“I’ve come to celebrate the end of our little war.”His easy tone was accompanied by a sweet scent—his pheromones. The forgotten fragrance brushed my nose, and I felt the hairs rise on my skin.“You want to drink? Right now? With me?”I scowled, unable to form a coherent sentence. He answered matter-of-factly.“I said no coffee, but I never said no champagne.”“...Huh.”His sophistry was as absurd as his defense of Davis’s crime as self-defense. But one thing was clear: he wasn’t leaving anytime soon.“Champagne—why on earth should I drink champagne with you?”I crossed my arms and glared. He answered calmly.“Because the trial’s over. We should toast.”Miller shrugged and added brazenly,“Shall we call it a celebration of our armistice?”Technically the case was closed, but I ignored his choice of words and pressed on.“Did I promise I’d sleep with you once the trial ended?”I meant to sound cold, but my voice trembled. Sensing my discomfort, Miller let a strangely knowing smile flicker across his lips, his violet eyes cool and piercing.“Do you think that matters to me?”His answer was enough—and it chilled me through. He was telling me plainly: your consent is irrelevant.A taut tension filled the small studio.2｜Stay calm; this is my home.I willed my thoughts coolly. Yes—this was my territory. If things got out of hand, I could call the police. I gauged the distance to my door, noting that the thin walls would guarantee a swift call for help once a disturbance began.Still, I felt unnervingly off-balance. My studio was tiny; Nathaniel Miller towered above me—and it was just the two of us. Why had I let him in? I hadn’t invited him. He’d just strolled in, invading my space—my home—and now he’d invaded my life.He remained seated in my chair, arms draped over the backrest, studying me.Yet he made no move—despite his words promising violence, he sat as if nothing were going to happen.“So.”I cleared my throat, determined to steady my voice.“All I have to do is drink champagne with you?”Before waiting for a reply, I snatched the box from him and strode into the kitchenette. I opened the cabinet—there were no flute glasses in my studio. Instead I retrieved a souvenir mug from college and a cheap plastic cup I’d bought on sale. I handed him the mug—at least that much courtesy.Pouring Dom Pérignon 1996 into the mug, Miller’s lips quirked in amusement.“An interesting experience.”Of course, he’d find it amusing. I felt nonplussed as I poured my share into the plastic cup. I wasn’t in a celebratory mood, so I downed it in one go. Miller met me, tipping his head back to drain his mug. I refilled his, then mine, and we both emptied our cups again. He repeated the action, though more slowly this time. As I poured the last drops into my cup—Miller’s large hand covered mine atop the bottle. His touch was gentle, yet firm enough to give me pause.“Prosecutor.”He spoke in that unhurried voice.“If you punch me again, that would be inconvenient.”He meant at the pool. I’d regretted my outburst ever since, so I admitted reluctantly,“I was very drunk that night.”Yet he didn’t withdraw his hand. Still covering the back of mine, Miller asked,“And tonight?”He sounded as if mocking me. Two glasses of champagne weren’t enough to intoxicate me? Ridiculous.“We’ll see.”I met his gaze. He didn’t look away. His long fingers moved slowly, lifting the bottle from my hand and setting it on the table.Miller tilted his head, breathing gently around my skin—as if sniffing for alcohol. Warm breath ghosted my cheek, my ear, my neck.“Chrissy Jin.”He whispered along the exposed curve of my shoulder.“You’ll end up sleeping with me anyway.”With each word, his breath trailed across my flesh. That low exhalation tickled my ear. Then his voice dropped further, offering advice.“I think it will hurt less if you open yourself willingly, rather than being forced.”My fist clenched at my side. I could almost feel ★ 𝐍𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 ★ the rough pull of his lips on my skin. The thought was so vivid I nearly gasped.Yet he waited—despite claiming I was but prey, he would wait for my consent. As if to warn me: what happens next will be by your accord.Right then I realized something.What did any of this matter? Whether it was his or another’s, the world wouldn’t change. If I was beaten, I might as well lie down completely.But before I surrendered, I needed one thing clarified. As Miller stepped forward, I took a step back and spoke.“I don’t sleep with men who are serious about someone else.”“Serious about someone else? About me?”Miller’s brow furrowed—the reaction almost made him seem innocent, but I couldn’t trust it.“Abe­line—the woman you were with. The model.”At my words he blinked, as if retrieving a memory, then laughter bubbled up.“My goodness—serious about someone else? Abe­line and I?”His laugh grew strained, and he frowned.“You think I’d marry a model just because she’s famous?”His arrogance dripped in that remark—models, no matter how well-known, were beneath him. I, too, presumably. I drew on stubborn resolve.“I don’t trust your word. Prove you have no relationship with her.”Fully aware I was still beneath his contempt, I demanded,“Make it clear before anything else, so I can believe you.”Miller shook his head, as though weary of my obstinacy.“You’re truly difficult.”He sounded as if he’d tell me I wasn’t worth the trouble and leave—but instead he remained, stroking his chin in thought, as if devising a plan.Only a few seconds passed before he offered,“Shall I call her here? The three of us—wouldn’t that prove it?”My jaw dropped.“What nonsense. The three of us?”I blurted, horrified. Miller frowned in rebuttal.“Wouldn’t it be odd to invite her here just to watch me with you? Unless I include her in the act. Or are you asking me to summon her so you can hear I’m not involved with her?”His suggestions were all preposterous—rude to her, and utterly unacceptable. Yet what proof could he offer that wasn’t manufactured? I felt trapped: I had no choice but to trust whatever he presented.“...Don’t call her. It’s unnecessary.”At last I yielded. The choice was mine: whether to believe his arrogance or not.I took a shallow breath, and a sweet scent filled my mouth. Then, with a resigned sigh, I whispered,“If you don’t put it in me underneath, fine.”My voice, soft as a breath, stilled Miller’s movements. Silence thickened between us.“Then.”He pressed gently on my chin and parted my lips.“Shall I put it in me above, instead?”Rather than answer, I seized his lapel and crushed our lips together.

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