowing slightly.
“This way, Miss.”
Fiona turned, following him through the corridor, her mind still reeling from Manson’s sudden fierceness.
When they reached her room, she pressed the doorbell once and almost instantly, Hazel swung the door open.
“Thank you, Mr. Brian,” Fiona greeted politely, her voice steady despite the storm still lingering in her chest.
Hazel’s hand shot out, draping playfully across her shoulder.
“You’re welcome, Miss,” Brian replied, his tone courteous, before turning and walking away.
Fiona’s gaze softened, then sharpened mischievously as she turned to Hazel.
“You sly fox, I shouldn’t have trusted you” she murmured, her hands darting up to Hazel’s neck, shaking her playfully.
Hazel laughed, and the two of them tumbled inside the room together, the door closing behind them with a quiet, satisfied hum.
Brian returned to the poolside, footsteps quiet but purposeful.
“Did she go into her room before you left?” Manson’s voice cut through the stillness, calm but laced with a chilling edge.
“Yes, sir,” Brian replied, his tone tight, measured.
“Such a fragile little thing,” Manson’s lips curled into a cruel, razor-sharp smirk.
“So innocent… yet crawling out of filth, tripping over her own shadow.” His gaze cut like ice, merciless and hungry.
Then his hand dropped, measuring her against some invisible scale.
“She hasn’t gotten to the height I want her to,” he whispered, voice dripping with mockery.
“And if she does?” He let the word hang like a promise.
“BOOM.”