The grand ballroom of the InterContinental Hotel was a sea of crystal chandeliers, clinking champagne flutes, and low, hummed conversations from the city's elite. For the public, tonight was the official debut of the Choi empire's newlywed heirs.
Ethan stood by the high tables, the epitome of an aristocratic young husband. His tailored black suit clung perfectly to his broad shoulders, his dark hair swept back to reveal the sharp, feline angles of his face. He looked untouchable, a pristine statue of high society—except for the fact that his gaze never wandered more than a few feet away from his wife.
Hazel was a vision. Ethan had personally selected her gown—a soft, ethereal rose-gold silk that complemented her warm skin tone, featuring a modest neckline but tapering beautifully at her waist. She looked breathtaking, her natural, innocent charm drawing admiring glances from several young executives in the room.
Every time a man lingered a second too long looking at her, Ethan’s jaw would tighten, and he would smoothly step into the space next to her, placing a large, warm hand firmly on the small of her back. It was a clear, unspoken declaration to the room: Mine. Do not look.
"Ethan, you're gripping me a bit tightly," Hazel whispered, leaning into his side with a tiny, amused pout. "People are going to think you're actually madly in love with me."
"I'm keeping up appearances," Ethan muttered smoothly, his voice a low vibration against her ear. He leaned down, his lips almost brushing her temple to maintain the illusion for a nearby group of investors. "And you're smiling too much at the board members. It invites unnecessary conversation."
Hazel chuckled softly, her puppy-like demeanor completely unbothered by his strictness. "You're just being a grumpy cat today."
---
The fragile peace broke halfway through the evening. Ethan was briefly pulled away by his father to greet the Minister of Land and Infrastructure—a crucial political contact for the family’s logistics business. He couldn't refuse.
"Stay right here by the dessert table. Don't wander off," Ethan commanded, his sharp eyes pinning her in place.
"Yes, sir," Hazel giggled, waving him off.
But left to her own devices for less than five minutes, Hazel’s clumsy nature inevitably caught up to her. As she reached for a macaron, her sleeve caught the edge of a champagne glass left on the tier. With a small gasp, she watched it tilt.
Before it could shatter or stain her dress, a broad, tan hand darted into her field of vision, catching the glass with lightning-fast reflexes.
"Careful there," a deep, rich voice chuckled.
Hazel blinked, looking up. Standing in front of her was a tall, incredibly handsome man with warm, honey-brown eyes, an athletic build that stretched his navy suit, and a bright, confident smile.
"Oliver?" Hazel’s eyes went wide, her face instantly lighting up with recognition. "Oh my god, Oliver! It is you!"
Oliver was a senior from her university’s photography club—a charming, popular guy who had moved to the United States two years ago for an international internship. He had been one of the few people who could match Hazel’s bright, golden-retriever energy, and they had been incredibly close before he left.
"In the flesh," Oliver beamed, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he looked down at her. He didn't hesitate to step closer, his hands coming up to gently grasp her shoulders in a warm, familiar greeting. "Wow, Hazel... look at you. You look absolutely stunning tonight. I heard rumors that you got married, but I honestly couldn't believe it. You're still the same little high-energy ball of sunshine."
Hazel flushed slightly, laughing at the familiarity. "Hey! I've matured a lot, thank you very much! When did you get back from New York?"
"Just last week," Oliver said, his gaze dropping to her lips for a brief, heavy second before returning to her eyes. His tone shifted, becoming softer, more intimate. "I missed you, Hazel. I tried calling your old number, but it was out of service. I was actually really disappointed I missed my chance with you before I left."
Hazel’s innocent mind stalled. "Your... chance?"
---
From across the ballroom, Ethan was nodding politely at the Minister, but his eyes had already locked onto the dessert station.
His vision went entirely white.
A man—a stranger with an infuriatingly athletic build—was standing entirely too close to Hazel. He had his hands on her shoulders. He was looking down at her with a raw, undeniable hunger that Ethan recognized instantly. And Hazel? Hazel wasn't pulling away. She was looking up at him with those wide, trusting eyes, a soft pink hue dusting her cheeks.
A sudden, violent wave of heat crashed through Ethan’s chest. It wasn't the logical, protective instinct of a best friend anymore. It was something primal, dark, and utterly territorial. His heart hammered against his ribs like a caged beast trying to break free.
Get away from her.
Abruptly cutting off the Minister mid-sentence with a tense, formal bow, Ethan walked across the ballroom floor. His strides were long, purposeful, and radiating an aura so dark and suffocating that people actively parted to let him through.
Before Oliver could lean in any closer to Hazel, a heavy, iron-grip wrapped around Oliver’s wrist, forcing his hand off Hazel’s shoulder.
Oliver flinched, turning sharply. He met a pair of razor-sharp, pitch-black eyes. Ethan stood there, his jaw locked, his breathing shallow, looking like a predator ready to snap a neck.
"I believe you're touching what belongs to me," Ethan said, his voice dropping to a dangerously low, gravelly whisper that sent a shiver down Hazel’s spine. He didn't just step between them; he completely shielded Hazel with his large frame, pushing her behind his back.
Oliver recovered quickly, his eyes narrowing as he recognized the famous heir. He didn't back down, adjusting his cuffs. "You must be Ethan Choi. I was just catching up with an old friend. No need to be so aggressive."
"We're leaving," Ethan ignored him entirely, turning back to grab Hazel’s wrist. His grip was tight—not enough to bruise, but firm enough to convey the absolute, unyielding command rolling through his veins.
"Ethan, wait, Oliver was just—"
"I said, we're leaving, Hazel," Ethan snapped, his feline eyes flashing with a terrifying mix of jealousy and unexpressed panic.
Without giving her a chance to say goodbye, Ethan dragged her through the side exit of the ballroom, leaving a stunned Oliver and a whispering crowd behind them.
---
The ride back to the penthouse was dead silent. The partition in the luxury sedan was rolled up, isolating them in the dark backseat. Ethan sat rigidly on his side, his eyes fixed out the window, his chest rising and falling heavily. The image of Oliver’s hands on her wouldn't leave his mind, burning him from the inside out.
The moment the penthouse doors clicked shut behind them, Hazel pulled her hand away, her puppy-like innocence finally giving way to frustration.
"Ethan, what is wrong with you?!" she cried out, her voice echoing in the large, minimalist living room. "That was so rude! Oliver is an old friend from college. He didn't do anything wrong, and you treated him like a criminal!"
Ethan stopped in the middle of the room. He slowly took off his suit jacket, throwing it onto the sofa with a rare display of violence. When he turned to face her, his hair was messy, his eyes bloodshot, and the aloof prince persona was entirely shattered. "An old friend?" Ethan mocked, his voice low and trembling with a strange, agonizing emotion. "Hazel, are you really that blind? He wasn't looking at you like a friend. He wanted you. He wanted to take you away from this place, from *me*."
"So what if he did?!" Hazel shouted back, her eyes welling with tears from the sheer intensity of the argument. "We're in a fake marriage, Ethan! We made a deal! If I want to talk to another guy, or if someone likes me, that's my business! You're gay! You don't want me like that, so why do you care so much who touches me?!"
The words hit Ethan like a physical blow. You're gay. You don't want me.
For years, he had lived comfortably in that definition. He loved men. He was built for men. But looking at Hazel right now—her chest heaving, her beautiful lips trembling, her tears reflecting the city lights outside the window—something inside Ethan’s carefully constructed psyche snapped.
The slow-burn boundary they had maintained for over a decade collapsed into ashes.
He crossed the distance between them in two long strides. Before Hazel could even gasp, Ethan’s large hands gripped her waist, lifting her slightly and pinning her back firmly against the cold, floor-to-ceiling glass window overlooking the glowing city.
"Ethan—" her voice caught in her throat.
He leaned in so close she could feel the scorching heat radiating from his skin. His dark, cat-like eyes were fixed entirely on her lips, filled with a desperate, possessive fury that she had never, ever seen in him before.
"Don't say that," Ethan growled softly, his breath fanning across her face, his grip on her waist tightening until she was pulled flush against his hard chest. "Don't ever say I don't care. Seeing him touch you... it made me want to burn this city to the ground. Fake marriage or not, Hazel... you are mine. I won't let anyone else have you."
Hazel’s heart hammered frantically against her ribs, her mind spinning in complete chaos. The aloof, safe best friend was gone. In his place was a man—fierce, jealous, and dangerously close—leaving them both suspended on the razor's edge of a miscommunication that could change their entire dynamic forever.