Chapter 3 A Pretty Little Disaster

The room fell into silence.

The remaining men in the private club froze, mid-drink, mid-conversation, when they heard the tipsy young woman in the purple heels look up-her lips twisted into a mischievous smile-and slur:

"You're... you're a pretty escort. I've never seen one with such nice hands."

A low cough came from the shadows.

One of the men, dressed in all black with a square jaw, narrow eyes, and a military-style buzz cut, stepped forward under the dim gold lights. His fists clenched, and his voice cut the air like broken glass.

"How dare you call the boss an escort?"

Before he could say another word, Elira Monroe turned to him, eyes glazed with alcohol and rage. And in one swift, unbothered motion, she shoved him back with surprising strength.

The man stumbled, blinking.

She didn't care. Her focus returned to the one who hadn't said a word yet.

The man she called a "pretty escort."

He towered over her, clad in a black silk dress shirt, open at the collar, his dark hair tousled like he'd walked out of a luxury cologne ad. He radiated the kind of power that made most people shrink back.

But not Elira.

No, she stepped right into his space, grinned, and giggled like a woman who had nothing left to lose.

Then-she grabbed his tie. And pulled.

Down. Down to her eye level.

"Hi there, Pretty," she whispered.

His subordinates stiffened, visibly horrified.

But the man himself? His lips twitched, almost amused. He let her tug him closer, like a cat indulging a drunken bird. His hands didn't move. His breathing didn't change.

He was watching her.

Enjoying her.

"I wanna know," Elira whispered, her breath warm and smelling faintly of honeyed whiskey. "How much do you charge for a night?"

The man raised a brow, voice low and dangerous. "Oh? Really?"

"Mmm-hmm," she nodded, fondling a lock of his hair with unexpected tenderness. "See, I was saving myself for my boyfriend. You know... that old-fashioned thing girls do? The whole no-sex-until-I-hear-church-bells fairytale. I thought I was special."

Her voice cracked.

"I thought love meant sacrifice. But turns out, love just means watching your boyfriend sleep with your best friend while you're out buying him a gift."

His brow furrowed.

She smiled, glassy-eyed.

"My sister warned me. Sabrina. She always said he was a red flag in designer clothing. But I was stupid. I was blind. Hell, I insulted my big sister." She let go of his hair, then playfully poked him in the chest. "I'll give you an advice. Don't fall in love with a man who only has good looks and a rotten attitude, Mister Escort."

Behind them, the buzzcut subordinate blinked in confusion. "Did she just give our boss dating advice?"

Another whispered behind him, "Did she just suggest Boss might date a man?"

"Is... is she saying he's gay?"

The first one paled. "She's gonna die."

But their boss didn't even flinch.

He simply gazed down at the drunken little storm in purple shoes and mascara-streaked eyes and smiled.

Then, without a word, he slipped his arm around her waist and pulled her against him.

"Gasp!" Elira squeaked, caught off guard. "What are you doing?"

He bent slightly, his voice brushing against her ear. "How do you plan to get your revenge?"

She blinked.

Then pouted.

"I don't know..." she admitted. "Something big. Something that makes Jason regret breathing. Maybe throw acid on his car. Sleep with his cousin? Hah. No. He doesn't have any family worth seducing."

He smirked, tilting his head. "No uncle?"

Elira scoffed and rolled her eyes. "Pfft, if he had a fine uncle, I'd have already seduced him and made him call me Auntie Elira."

Her words sent a silent, invisible earthquake through the room.

The subordinates looked like they might faint.

The man's smirk deepened. "Well," he said slowly, "I do know of one uncle who might be interested in helping you out."

Elira blinked up at him. Her face was flushed. Her lipstick was a little smeared. She looked both broken and beautiful.

"Really?" she giggled. "That's so nice of you."

Just as he was about to say more, Elira's eyes darkened.

"But first..." she said, turning in his arms, then reaching down to tug him by the finger, "...I want to know what sex feels like, with you. What was it that made Jason pick her over me? Was it that good?"

She let out a dramatic gasp. "Oh. Right. They're both my exes now!"

With no warning, she tugged him hard and began walking toward the velvet-lined corridor at the back of the club.

The stunned subordinates called out in horror.

"Boss!"

He looked over his shoulder and narrowed his eyes.

"Take the night off."

They went silent.

The man followed her through the corridor until they arrived at a VVIP lounge-soundproofed, sleek, gold-lit and private.

The door shut behind them with a magnetic click.

Inside, Elira kicked off her shoes and turned with drunken confidence.

"C'mon, Mr. Escort. No need to be shy. I'll pay well."

He leaned against the wall, arms folded.

"How much do you want to pay me?"

She tilted her head, grinning.

"That depends on your performance."

He studied her, noting the clarity in her slurred words. She was drunk-but still her.

Before he could say another word, she suddenly stepped forward, grabbed both his arms, and slammed them above his head against the wall.

He raised a brow, amused but motionless.

"You want the price?" she whispered, biting her lip.

He smirked. "I'm listening."

She leaned in-closer, closer-then suddenly raised her knee and nudged him right between the legs.

Not hard. Just enough.

He exhaled sharply through his nose, jaw tightening.

"It depends on your performance," she repeated in a singsong voice.

Then, with the grace of a chaotic goddess, she pushed him onto the leather lounge chair behind him. She stumbled, giggling, and fell into his lap.

And then-

She went limp.

Her head rested on his chest, her breathing slowed.

He looked down at her.

Passed. Out.

Completely unconscious.

He stared at her.

Then glanced at the whiskey bottle in the corner.

"Seriously?" he muttered. "How much did you drink?"

But before he could move her, she murmured in her sleep.

"I'll make him pay. Jason. Wasted six years..."

A slow smile curved on his lips.

He brushed a lock of hair from her face.

"Well, Elira," he murmured, "I can't wait to see what you have up your sleeve."