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Chapter 1

******

Across town, he sat on a high stool, holding his half-empty glass of whiskey and wondering for the millionth time why he had agreed to come alone with her—"the Devil," as he liked to call her—and his so-called "friends." He stressed the quotation marks heavily in his mind, knowing that he didn't really trust any of them except for one, and even then, he hated being part of this famous circle.

He glanced around the luxurious nightclub, which was exclusive to VIPs. The place was a masterpiece of design, with sparkling chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, casting a soft, golden glow over the room. The walls were lined with plush velvet in deep, rich colors, and sleek, modern furniture was strategically placed to create intimate conversation areas.

A grand, polished marble bar stretched along one side, manned by bartenders who moved with practiced elegance. The air was filled with a subtle, intoxicating blend of expensive colognes and perfumes, mingling with the soft hum of conversation and the low thump of bass from the DJ's booth.

He shifted his gaze to her, dancing energetically with her friends. Her outfit, a "micro top" and a mid-thigh leather skirt, left little to the imagination, drawing appreciative looks from other men.

Her skin glowed under the club's ambient lighting, each movement accentuating her curves. Surprisingly, he felt no jealousy. Shouldn't he be outraged and possessive, wanting to hide her from those lustful gazes? At least one of his characters might react that way.

But all he could think about was sneaking away to his couch. The thought made him smile—a smile worth a million dollars, making him ten times more attractive. He wasn't completely wasted, just a bit tipsy. With that thought, he stood up, stumbling slightly, and walked toward where she was dancing and laughing.

She smiled proudly at the sight of him, but her neatly trimmed eyebrows furrowed when she noticed his unsteady walk. She stopped dancing, her focus shifting entirely to him as he approached. When he reached her, he grasped her shoulder and, in a slurred and shouting voice, said, "Yo, would you look at maaa girl here? She looks hot! I mean, look at that Microwave top she's wearing..." His sentence was abruptly cut off as she placed a hand over his mouth, her eyes darting nervously around the room. Some patrons had started to recognize him, their curious glances turning into murmurs.

Smiling nervously, she returned her attention to him, wrapping her arms around his neck as if they were dancing. She leaned in and whispered angrily in his ear, "I thought you weren't drinking today?" He looked at her with amusement, pouting his lips and responding in a bored, slurred tone, "Well, I did, so..." He let the rest of his sentence hang in the air.

Maintaining their dance-like pose, she whispered again, her tone hard and impatient, "I won't let you embarrass me like you did last time, remember?" His eyes darkened momentarily as the memory resurfaced, but he quickly resumed his playful demeanor, shaking his head and teasing her in a flawless Southern accent, "No, ma'am, I don't."

Her annoyance grew, exacerbated by his apparent lack of concern. She closed her eyes, attempting to calm her rising anger, then pulled back to look into his eyes. With a perfect smile painted on her red lips, she said in an English accent, "Well, then we need to get you out of here, don't we?" He gazed at her for a moment before closing his eyes and murmuring, "I already called Jack..."

He fell silent for a long moment, and when her patience wore thin, she nudged his shoulder. He appeared to snap out of a daze and, with hooded eyes, slurred, "What? What happened?"