Chapter 2: Seducing My Ex's Uncle

(Aline POV) I approached him with measured steps, each one carefully calculated. My heels made almost no sound on the carpet, but I knew he had already sensed my approach. I placed my wine glass steadily on the round table in front of him, my fingertips deliberately tracing the rim with a crisp, light sound. The man on the sofa opened his eyes. I nearly held my breath. Golden pupils gleamed faintly in the dim light, cold and deadly. For a moment, I even wondered if I was making a mistake. But I didn't retreat. I looked at him without smiling too sweetly or acting pitiful. I wasn't here to beg for attention. I was approaching him with purpose, fully conscious. "I'm guessing you don't like noise," I began, my tone gentle yet composed. "But you don't look like you really want to be alone either." He didn't answer immediately, just let those eyes slowly drift down, seemingly scanning me from head to toe—from my hairline to my collarbone, from my waistline to the hem of my dress. His gaze felt warm, making my body heat up inch by inch. Tonight I wore a black silk dress, form-fitting but not overly revealing. I didn't retreat; instead, I leaned forward slightly, moving an inch closer to him. I could smell his faint cologne mixed with whiskey and an indescribable masculine scent. "If you feel disturbed right now," I raised an eyebrow, "you can say so directly. Don't waste each other's time." His eyebrow arched slightly, as if my words had piqued his interest. I noticed his hands were beautiful—long and strong, currently playing carelessly with the whiskey glass in front of him. The bar's music was soft, the kind of jazz that made people lower their guard. The surrounding patrons were all absorbed in their own worlds, no one paying attention to the scene unfolding in our corner. "What's your name?" I pressed on. "I don't like flirting with people whose names I don't know." His lips moved slightly, but instead of answering, he asked: "Are you always this forward?" "No." I answered without hesitation. Then I paused, looking directly into his eyes: "I'm selective." He seemed amused: "Selective about what?" I lowered my voice, making it sound more seductive: "I choose men who make my body react." After saying this, I gave myself a mental thumbs up: Aline Winchester, seduction power at maximum. I saw his pupils contract slightly—a physiological response when a man becomes interested. After a moment, he finally uttered two words: "Evan." As he said this, his fingers continued playing with the glass, posture lazy yet controlled. I noticed his tie was loosened, the top two buttons of his shirt undone, revealing a small patch of chest. "Nice name." I complimented him. "It suits your face." I sat across from him, crossing my legs, the hem of my dress sliding down to cover my knees. "Do you have plans tonight, Evan?" The corner of his mouth curved up, unable to hide his amusement. "Aren't you afraid?" "Yes." I admitted readily. He seemed somewhat surprised by my frankness. Clearly, he hadn't expected such honesty. "But I'm more afraid of missing someone who makes my heart race." I added. "You're a smart woman." He said. "Smart people need excitement too." I raised my glass, lightly clinking it against his. "So—will you finish this drink with me?" He didn't take the glass, but slowly leaned toward me. His arm fell on the sofa back behind me, lazily encircling me. This movement was natural yet carried strong possessiveness. I could feel his body's warmth and that heart-racing masculine scent. His breath brushed against my ear as he said in a low voice: "This scent on you..." He inhaled lightly. "Very special." My heartbeat clearly skipped, but my expression remained calm. "Do you know what you're playing with?" he asked. I stared at him, responding calmly: "If you're the type who bites when provoked—" I tilted my chin up, moving even closer. The distance between us was so small I could count his eyelashes. "You can try it now." He didn't speak, just gazed at me, his eyes suddenly deepening. I knew that at this moment, the rhythm was in my hands. This sense of control excited me and made me more confident. But he suddenly asked: "Do you know who you're provoking?" This question carried a warning tone that made my heart tighten. But I didn't show it. I didn't avoid it, laughing softly: "Maybe you should ask yourself first—can you handle my provocation?" He laughed low, his voice husky like it was scratched. He stood up, slowly approaching me. His tall frame almost completely blocked the light behind me when he stood in front of me. "Want to try?" I looked up at him, yielding nothing: "Do you dare?" He suddenly leaned forward, close to my ear. I was dizzy from this scent, momentarily forgetting my purpose of seducing him. "Do you know what you taste like?" he asked softly by my ear. Before I could respond, his lips covered mine. He kissed unhurriedly but with precise, penetrating force, like he was prying open all my defenses. His kissing technique was excellent—he knew how to control rhythm, how to make a woman completely surrender. I reflexively reached up to hook around his neck, my fingertips tracing the skin under his short hair. He trembled slightly, like a beast touched at a vital spot. I lightly bit him, and he groaned low, like he was about to lose control. That sound came from deep in his chest, carrying primitive desire. Taking advantage of his ragged breathing, I leaned close to his ear and whispered: "I don't like places that smell too much like alcohol. How about—" "Let's get married." "...What?!" I was stunned, pulling back, almost thinking I'd misheard.