Evan Lee's POV
I sit at the head of the conference table, posture straight, expression unreadable — the perfect image of control. The Lee BioHealth executives speak one after another, presenting the new project proposal. The room is silent except for the hum of the projector, the faint shuffle of papers, and the sound of my pulse drumming in my ears.
Then it starts again.
That warmth — that damn warmth — blooming beneath the skin between my shoulder and neck, right where his mark burns faintly under my shirt collar. My fingers brush it instinctively, and I freeze.
That scent.
Black Orchid.
God, not again. It isn't just faint this time — it's everywhere. Thick, rich, intoxicating. The air feels heavy with it, as if the entire room is drenched in that dark, velvety aroma.
