The accusation was like a cloud that wouldn't go away. Evander remained perfectly still, leaning casually against the balcony railing, the night's chill brushing against his skin. His sharp, dark eyes locked onto hers briefly before sliding away, uninterested. He had no intention of engaging. The faint scent of her perfume—something sweet and vaguely floral—mixed with the smoke from his extinguished cigarette.
But she didn't seem the type to let it go.
Evander watched from the corner of his eye as the woman began walking toward him, her steps uneven, clearly affected by the alcohol coursing through her veins. Her heels clicked on the balcony floor, off-balance with every step, but somehow she kept going. She stopped a mere three steps away, swaying slightly but managing to keep her balance. Close enough for him to see her clearly now.
Her auburn hair, soft and wavy, caught the moon's glow, giving it a warm, coppery shine. It tumbled over her shoulders, messy yet appealing, as if she'd spent all night dancing wildly. Her skin was pale, lightly freckled, and flushed from the alcohol. Wide green eyes stared at him with a mix of curiosity and mischief. She was petite, her frame delicate but exuding an energy that seemed too big for her body. The tight black dress she wore hugged her figure, its simplicity amplifying her natural beauty.
Evander's expression didn't change, though a small part of him wondered if this woman—this strange, drunken creature—was here to try seducing him like the woman from earlier. Most women he encountered had a certain approach, a practiced confidence paired with teasing laugh that seemed rehearsed. But this one… she was different. Her grin was crooked, and her energy radiated unpredictability.
"You're handsome as f—" she slurred, squinting her eyes at him as though inspecting every inch of his face.
Evander raised a brow but said nothing, his gaze flickering back to the city below. He moved slowly, turning to crush the last ember of his cigarette against the cement railing beside him. The soft scrape of ash against stone filled the silence between them.
The woman didn't let his lack of response throw her off. If anything, she leaned in closer, studying him intently, as though she were trying to solve a puzzle. "You're rich, aren't you?" she asked bluntly, tilting her head as if the angle might give her the answer she sought.
Evander didn't answer, but the corner of his mouth twitched in irritation. He wasn't new to this kind of attention. Women had often sought him out not just for his looks but for his family name, the wealth attached to it like an unshakable shadow. He had learned to recognize the signs—the way their eyes lingered, the careful phrasing of their words. This one, however, had no filter at all.
"Yeah," she continued, oblivious to his silence. "You look like one of those filthy rich guys."
Evander's jaw tightened. This woman really doesn't know when to stop, does she?
The woman giggled, swaying slightly as she extended a hand toward him. "Name's Delphinia," she announced proudly, her voice carrying a strange mix of confidence and intoxication. "But you can call me Delphie, if you're nice. Now, let's see if my radar's off, but you've gotta be rich. And if you're not…" She paused dramatically, placing a finger on her chin. "You should totally consider being a gigolo."
Evander froze, blinking at her. His lips parted slightly in surprise before he quickly recovered, his usual calm expression settling back into place. He stared at her, almost questioning whether he had heard her correctly.
"I'm serious!" Delphinia added with an enthusiastic nod. "My ex-mother-in-law—ugh, horrible woman, by the way—would love a guy like you. Ugly as hell, but she's got money. She'd pay you a fortune just to sit and look pretty."
The absurdity of her suggestion hit him like a slap, and Evander let out a short, humorless laugh, more out of disbelief than amusement. Gigolo? Me? He shook his head, brushing off her words like an irritating speck of dust.
"God," he muttered under his breath, his voice laced with annoyance. "Who even are you to say something like that?"
But Delphinia wasn't fazed. In fact, she seemed to find his reaction even more entertaining. "Hey, don't knock it 'til you try it," she said, her smile widening. She got close, whispering like she had something important to share. "And, of course, I'd take a commission. You'd make bank, but I deserve my cut for setting you up."
Evander's patience was wearing thin. "Shut your mouth," he snapped, his tone sharp enough to cut through the night air. His dark eyes bore into hers, and for a moment, he expected her to recoil, maybe stammer an apology.
But Delphinia simply blinked at him, unfazed. If anything, her grin grew wider, almost as if she was enjoying his reaction. "Wow," she said, drawing the word out mockingly. "You're even crankier than you look. But I guess rich guys like you can afford to be cranky, huh?"
He turned away, gripping the railing tightly as if it might anchor him to the last threads of his composure. "Whatever problems you have," he said coldly, "they're not my concern. Go sell yourself if you're so desperate for money."
Delphinia's eyes sparkled mischievously at his words, and she tilted her head, her lips curling into a teasing smirk. "Oh, honey," she said, sweet as pie, "you offering to be my first customer?"