The Return of the Ex: Dangerous Him and Love

At the blind date event, I met a guy named Vincent Blackwood, the kind of young, jealous type who clung to his woman like a puppy.

In his car, when things were heating up between us, my first love suddenly called me. Yet, despite the interruption, Vincent's hands did not stop moving. It was as though he found satisfaction in watching me pretend to remain calm, all while my face burned red.

After I finished my conversation with my first love over the phone, Vincent lowered his dark eyes, his tone unwavering and said, "I'll give you a week to handle things with him. Don't make me find out on my own."

The weight of his words lingered heavily, but that was not the end of it. The very next day, when I opened the bedroom door, the sight that greeted me left me stunned. Intimate photos of Vincent and me taken inside his car were scattered across the living room floor.

***

That Sunday, I found myself at the International Hotel, reluctantly attending another blind date event.

My mother arranged it and she did not accept any refusal.

The setup was simple yet incredibly shallow. During these events, men would carry flowers and hand them out to the ladies. Based on the number of flowers each woman received, the top three would be crowned as the "most popular" and receive gifts.

I could not help but scoff at the absurdity of the rule.

While I appreciated the idea of men taking the initiative, I despised how women were reduced to passive participants, only able to be selected and ranked with no control over the situation.

I put on the fake smile I had mastered over the years, the one that never failed during these awkward social encounters. My long, black, slim-fitting dress accentuated my slender waist, while my head of voluminous dark chestnut curls framed my face. As the event dragged on, my hands gradually filled with flowers, one after another.

I smiled and nodded, gracefully accepting each bouquet, even as the strain in my cheeks became nearly unbearable. Just when I thought I could not take it anymore, I spotted what felt like a lifeline.

Sitting in the corner was Vincent Blackwood.

He lounged against the wall, his posture relaxed yet commanding. His hand rested nonchalantly on the armrest, his attention divided between the crowd and his phone. Despite the sea of people around him, he sat alone, swirling his wine glass lazily. His black suit, though similar to what other men were wearing, did not let him blend in with the rest. Vincent's aura remained cold, distant and utterly unique, making him stand out in this sea of pretense.

I stepped forward confidently, balancing on my high heels and walked up to him, my arms full of flowers that I had been collecting all evening.

"Hey, handsome." With a soft voice, I called out to him and gently pushed the bouquet of flowers against his chest, urging him to take them from me.

He lifted his eyes to meet mine, his expression clouded with confusion and a subtle hint of irritation.

Was he annoyed already? How interesting.

"Take this, I'm tired of carrying this around." Seeing that he did not reach out to take the flowers, I smiled. Without hesitation, I stuffed a handful of them into his arms.

Everyone around us turned to look. After all, not only had I broken the unspoken rules of the event, but I had also thrown off the delicate balance of their affections.

The question that lingered in the air was clear. Was that all a woman could do by taking flowers from all the men present and giving them to another man? Why couldn't they get even one flower?

Caught up in the whirlwind of my own thoughts, I paid no attention to the detached and indifferent look in his eyes as he glanced at me.

Finally, he broke the silence, frowning as he asked, "Are you interested in me?"

I nodded eagerly, my expression playful and full of intrigue.

"You enjoy being deceptive?" he added, his words carrying a slight edge.

Deceptive? So, a woman taking the initiative and showing interest was considered deceptive, while a man's pursuit was perfectly acceptable.

I felt a flicker of irritation but suppressed it, choosing instead to respond lightly. "Yeah," I said with a cheerful grin, "Alright, hottie, let's see those abs."

His brows furrowed briefly in response, but his expression quickly returned to its usual calm.

Without missing a beat, I lifted the hem of my skirt and sat down beside him. I reached for his wine glass, carefully avoiding the spot where he had been drinking and took a sip of the red wine.

Acting as if the drink had emboldened me, I moved swiftly, unbuttoning his suit and running my hand over his white shirt, feeling the defined muscles beneath.

Just as I had anticipated, his abs were perfectly toned. Satisfied, I withdrew my hand and smiled to myself.

"Have you touched me enough?" he asked, his expression unchanged, giving me a glance as though I were completely absurd.

"It feels nice," I replied with a wide grin, my face calm and composed, "Keep it up."

Vincent did not bother responding to me any further. Meanwhile, some of the people nearby began to chuckle and whisper among themselves.

"She's throwing herself at him and he's not even interested," one of them said.

"That's the heir of the Blackwood Properties. This woman must have known exactly who to target," another added.

"Looks like she's precision fishing…" someone else commented, their tone dripping with mockery.

***

The noise around was so loud. They could scare the fish away.

But honestly, I had no clue what the Blackwood Properties was about. Did they really think I was after money? How shallow of them to judge people like that. I mean, clearly, I was interested in him because he was handsome.

And a little aloof.

Vincent picked up the phone he had set aside moments ago. He glanced at the missed calls, then casually locked the screen again. As I watched him, a bigger smile started to form on my face. I leaned in closer, teasing, "You keep holding your phone... is that a hint for me to give you my number?"

Without missing a beat, I slapped my business card against his chest, feeling rather pleased with myself.

At last, he turned to look at me and for a split second, I thought I was about to be humiliated or brushed off, but then…

"Have you made up your mind?" he asked with a calm tone, catching me completely off guard.

The smile on my face faltered. "About what?"

He lowered his head slightly, motioning toward the bouquet of flowers still in his hand. Then, as his eyes met mine again, his face remained composed, almost serene, as he spoke, "About being my woman."