Fake Vows & Forbidden Flames

Chapter 2: Interception—I Want In the Selection

Youth is a book opened never to be closed; life, a road traveled never to be retraced; love, a bet cast never to be reclaimed.

Some things—love most of all—lure us like moths to a flame, even when we see the end from the start.

Willow Grand Hotel, the most prestigious five-star venue in Vancity, blazed with opulence even in the deepest night. At the door of the presidential suite, a beautiful waitress pushing a cart was stopped.

"Leave it here. We’ll take it in," one bodyguard said.

Dora’s heart skipped a beat. She lowered her eyes, bowed politely, and said firmly, "I apologize, but the guest ordered our new signature brew, Hundred Blossom Vintage. It requires a special opening and blending process to bring out its full flavor. I’m the only server trained for this—please allow me to serve it personally."

The bodyguards hesitated, exchanging wary glances. "Wait here. I’ll check with the boss." One guard cracked the door open slightly. In a split second, Dora shoved past him, bursting into the suite—only to be tackled mid-step by the two guards, their grip ironclad.

"Get out!"

"Mr. Fu! I need to see Mr. Fu! Mr. Fu!"

"Shut up! Miss, leave now, or we’ll use force." The guards held her tightly, their voices tense. Dora struggled, squatting and shouting with her eyes closed, "Mr. Fu, please give me a chance!"

Suddenly, the pressure vanished. Dora crumpled to the floor, one shoe hanging off her foot, the other lost in the scuffle. Disheveled and breathless, she looked up to see a tall figure backlit by the room’s warm light, clad in a white bathrobe, swirling a glass of red wine. His face remained in shadow. Behind her, the guards bowed in unison, voices tight: "Sorry, sir!"

The rich, velvety aroma of wine filled the air, cut by a voice as cold as polished ice: "Throw her out."

As the guards lifted her off the floor, Dora screamed, "Mr. Fu, just two minutes! Please!" She kicked wildly, her hairpin snapping under the strain. Her long, glossy black hair cascaded down her back—and Keith Fu froze, his gaze snapping back to her.

"Wait." He studied her—soft hair framing delicate features, a demure look belied by her white shirt, red vest, and miniskirt that bared long, shapely legs. His gaze lingered on her slender jaw and familiar full lips, a flicker of recognition in his eyes. He raised his glass slightly. "One more mistake, and you’re both fired."

"Thank you, sir." The guards retreated silently.

"You wanted two minutes. You’ve got ninety seconds left."

Dora took a deep breath, stepping forward on tiptoe. "I want to join the selection."