Starlight & Scandals：Under the Kingmaker's Spell

Imperial Plaza Hotel.

Willow Weston pulled her collar tight, shielding half of her pale, delicate face until only her bright, crystal-clear eyes were visible. Tucking herself into a quiet corner, she sent a quick message to the supervisor who had assigned the task: It looks like someone has entered the room. Should I move in?

A minute later, the reply came: OK.

She shoved her phone into her pocket and headed straight for the suite.

Reaching the door, she peeked around the corner, hesitating for several long seconds. Just as she finally steeled herself to knock, the door swung open from the inside, and an exceptionally handsome face filled her vision.

The man was tall and lean, with short, raven-black hair and sharp, chiseled features that radiated a bone-chilling coldness. He was the kind of person who carried an invisible barrier, warning others not to get too close.

"Mr. Walker, you..." Willow’s heart skipped a beat the moment she recognized him. Before she could finish her sentence, Wyatt Walker fixed her with a gaze as frigid as if he were inspecting a piece of merchandise. After two seconds of icy silence, he suddenly reached out, seized her, and yanked her into the room. The door slammed shut with a heavy thud.

His palm was scorching against her skin. Before she could recover from the shock, the towering man swept her off her feet, lifting her into a bridal carry.

"What are you doing? Put me down!" Willow’s eyes widened as she struggled against him. In the fray, her body brushed against a sensitive spot. Wyatt’s gaze darkened instantly. He tightened his grip and began striding toward the bed with purposeful steps.

The next second, Willow was tossed onto the large bed, her head spinning from the impact.

Before she could scramble away, his burning body hovered over her, his hot breath brushing against her ear. His voice was a magnetic, dangerous rasp. "Since you're here, play along. Take it off."

A shiver of electricity ran down Willow’s spine. Snapping back to her senses, she looked at Wyatt in utter shock, her hand pressing against his chest to keep him back. "Get off me!" she snapped, her face flushing with indignant rage. "I am not the kind of woman you think I am!"

Wyatt was deaf to her protests. His breathing was heavy, his cheeks flushed with a feverish heat, and the restless fire burning in his veins seemed to have no outlet.

Only the cool touch of the small hand pressed against his chest provided a sliver of relief. It acted like an antidote, seeping into his lungs and incinerating the last shred of his self-control.

The final string of his sanity snapped. Wyatt leaned down for a kiss, but Willow jerked her head aside in a panic. The kiss landed squarely on the ivory curve of her neck.

"Ah!" The sensation was like a bolt of lightning, leaving her skin tingling. Willow’s eyes welled with tears of fury. Seeing him grow even more emboldened, she fought harder, shouting, "You bastard! Let go of me!"

In the chaos, her hand brushed against a glass of water on the nightstand. She lunged for it, grabbed the glass, and threw the contents directly into his handsome face.

The icy shock of the cold water hit Wyatt instantly. His expression darkened, but the fog in his mind cleared. As he blinked the water away, he found himself staring into a pair of beautiful eyes shimmering with unshed tears. He froze for a moment.

Willow seized the opening, shoved him away with all her might, and scrambled to the corner of the room. Though she was trembling from head to toe, she forced herself to stand tall. "Mr. Walker, please show some respect. I am Willow Weston, an assistant from Starburst Media, not some woman you can just use."

She had come here on a mission for the actress Roxy Reed to verify the identity of the guest—to see if he was indeed the world-renowned kingmaker agent, Wyatt Walker.

One look had been enough to confirm it. There was no mistaking that face. If it hadn't been for the professional stakes involved, her anger would have driven her to smash the glass over his head rather than just splashing him.

Wyatt let out a mocking laugh, droplets of water tracing the sexy line of his jaw. He sat on the edge of the bed, using every ounce of his formidable willpower to suppress the fire raging within. His gaze was like a shard of ice. "Countless women have tried to climb into my bed. I will never give you another chance."

He had seen this game too many times before. He didn't want to waste even a single glance on the woman standing before him.

Willow ground her teeth. She had never met a man so incredibly vain.

Her fear evaporated, replaced by pure irritation. She marched toward him in her high heels, crossing her arms with a derisive sneer. "Mr. Walker, you certainly think a lot of yourself. I’ve seen plenty of men in my time, but I’ve never met one as boorish as you. Honestly, I’m starting to wonder if your performance in bed is just so poor that you haven't managed to land a single scandal."

The moment the words left her mouth, she felt a weight lift from her chest. But before she could savor the victory, a bone-chilling aura radiated from him. She tried to step back, but a large hand lashed out and caught her. Caught off guard, she stumbled forward and fell directly onto Wyatt’s lap.

"Ah!" Willow cried out. Before she could push herself up, his arm locked around her waist like a vice. Wyatt looked thoroughly displeased, the remnants of whatever drug was in his system making his voice dangerously low. "Then maybe I should do you right now and let you confirm it for yourself."

"You jerk! You pervert! In your dreams!" Willow swung her hand to slap him, but Wyatt was faster, catching her wrist mid-air. In the ensuing struggle, things spiraled out of control.

Willow felt the grip on her waist loosen, but her momentum was already carrying her backward. Panicked, she grabbed Wyatt’s arm, and they both went crashing onto the carpeted floor.

A heavy thud echoed through the room. Wyatt landed on top of her, his hands braced on either side of her head. In the accidental fall, his lips were pressed firmly against her soft, pink mouth. The searing contact sent a jolt through Willow; her eyes went wide, and for a heartbeat, she forgot how to breathe.

Their hearts thundered—though whose was louder, it was impossible to tell. For several seconds, the air in the room thickened with a sudden, suffocating intimacy.

Then, the shrill ring of a phone shattered the silence.

Wyatt pulled away and sat up against the side of the bed, his breath ragged and his eyes dark with intensity.

"You..." Willow started, but she couldn't find the words. Her face was flushed a deep crimson. She scrambled up and fumbled for the phone in her bag, only to find the screen black. The call wasn't for her.

She instinctively glanced at Wyatt, who had regained his composure. He answered the call, his voice low and gravelly. "What is it?"

"It’s bad, Mr. Walker! The hotel is surrounded! A horde of reporters somehow found out you were returning to the country. You need to leave through the back exit immediately!"

The assistant’s frantic shouting was loud enough for Willow to hear clearly. She frowned, a sense of unease settling in.

Wyatt let out a cold, cynical laugh. He hung up the phone and fixed Willow with a freezing, contemptuous stare. "Is this the grand finale of your little 'hard to get' routine?"

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