Peerless Perverted Actor Has a Celebrity Harem?!

The Maybach had barely begun to move before Park developed an overwhelming urge to bother Quinn.

It was childish, unnecessary and potentially dangerous, considering the woman could probably dislocate his shoulder before he finished saying beautiful.

Naturally, that only made the urge stronger.

Nothing screamed "mature life choices" like deliberately poking the beautiful, lethal woman who could fold him like cheap origami before he finished the compliment.

But, Park had never been a man who respected impossible odds.

Especially when those impossible odds had long legs, a fitted grey suit, and a face that made common sense feel optional, that waist, the way the suit didn’t soften her — it sharpened everything, like the cloth itself had decided to conspire against his remaining brain cells.

Devastating didn’t even start to cover it. She was a woman who made one grateful for bad ideas.

He reclined into the Maybach’s rear seat, watching her through the rearview mirror, one arm stretched along the soft leather while he watched her through the rearview mirror.

Quinn drove with both hands resting lightly on the wheel, posture straight, gaze steady, every movement carrying the cold precision of someone who had been trained to survive disasters before ordinary people even noticed one had begun.

The sharp grey suit did nothing to soften her.

It made everything worse.

’Worse for my ability to behave like a functional human, yes.’

The fabric clung in all the right places and none of the safe ones. Military discipline poured into a body that clearly hadn’t signed up for subtlety.

Her shoulders looked elegant beneath the fitted fabric. Her waist disappeared neatly beneath the jacket before returning in a shape that made Park’s eyes linger with shameless appreciation.

Even from behind, there was something maddeningly graceful about her, as though military discipline had been forced into a woman far too beautiful for it and had simply surrendered.

The memories had told him Quinn was attractive.

The memories were liars.

She was devastating.

The quiet kind too, which was frankly unfair.

The cursed face the halo had stuck him with already made people stare. Pairing it with a woman like this? The universe really did have a sense of humor — dark, petty, and apparently invested in his ongoing suffering-slash-entertainment.

Park rested his cheek against his knuckles.

He could already tell teasing her would be difficult.

Quinn was not bashful. She did not look like the sort of woman who would hide her face, stumble over words, or melt because some handsome idiot complimented her.

If his flirting worked, she would bury every reaction beneath that flawless composure and leave him starving for evidence.

’Exactly no easy wins here.’

She’d probably log every compliment in some internal ledger labeled "Things Park Said That Were Noted But Not Encouraged."

If he ever got a real reaction, it would be the micro kind — a breath, a glance, a single twitch of that dangerous mouth. The challenge only made it feel more like a dare.

Still, Park had advantages.

The Marvelous Halo rested around him like an invisible crown.

And apparently, Lucky had decided romance-adjacent opportunities were included in its employment contract.

He had assumed the Trait would only work on auditions, scripts, fortunate meetings, and the endless gamble of an acting career.

He had underestimated it.

Badly.

Badly was putting it gently. The system wasn’t just greasing the wheels of his career — it was actively rearranging his security detail so the most attractive, most lethal woman he knew was now legally required to stay within arm’s reach.

’Romance-adjacent? This is "potential for spectacularly bad decisions with excellent lighting" adjacent.’

"How come you’re the one picking me up?" Park asked. "Shouldn’t you be with Mom?"

Quinn’s eyes lifted to the rearview mirror.

Only briefly enough to acknowledge him.

"The Chancellor has revised your security arrangement."

Park raised a brow.

"Revised?"

"Yes. From today onward, I will command your personal detail."

The words settled inside the cabin.

Park stared at her.

Then his mouth slowly curved.

Oh.

That was not luck.

That was Luck standing over him with a basket, pouring blessings directly onto his head.

"You?" he asked, just to hear it again.

"Yes, Master Bennett."

Park sat forward.

"Quinn."

Her eyes returned to the mirror.

"I have begged you to stop calling me that."

"You have mentioned it twice."

"And each time, ’Master Bennett’ made me feel thirty years older." Park placed a hand over his chest. "It sounds like I own a vineyard, hate my children, and spend weekends discussing tax shelters."

The corner of Quinn’s mouth moved.

Barely.

Park saw it anyway.

’Progress.’

Progress. Glorious, microscopic progress.

"What about Mom?" he asked. "She trusts you with practically everything."

"The Chancellor retained sufficient protection."

"That was not what I asked."

Quinn gave him another restrained glance.

Park leaned forward between the seats, lowering his voice as though about to reveal state secrets.

"Do not misunderstand me. I am so pleased by this reassignment that ordinary language has failed me completely."

Quinn’s brow lifted.

"Has it, Sir?"

"Utterly."

He settled one forearm against the space between the front seats.

"Having you assigned to me instead of that grumpy guy; permanently offended slab of concrete is the greatest security improvement this family has made in years."

"The permanently offended slab of concrete?"

"You know exactly who I mean."

"I’m afraid I don’t."

"Tall. Grim. Built like a government bunker. Looks personally betrayed whenever sunlight touches him."

A small breath escaped Quinn.

Park’s eyes brightened.

There. The breath; the smallest, most beautiful fracture in the armor. His eyes brightened because that single exhale was better than any green light. She found it funny and him ridiculous.

’And she hasn’t murdered me yet.’

If this was luck, he was never complaining again. If this was the halo’s idea of a joke, he was ready to applaud the punchline — right up until the moment she actually dislocated something. Darkly funny how the cursed face and the ridiculous luck had conspired to put him exactly here: in the back of a Maybach, poking a dragon in a grey suit, and somehow feeling like the luckiest idiot alive.

A laugh, it was tiny, controlled, immediately imprisoned again, but he had heard it.

"The Chancellor brought the ’government bunker’ with her," Quinn said.

Park broke into a grin.

Quinn glanced at him through the mirror and found him already staring back.

For one second, neither looked away.

Then Park laughed.

Quinn tried to hold herself together.

She failed.

The laugh that slipped from her was low and unexpectedly warm, velvet dragged over steel, the kind of sound that belonged in candlelit rooms rather than armored vehicles. It softened the severe lines of her face, stole the winter from her eyes, and left Park sitting there wondering why the hell anyone had ever allowed a woman with that smile to keep it locked behind protocol.

’Gods above and below. That laugh.’

"That," he said, pointing at her reflection, "is criminal."

Quinn’s laughter faded.

"What is?"

"Your smile."

Her expression stilled.

Park did not.

He had already chosen violence he might as well carry on...