INT. DIOR PRIVATE SHOWROOM - DAYClara stepped into the exclusive boutique, welcomed with champagne."Mrs. Davenport," the manager greeted her warmly. "What can we do for you today?""A few looks for dinner, for press, and maybe for destruction," she said with a smirk.The stylists giggled nervously."Try the Valentino off-shoulder with the black heels," Clara instructed. "And no florals, I’m done looking like a housewife. I want to look like a threat."INT. FRENCH RESTAURANT - AFTERNOONClara sat with her assistant, sipping rosé."Check the PR calendar," she said. "I want to host a charity event next week. A women’s empowerment theme. Make sure all the press gets wind.""Of course. And the venue?""Somewhere tasteful. Nothing that smells like old money. I want modern power.""Noted.""And tell my facialist to come to the house tomorrow. My skin needs to glow. I want the blogs to cry over how radiant I look."INT. LUXURY SALON - LATE AFTERNOONClara sat under a hair dryer while flippi
The chandelier, a monstrosity of crystal and gaudy gold, dripped light like honey, coating everything in a syrupy sheen of wealth. I took a sip of my lukewarm champagne, the bubbles doing little to soothe the acid churning in my stomach. "Gilded cage," I muttered under my breath, the phrase feeling particularly apt. This whole scene, this extravagant charade, was a cage built of borrowed money and desperate hopes, and my family were willingly locking themselves inside.I surveyed the room, a grotesque tableau of forced smiles and strained conversations. My parents, Mr. and Mrs. Moreau, were the ringleaders of this circus, their faces plastered with an almost manic joy. They flitted between guests, their bodies practically vibrating with the effort of appearing relaxed and affluent. My mother's dress, a shimmering emerald number, was undoubtedly purchased on credit, a fact that only I seemed to recognize. My father, usually slumped and defeated, stood ramrod straight, puffing out his c
The Moreau mansion, a monument to faded glory and burgeoning mildew, sagged under the weight of its own disappointment. It was a stark contrast to the Davenport estate, a place Liam had only glimpsed the night before, a glittering promise of wealth and power he felt entitled to. Here, paint peeled like sunburnt skin, revealing layers of neglect beneath. The air hung thick with the scent of dust, regret, and Mrs. Moreau’s perpetually simmering anxieties.Liam navigated the creaking floorboards of the library, the only room in the house that still held a semblance of its former grandeur. He ran a finger along the spine of a leather-bound book, the title long since obscured by age and grime. He didn’t care about literature; he cared about leverage. And Julian Davenport was the ultimate lever.For the past few hours, Liam had been devouring every article, every blog post, every whispered rumor he could find about Julian Davenport. His search history was a testament to his growing obsessio
The 'Obsidian Lounge' was a monument to excess, all polished chrome and strategically placed lighting designed to flatter the obscenely wealthy. Liam, dressed in a tailored black suit he'd nearly starved himself to afford, felt like a particularly gaudy ornament amidst the human chandeliers. He’d spent hours agonizing over the outfit, wanting to project an image of effortless sophistication, a stark contrast to the Moreau family’s perpetually strained finances. He needed to be noticed, not just seen, by Julian Davenport.He perched on a high stool at the bar, nursing a single, exorbitantly priced martini. He’d chosen a spot with a clear view of the entrance, his senses on high alert. He practiced nonchalant sips, his eyes scanning the room, his mind a whirlwind of rehearsed lines and calculated gestures. This was it. The first act of his carefully crafted play for revenge.He spotted Julian Davenport the moment he walked in. He was a silhouette of power, his dark suit impeccably tailo
The address Julian’s assistant had sent me led to a penthouse apartment that practically scraped the sky. Stepping out of the taxi, I felt a familiar prickle of anxiety. This was it. The point of no return. I was about to walk into the lion’s den, armed with nothing but my wit and a hefty dose of self-loathing.The lobby was all polished chrome and hushed whispers. The doorman, a man who looked like he’d been carved from granite, eyed me with suspicion before reluctantly buzzing me up.The elevator doors opened directly into the apartment. And what an apartment it was. Floor-to-ceiling windows offered a panoramic view of the city, spread out like a glittering carpet at my feet. The furniture looked like it belonged in a museum, all sharp angles and minimalist design. It was breathtaking, and utterly sterile.He was standing by the window, a glass of amber liquid swirling in his hand. He turned as I entered, and all coherent thoughts momentarily fled. He was even more devastatingly han
My phone buzzed insistently on the nightstand, dragging me from a fitful sleep. It was 2:17 AM, according to the glowing display. Who the hell was calling at this hour? Probably Clara, needing validation for some perceived slight against her perfect existence. I swiped to answer, my voice thick with sleep and irritation."Yeah?""Liam?" The voice was low, a smooth baritone that sent a shiver down my spine despite my annoyance. Julian Davenport."Speaking," I managed, suddenly wide awake. "What do you want?""I want you. At the Grand Royale Hotel. Penthouse suite. Be there in an hour."My eyebrows shot towards my hairline. "Excuse me? We didn't exactly exchange numbers, did we? How did you even get my contact?"A chuckle, dark and amused, echoed through the phone. "Darling, getting your number wasn't exactly rocket science. Let's just say resources are not an issue. Now, are you going to waste time asking questions, or are you going to get your ass over here?"The audacity. The sheer,
My head was pounding. Not a gentle, "too much cheap wine" pound, but a jackhammer-to-the-skull, "did-I-get-hit-by-a-bus?" kind of pound. I pried my eyes open, the afternoon sun slanting through the gap in the curtains like a searchlight. Groaning, I managed to sit up, immediately regretting it as the room spun.Where the hell was I?The last thing I remembered was…wine. Lots of wine. And then…nothing.My blurry gaze finally focused. Plush carpet, a panoramic view of the city stretching out below, and the hushed luxury of a hotel suite that screamed "expense account." And then I saw him.Julian Davenport.He was perched on the edge of a chaise lounge, bathed in the glow of a Macbook screen, all sharp angles and focused intensity. He looked every inch the CEO, even in a casual (but undoubtedly obscenely expensive) cashmere sweater. The click of the keys stopped as he registered my movement."Ah, you're awake," he said, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down my spine, even when I
The champagne flute nearly shattered in my grasp as Clara’s voice, sharp and brittle as spun glass, cut through the murmur of the art auction. "Liam? What in God's name are you doing here? And with Julian?"I forced a careless shrug, the expensive silk of Julian's suit whispering against my skin. It felt like a shield, a buffer against the storm I knew was brewing. "Just enjoying the… ambiance, Clara. Found myself with some free time. Fancy seeing you here too.""Don't play coy with me," she hissed, her eyes narrowed to glittering slits. "You didn't just find yourself here. He brought you, didn’t he? You actually let my fiancée make you his date for the evening." Her voice cracked on the last word, betraying the tremor of hurt beneath the anger.I took a slow sip of champagne, enjoying the way it burned its way down. "Actually," I said, letting the lie slide off my tongue with practiced ease, "I bumped into Julian. He was… a little lost, looking for you, I presume. He asked me to play
INT. DIOR PRIVATE SHOWROOM - DAYClara stepped into the exclusive boutique, welcomed with champagne."Mrs. Davenport," the manager greeted her warmly. "What can we do for you today?""A few looks for dinner, for press, and maybe for destruction," she said with a smirk.The stylists giggled nervously."Try the Valentino off-shoulder with the black heels," Clara instructed. "And no florals, I’m done looking like a housewife. I want to look like a threat."INT. FRENCH RESTAURANT - AFTERNOONClara sat with her assistant, sipping rosé."Check the PR calendar," she said. "I want to host a charity event next week. A women’s empowerment theme. Make sure all the press gets wind.""Of course. And the venue?""Somewhere tasteful. Nothing that smells like old money. I want modern power.""Noted.""And tell my facialist to come to the house tomorrow. My skin needs to glow. I want the blogs to cry over how radiant I look."INT. LUXURY SALON - LATE AFTERNOONClara sat under a hair dryer while flippi
“I’m giving you what you wanted,” he said, darkly. “Time to have our honeymoon. Let me fuck you till you beg and scream.” Clara struggled as he pushed her onto the bed.“No. This isn’t what I want.”He climbed over her, his breath reeking of alcohol.“Yes it is. You’re my slut. I made that clear when you married me." He bit her neck roughly, his hands tearing at her robe.Clara tried to push him off, but he was too strong. Too drunk. She whimpered, fear and rage swirling in her stomach.He tore her panties off. “Julian, please,” she gasped. “Not like this.”He didn’t listen. He flipped her over, yanking her hips up.“Fuck, your pussy is tight,” he grunted, plunging inside her without warning.Clara cried out, her face pressed into the pillow as he pounded into her relentlessly.“Beg for me, my wife,” he hissed. “Beg like a good little slut.”She gritted her teeth. “Never.”He laughed, his movements becoming rougher, faster. “You will.”Clara squeezed her eyes shut, biting her lip u
Clara slipped into her most charming smile, engaging with each person, shaking hands, posing for pictures, sipping wine with ease. For the next hour, she played her role — the elegant, sweet, composed wife of Julian Davenport.Then came the moment she had been dreading.Mr. Davenport himself approached her with two glasses of whiskey in hand. He offered her one.“Clara, how are things with my son?”Clara smiled sweetly. “Wonderful. We’re… settling in.”“Settling in, hm?” He raised an eyebrow.She chuckled. “We might just give you an heir soon.”Mr. Davenport let out a hearty laugh. “That’s what I like to hear! An heir would be perfect. You keep him in line, alright?”“I’ll do my best, sir,” Clara replied, her smile firm despite the bitterness in her chest.As Mr. Davenport turned to greet someone else, Clara took a deep breath.“You okay?” her mother asked, suddenly by her side again.“I’m fine.”“You handled that well.”“Mom,” Clara said, lowering her voice, “do you ever feel like yo
(Clara v Julian pov)"Isn't that her?"Clara paused, her fingers brushing over a silk dress on the rack. Her ears perked up as the low whispers crept through the brightly lit boutique."I think that’s the woman one of the Davenport twins married.""Yeah, I heard it was Julian—God, such a shame. The guy’s barely smiled since the wedding.""No honeymoon either. Right after the wedding, he went back to the office like nothing happened."Another voice snickered, “Did you see their wedding photo? His smile was so stiff, looked like he was being forced at gunpoint.”Clara turned slowly. Two women across the room quickly averted their eyes, pretending to admire handbags.She smiled coldly and called out, “Manager!”The manager, a petite woman in a tight black dress, rushed over. “Yes, Mrs. Davenport?”Clara slapped her across the face.Gasps erupted from across the boutique.“This,” Clara said, voice calm and poised, “is for letting your clients talk rudely in your shop. Run your business be
The music built to a crescendo, and Liam’s movements became more intense, more desperate. He could feel a heat building inside him, a need that he couldn’t ignore.As the music faded away, Liam stood there, breathing heavily. Drew was still watching him, his chest rising and falling rapidly.“You’re incredible, very incredible.” Drew breathed, stepping closer.Liam didn’t move. He felt light-headed, like he was floating outside his body.Drew reached up, brushing a strand of hair from Liam’s forehead. His touch was gentle, almost tender.“Thank you,” he murmured.Before Liam could react, Drew leaned in and pressed his lips against Liam’s. The kiss was soft at first, but quickly deepened. Liam found himself responding, his body arching toward Drew’s.Drew pulled away, his breathing ragged. He looked at Liam with something like wonder in his eyes.“I…don't..” Liam started, but trailed off, not sure what to say.Drew placed a finger against Liam’s lips. “You don’t have to say anything,”
Vivian turned on her heel, walking out of the study without looking back. She knew that this was just the beginning, but she was ready for it. She would do whatever it took to get what she wanted, no matter the cost.Vivian left the study a few minutes later, storming down the hall, her face tight with fury. She entered the guest room she’d used before and began tossing her things into a suitcase.“I’ll do anything to get what I want,” she muttered through clenched teeth. “Anything.”A Davenport driver dropped her off at Jasper’s apartment complex. She knocked twice. The door opened moments later.Jasper stood in the doorway, his eyes narrowing instantly. “Why are you here?”Vivian shoved past him, her suitcase wheels rattling. “Why don’t you ask your pa, sweetie,” she said sweetly, tossing her hair and heading upstairs.Jasper slammed the door shut and immediately pulled out his phone. “What the hell are you playing at?” he barked once the line connected.Mr. Davenport’s voice was ca
Later that afternoon, Vivian stepped into the massive Davenport estate, her heels clicking against the marble. She walked directly toward the study where she knew he’d be.Mr. Davenport was behind his desk, a cigar in one hand and a glass of scotch in the other. “Vivian,” he greeted, his voice smug. “Where’ve you been?”“Handling my business,” she replied coolly.He chuckled. “Just be careful, dear. Sloppiness will cost you more than it earns.”She rolled her eyes slightly. “I’m always careful.”“Good,” he said, setting the glass down. “You’ll be moving in with Jasper today.”She gave a small nod. “Fine.”“But,” he said, standing and walking slowly toward her, “there’s one more thing you need to do before you leave.”Her eyes followed his hand as it went to his belt buckle. "C'mon girl, you know I will pay, and you remember the night you gave me the best night at the striper's club where I found you." Vivian sighed internally. Not again. But she needed the money, needed the power he
"Touch yourself," he ordered.She obeyed, her fingers finding her clit."Yes," he hissed. "Make yourself cum."Vivian stroked herself, her body trembling with pleasure. She could feel her orgasm building."Wait for me, stop rushing," the man growled.She nodded, biting her lip.He increased his pace, his thrusts becoming erratic."Now, cum for me you little slut" he commanded.Vivian cried out, her body convulsing as her orgasm hit her, sweat leaving her skin. The man groaned, finding his own release inside her.They lay there for a moment, catching their breath."That was good, really good," Vivian said softly.He nodded. "You're such a good slut, you always deliver."She smiled. "It's what you pay me for."The man kissed her once more, then got comfortable on the bed."My wife might just die," he said. "The cancer might just definitely kill her, and I'm not cheating on my wife, man got needs, I need to fuck."Vivian sat up, watching him. "Of course."The man looked at her, a glint i
Drew glanced at the clock with a smirk curling at his lips. "Ah, right on time," he murmured, rising from the couch with the smooth confidence of someone who already knew the outcome of the next few minutes.He tugged at the hem of his shirt, straightening it with practiced ease before heading to the door. From the other end of the room, Liam watched him, his arms folded, a faint crease forming between his brows.A knock echoed. Drew opened the door.A man in a courier uniform stood outside, holding a large cardboard box. "Package for Mr. Drew Miller."Drew’s grin widened. "That’s me."Without hesitation, he took the clipboard, scribbled his signature in a messy scrawl, and accepted the package. His eyes gleamed with something unreadable as he closed the door and carried the box to the center table.Liam shifted uneasily. "What’s that?"Drew looked at him with a grin. "What do you think?"Liam's brow furrowed. "I... I don't know."Drew pulled a small knife from the drawer and sliced t