Night Party
612 Words
Cameras began firing the moment he stepped in.
Sara halted mid-step, watching until he was free.
He must be an idol.
He noticed her.
She stopped right at his front, smiling.
"A drink."
The server served both of them wine.
He smiled as they cheered.
"Eliot must be dumb not to have a partner." She hissed, inhaling the honey scent in the air.
"Are you single… by any chance?" The thought of her son marrying such beauty clung to her imagination.
"Yes, ma'am, I'm single." He didn't panic because he was used to people adoring him.
Hmph. What could make such beauty single? Are you unlucky?
She thought to herself, but her gaze didn't shift an inch.
"Why?"
He only smiled.
They walked together to the wine bar.
He pulled out a chair for her before taking his seat.
"Excuse me, ma'am, I want to use the restroom." He said, dropping his glass.
She nodded.
Sara watched until he was out of sight.
"Mum?" A voice brought her to reality.
She felt disgust as she spun to face whoever dared stop her bumbayah imagination.
"Hunn? Eliot?" She stirred.
He was not drunk, but an intoxicating aura surrounded him; he lowered his gaze.
"Son, this is not a place for mating or s*x. Enjoy the party and stop threatening me." She knew what her son was facing.
Either he had perceived his mate, or it was his time in the month, but why suddenly? He usually knew ahead of time, but this night was too sudden.
The people around adjusted.
"Ladies and gentlemen ..." the microphone thundered, warming the audience.
"Our host has a speech before revealing his baby's name!"
Eliot noticed a sudden change in his body; he wasn't shifting, but this had never happened.
He moved swiftly through the crowd, his movements smooth, not to hit anybody, yet every instinct screamed at him to run.
There was something—someone—he couldn't quite see, but the pull was undeniable. His chest tightened as he swallowed hard, fingers brushing instinctively against his neck, as if trying to steady the storm within him.
His scent unfurled through the hall, weaving through guests' attention.
"Could that be Sir Eliot?"
"Wow, how did we not notice him?"
The cameramen turned, lenses swinging in his direction.
"Son?"
Sara stood from her seat, following the scent.
His vision was already getting blurry as he slid the door glass open.
"Sir, what do you have to say to Mr. Felix's guest?"
The security in charge of the event closed the path.
Heart hammering, he pivoted sharply, following the memorized path.
"Is it true Sir Eliot is refusing proposals?" he heard a reporter shout.
He collided with a shoulder.
"Eliot?"
"Are you okay?"
He looked up.
His father looked at him, worry etched across his face.
"I think it's the pheromone disorder."
He brushed past his father, his control slipping by the second.
"Wait."
He spun, and his gaze fell on the reporters.
"I don't think it's time to ask a question!"
He began answering their questions.
Eliot entered the male toilet, loosening his bowtie.
He paused, inhaling subtly.
It wasn't getting better. He held the sink, gasping for air.
He turned on the tap, splashing water on his face.
A door cracked open, and the scent grew stronger.
He looked up at the mirror facing him, and a reflection caught his attention.
Golden Iris.
He tilted his head; nothing existed but that scent — intoxicating honey and impossible to resist.
He spun.
Their gaze met.
A smirk curved his lips.
"You," he murmured under his breath, a thrill running through him that made the air feel electric.
- Writer
