His Wicked Obsession (Archer and Virginia) novel Chapter 286

It was Archer.

He was wearing an immaculately tailored, pure black bespoke suit layered over a crisp white shirt. Tied at his collar was the dark gray patterned tie Virginia had picked out for him.

He wore a black-and-gold half-mask that left his sharp jawline and defined Adam's apple exposed, making him look even more ruthless and commanding.

Archer didn't even spare the man a glance. He simply turned his head slightly and dropped two low, dangerous words: "Excuse us."

Those two simple words carried the crushing authority of a man at the absolute top.

The man's face paled. Although reluctant, he was deeply intimidated by the newcomer's overpowering presence. Not daring to linger, he quickly disappeared back into the crowd.

Virginia looked up at him with a faint smile. "Finished with work?"

Archer didn't reply. His gaze shifted over her shoulder toward the distance.

A few glamorous female executives from the company were holding wine glasses, constantly stealing glances in his direction.

On his way over, no less than three women had tried to invite him for a dance, but his freezing aura had shut every single one of them down.

He pulled his gaze back, looking down into Virginia's bright eyes, and slowly extended his right hand toward her.

"Ms. Caldwell. If you would."

Virginia looked at the hand suspended in the air. The long, powerful fingers were perfectly sculpted.

Her lips curved upward as she placed her hand in his.

A spark flared in Archer's eyes. He closed his grip firmly around her slender hand and led her straight to the center of the dance floor.

The waltz music had just transitioned into its crescendo.

His large hand settled onto her lower back, the burning heat of his palm seeping straight through the thin silk. Virginia felt a jolt shoot up her spine, her breathing stuttering for a second.

They were so close that with just a slight dip of his head, she was completely enveloped in his signature scent—a heady mix of Oud & Bergamot laced with a faint trace of tobacco.

She turned her face away, but her ears betrayed her by turning a deep shade of red.

Without them realizing, the people around them had stopped dancing, their eyes fixed in awe on the couple in the center of the floor.

Even though everyone was wearing masks and their identities were hidden, the sheer magnetism they exuded—the intense, equal power dynamic crackling with undeniable chemistry—made it impossible to look away.

As the song ended, the ballroom lights flared to full brightness.

The host walked onto the stage, microphone in hand, to announce the most highly anticipated event of the night: the raffle draw.

Numbers flashed rapidly across the massive LED screen.

With a dramatic shout of "Stop!" the screen froze on the number "07."

The host beamed, his voice echoing with excitement. "Congratulations to guest number 07 for winning tonight's grand prize—a brand new, ice-berry pink Porsche Taycan!"

Virginia could hardly believe her ears. She glanced down at the number pinned near her waist and froze.