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Chapter 1

She rolled her glassy blue eyes and, in a velvety voice, asked angrily, "You said you called Jack, your chauffeur?" He seemed to remember and finished his sentence with a hint of mockery at her terminology, "Yes, m'lady, I called my chauffeur to take me home." Her eyes met his black ones, a visible selfishness in her gaze. "But I'm not ready to—" He interrupted, "I said he was taking ME. You can stay and enjoy the rest of your dancing." She rolled her eyes and simply said, "Okay, call me."

She let him go and returned to where her friends were now seated. He clenched his fists, grinding his teeth together as he pulled his baseball cap low over his eyes. Making his way to the back door where Jack was waiting, he couldn't help but smile sarcastically. A year ago, he had imagined it would feel fabulous to walk through the front doors, basking in the attention. But now, here he was, sneaking out the back to avoid the paparazzi who were always lying in wait for his next "incident."

The club's back exit was a stark contrast to its opulent interior. The hallway leading to the door was narrow, dimly lit, and smelled faintly of cleaning supplies and stale smoke. He moved quickly, eager to escape the prying eyes and flashing cameras. Jack stood by the sleek black car, its engine quietly humming, ready to whisk him away. He slid into the back seat, the cool leather a welcome change from the heat and noise of the club. As they drove off, he glanced back one last time, the neon lights of the club fading into the distance, replaced by the comforting darkness of the night.

*****

As soon as Jack noticed him, he quickly flew to the door to open it. He nodded in thanks and hurriedly got into the car, relieved to finally escape the focused attention. Jack, already in the driver's seat, asked, "Where to, bro?" He smiled playfully at Jack and said, "Take me home, Hommi."

They both laughed, and as Jack started driving, he looked at him knowingly and teased, "I thought you said you were drunk and needed the lift." His eyes lit with humor and mischief as he maintained an impeccable, drunken demeanor, slurring his response, "My bad..." Then, switching to his normal soft-spoken voice, he added with a sober smile, "I meant I might be drunk."

Both men laughed at the exchange. He pulled his phone out of his pocket, seeing that she had shared a story linked to his account. Now it was posted on his story as well.

He opened it, rolled his eyes, and closed his phone, tossing it onto the seat next to him. He closed his eyes wearily, leaned his head back, and tried to relax while Jack maneuvered his way through the city to his penthouse.

Entering his dark, cold, and empty penthouse, he felt it mirrored his current mental state. The penthouse was a marvel of modern design, with floor-to-ceiling windows offering a panoramic view of the city skyline. The sleek, minimalist decor featured a monochrome palette with occasional splashes of teal and gold accents.

The open-plan living area was dominated by a large, plush cream-colored sectional couch, arranged around a glass coffee table and a state-of-the-art entertainment system mounted on the wall. The room was illuminated by strategically placed recessed lighting, creating a cozy yet sophisticated ambiance.

He took off his leather jacket, throwing it aside, and took long, purposeful strides to the modern, fully equipped kitchen. The kitchen was a masterpiece of contemporary design, with high-gloss gray cabinets and a matching island topped with pristine white quartz countertops. Stainless steel appliances, including a built-in oven, microwave, and a double-door refrigerator, gleamed under the soft, ambient lighting.