His mother watched from across the room, eyes sparkling with mischief.
"Ohhhh," she whispered to her friends, "my future daughter-in-law is adorable."
Andrea was obliterated.
Totally defeated by wine.
If alcohol were a person, it would be standing over her like: "Fatality."
The CEO practically carried her into the room—she kept trying to walk but her legs had entered jelly mode.
As soon as they reached the bed, Andrea collapsed face-first onto the mattress like it was her long-lost soulmate.
"Why… is the ceiling… breakdancing?" she slurred.
"It's not," he muttered, rubbing his temples. "You had five glasses."
She held up her fingers. There were eight of them somehow.
"Nooo… only… two. Or three. Or… they kept refilling themselves! Magic!"
He exhaled a long sigh.
She giggled like that sigh was the funniest joke in the universe.
"You're angry," she pouted.
"I'm not angry."
"You're VERY angry."
She poked his chest. "Your eyebrows are doing the thing."
"What thing?"
"The 'I want to lecture her but she's too cute' thing."
He froze. "…What?"
"And your face is handsome," she added in a small whisper, like it was a secret she wasn't supposed to say out loud.
That nearly killed him.
Before he could respond, she sat up abruptly, grabbed his shoulders, pulled him close—
—and bit his neck.
"OW—ANDREA!" he jerked back, eyes wide. "What are you—?!"
She blinked slowly.
"That was a grape," she announced proudly.
"THAT WAS ME."
"You taste like… man."
"You're actually insane."
She blinked again.
Then frowned.
Then suddenly melted into him, her forehead thunking against his chest.
"You make my heart do the stupid boom-boom sparkly thing," she mumbled, voice muffled.
His breath hitched.
"Andrea," he said softly, "look at me."
"Noooo." She burrowed deeper. "Your face is dangerous. Too handsome. I can't look. I might… I might… fall."
"Fall where?" he whispered.
"Into… feelings," she murmured, closing her eyes.
He went absolutely still.
Then she tugged his wrist weakly.
"Don't go. Stay."
Something in him just—broke. Softly.
"…Okay," he whispered. "I'll stay."
She flopped down, dragging his arm with her until her head rested on it.
Within seconds she was asleep, breathing peacefully.
He watched her, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.
Then his fingers drifted to the spot on his neck where she bit him.
He actually laughed—quiet, stunned, disbelieving.
"You're going to be the death of me," he murmured.
He didn't leave.
He stayed beside her all night, heart racing like it was competing in the Olympics.
Because that stupid sparkly boom-boom thing?
Yeah.
He had it too.
Time for Andrea to wake up… and regret every molecule of wine she touched.
Sunlight sliced through the curtains like it had a personal vendetta.
Andrea groaned, pulling a pillow over her face.
Her head hurt.
Her soul hurt.
Even her eyelashes hurt.
"Why does breathing feel illegal…?" she croaked.
She sat up slowly, rubbing her temples—and froze.
Her dress from last night hung neatly over a chair.
She was wearing an oversized shirt.
A man's shirt.
"…whose…" she whispered.
Then she smelled it.
Clean. Fresh. Expensive.
Like cedar and winter and a jawline.
Her shirtless, rich, annoyingly handsome roommate.
"NO WAY—" she squeaked.
Right on cue, the bathroom door opened.
The CEO walked out, still towel-drying his hair, wearing his black pajama pants and a sleepy expression.
"Morning," he said casually.
Andrea turned into a petrified squirrel.
"M-M-MORNING?!" she sputtered.
He raised a brow.
"You're loud for someone who almost kissed the carpet in the hallway last night."
"I DID NOT—"
"You also tried to fight a potted plant," he added.
Andrea covered her face. "Please tell me that's all."
"…and then you told the waiter you could 'outdrink the whole galaxy'—"
"STOP."
"…and insisted the wine tasted like 'purple happiness with a punch.'"
"STOP STOP."
He leaned closer with a little smirk.
"Oh. And you bit me."
Her soul violently left her body.
She scrambled to the edge of the bed.
"THAT DID NOT HAPPEN."
He pushed his hair aside.
There it was.
A faint red mark on his neck.
A Andrea-sized bite.
Andrea gasped like she just witnessed her own crime scene.
"I—I—I WAS HUNGRY—NO—I MEAN—THE WINE—THE GRAPES—YOU LOOKED LIKE A GRAPE—NO—WAIT—"
He crossed his arms. "I tasted like a grape?"
"I don't KNOW, okay?! My mouth just DID A THING!"
He laughed—an actual, warm laugh that made him look unfairly attractive.
Andrea, mortified beyond death, shrieked into a pillow.
"Never give me wine again," she mumbled. "If I drink, I will bite humanity."
"You only bit me."
"THAT MAKES IT WORSE!"
He sat on the edge of the bed, leaning in so their faces were dangerously close.
"Relax. It was… cute."
"NO IT WASN'T."
"It was very cute."
She opened her mouth to argue—and then—
her stomach growled. Loudly.
He sighed.
"Come on. I made breakfast."
"You… cooked?" she blinked.
"Yes. Because someone," he poked her forehead, "needs food and electrolytes before she bites me again."
She grabbed the pillow and threw it at him.
He caught it easily, smirking.
"Get ready," he said. "And drink water. A lot."
As he walked toward the door, Andrea blurted:
"…Did I say anything else last night?"
He paused.
Looked back.
A small, knowing smile tugged at his lips.
"Yes. But I'll let you remember that on your own."
Then he left.
Andrea sat there clutching the bedsheet, face on fire.
"What. Did. I. Say.?!"
The next morning, the CEO was fresh, crisp, ironed, and pretending he did not almost lose his mind last night.
Andrea… was Andrea.
Which meant she walked out of her room looking like the physical embodiment of "my brain is still buffering."
Her hair was in a messy bun, her eyes were half-open, and she was munching on a slice of bread like it was the only thing keeping her alive.
The CEO watched her with the most judgy side-eye ever.
"You look like a raccoon who lost a fight," he said.
She glared.
"You look like someone who never had fun in his entire life."
"Correct," he muttered.
They were about to walk out when—
The mother burst in with her phone.
Her eyes were sparkling.
"Kids… why are you both trending on social media?"
Both froze.
Both blinked.
Both: "WHAT?!"
She shoved her phone between them.
And there it was:
A photo from last night's banquet.
The CEO holding Andrea by the waist, her face close to his collar, his hand gripping her like she'd float away.
Another picture of him carrying her bridal-style.
A clip of Andrea drunkenly poking his cheek while he looked ten seconds away from combusting.
And the captions were chaotic:
"COLD CEO MELTS FOR MYSTERY GIRL?!""WHO IS THIS WOMAN AND WHY IS HE LOOKING AT HER LIKE THAT?""HE EVEN CARRIED HER OMGGGG???""Is this his secret girlfriend?"
Andrea wanted to die peacefully under the tiles.
The CEO's jaw tightened so hard the air trembled.
Andrea: "I swear— I swear I don't even remember doing that poking part—"
Mother: "I do! I saw it! It was adorable!"
CEO: "Mother."
Mother: "Soooo, when is the wedding?"
Both Andrea & CEO: "WE ARE NOT—!!!"
The mother laughed and walked away like she just dropped a nuclear bomb.
Meanwhile, the CEO checked his phone.
Hundreds of messages.
His board members, managers, friends, investors—
All asking:
"Who is she?"
He glared at Andrea like it was HER fault gravity existed.
"This is why," he hissed, "I don't take people who can't handle alcohol."
Andrea puffed up.
"You let me drink!"
"You grabbed the glass yourself!"
"You didn't stop me!"
"You drank like a dehydrated camel!"
"I WAS CELEBRATING!"
They were still bickering when the secretary came running.
"Sir— the entire company knows. They think she's… your girlfriend."
Silence.
Andrea turned purple.
The CEO's brain crashed.
Girlfriend? With her? With this chaotic disaster?
But also…
His heartbeat didn't entirely disagree.
"Fix it," he ordered.
"But, sir," the secretary hesitated, "should I deny… everything?"
The CEO looked at Andrea.
She looked back.
Both awkward.
Both pretending nothing from last night happened.
Both remembering exactly what happened.
Finally, he said through clenched teeth,
"…Just say nothing."
Andrea's eyes widened.
"WHY?!"
"Because if we deny it, the press will chase harder."
"And if we say nothing?"
He looked away.
"…Rumors die on their own."
She blinked.
"Are you sure you're not… embarrassed of me?"
He froze.
Completely froze.
His ears betrayed him first—
turning the faintest, traitorous shade of red.
"I'm not embarrassed," he muttered, looking anywhere except at her, "I just don't like chaos."
She smiled softly.
Warm. Real. Dangerous.
"That sounds like embarrassment."
He shot her a death glare.
She just winked.
"Good morning, boyfriend."
"ANDREA—"