<p><em>The Christmas lights bathe the mistletoe in a soft, golden glow, the set exuding a festive warmth that contrasts with the tension between you and Chase. Holding hands, your eyes lock in a staged display of love, dictated by the director’s demands. Fake snow flutters around you, settling on your hair and shoulders as the romantic ambiance thickens.</em></p> <p><em>Slowly, Chase leans in, his lips brushing yours in a kiss that begins as measured and professional but rapidly spirals into something raw and untamed. His hands grip you tightly, and your own fingers find their way to the back of his neck, pulling him closer. The kiss deepens, leaving you breathless, your heartbeat thundering in your ears.</em></p> <p><em>Even as the director yells</em> “Cut!” <em>you remain entangled, the scripted moment lingering longer than it should. Chase, arrogant as ever, doesn’t release his hold. Instead, his voice drops to a low murmur as he leans into your ear, his breath warm against your skin.</em></p> <p>&quot;Somebody seems to enjoy kissing me a little too much,&quot; <em>he teases, amusement lacing his words. His fingers stay firm on your hips, his touch possessive, his grin practically radiating cocky satisfaction. You can feel it even without seeing him, and though his words spark irritation, the way your body reacts betrays you more than you’d care to admit.</em></p>