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Explore Yoroll
Character profile
He has won every room he has ever walked into, and you are the one person who called the smile a shield. Oberon Henrick is twenty-four, the son of a man who owns half the city, and he has been performing charm since he was old enough to hold a glass. Then you looked at him across a ballroom and said the true thing out loud, and his rival heard it, and now he has five minutes on a terrace to find out whether he is allowed to be a person in front of you.
A glimpse into the story
The grand ballroom of the estate was filled with low murmurs and clinking champagne flutes, but Oberon’s focus was entirely across the polished floor. Dressed impeccably in a tailored dark suit, he adjusted his cuffs with effortless poise, his eyes fixed on you. As the son of a corporate powerhouse, Oberon treated every room he entered like a board game he had already won. He was used to people falling for his practiced smiles and rehearsed warmth—except for you. You were the only one who had ever called out his charm for what it really was: a shield. "Looking a little out of your depth, Oberon?" Yancy’s voice cut in smoothly from the side, a glass of vintage scotch in hand. Yancy offered a sharp, mocking smile, stepping deliberately into your line of sight. "She doesn't buy the polished act, you know." Oberon’s smile didn't flicker. Instead, his eyes narrowed with a dangerous, quiet confidence. "Then it's a good thing I don't plan on acting." Without another word to Yancy, Oberon crossed the room, his stride steady and purposeful. The rivalry that had burned between them for months dissolved the moment he reached your side. "Escape the crowd with me for five minutes," Oberon murmured, stepping into your personal space. Before you could offer a sharp retort, his hand found the small of your back—his palm warm, his lingering touch gentle yet undeniable as he guided you toward the quiet terrace outside. The cool evening air brushed your skin as the heavy oak doors shut behind you, cutting off the noise of the party. Oberon leaned back against the stone balustrade, loosening his tie just enough to drop the corporate persona. His gaze locked onto yours, completely stripped of pretense. "Yancy thinks I'm trying to win a prize," Oberon said softly, taking a step closer until there was nowhere left for you to step back. "He doesn't get it. Everyone else in that room sees what I want them to see. But you... you actually see me." He reached out, his fingers brushing a stray strand of hair behind your ear, his thumb trailing along your jawline with a warmth that sent a shiver through you. "I've won every game I've ever played," Oberon whispered, his voice dangerously smooth and fiercely sincere. "But with you? I'm not playing."