PARTY WITH JULIAN

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, unadulterated arrogance. It should have repulsed me, should have sent me scrambling for a restraining order. But instead, a thrill, a dangerous kind of excitement, coursed through me. "And if I don't?" I challenged, even though I knew I would.

"Then you'll miss out on a very interesting evening. Your choice, baby." He hung up. Uhm, it's technically morning not evening.

And, baby? The term felt oddly…intimate, possessive. I stared at my phone, a chaotic mix of emotions swirling inside me. This was it. The beginning of my grand plan, the moment I started dismantling Clara's perfect life, piece by gilded piece.

Before I could second-guess myself, I was out of bed, throwing on the least offensive clothes I owned. An hour later, I stood nervously outside the Grand Royale, its opulent facade a stark contrast to my family's crumbling townhouse. Taking a deep breath, I walked inside.

The penthouse suite was exactly what you'd expect: sprawling, impossibly chic, and reeking of wealth. Julian – or whoever this disturbingly magnetic man was – greeted me with a predatory smile. He was looking as striking as ever, his dark eyes assessing me with an intensity that made my heart pound.

"Took you long enough," he drawled, pulling me into the suite. "Come on, we have work to do."

Work? What kind of work involves a luxury hotel suite at 3 AM? Before I could ask, he whisked me into a walk-in closet the size of my bedroom. Racks of designer clothes lined the walls, shoes glittered on shelves, and accessories shimmered under the soft lighting.

"Pick something," he said, gesturing expansively. "Something… eye-catching."

I stared, dumbfounded. "What is this? Some kind of twisted Cinderella fantasy?"

He grinned, a flash of white teeth against his tanned skin. "Maybe. Or maybe I just like seeing you in pretty things." He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a husky whisper. "Especially when those pretty things show off a generous portion of that delectable body of yours… let me choose something for you."

I swallowed hard, trying to maintain my cynical facade. "What's the occasion?" I asked, trying to sound nonchalant.

He shrugged, his eyes still fixed on me. "Nothing special. Just felt like it."

After a ridiculous amount of time and a dizzying array of choices, he finally settled on a shimmering, backless dress in a deep sapphire blue. It clung to my curves, showcasing my legs and leaving little to the imagination. I felt exposed, vulnerable, and strangely…thrilled.

"Perfect," he purred, running a hand down my bare back. "Absolutely perfect."

He checked his watch, a ridiculously expensive-looking thing that probably cost more than my father's car. "Alright, time to go."

"Go where?" I asked, my anxiety levels spiking.

"To the party, of course."

"Party? What party?"

He smirked. "The party I'm hosting, darling. On a cruise ship."

I gaped at him. "You said this was nothing special!"

"And it's not," he said dismissively, leading me towards the door. "Just a little get-together. Good wine, amazing food, beautiful people… and you, of course." He paused, turning back to me with a glint in his eye. "The only thing that makes it special is your presence."

A cruise ship? A party? This was not the Julian Davenport I'd read about in the business pages. The man portrayed in the media was a ruthless CEO, a calculating businessman with no time for frivolous social gatherings. What the hell was going on?

The cruise ship was as over-the-top as I'd expected. Gleaming white decks, crystal chandeliers, and waiters offering champagne flutes at every turn. The guests were a mix of socialites, celebrities, and probably a few shady characters involved in Davenport Enterprises.

The wine flowed freely, vintage bottles I couldn't even pronounce. The food was exquisite, miniature works of art that tasted as decadent as they looked. And then there was Julian – or whoever he was pretending to be at this moment– showering me with attention. He kept me close, his hand resting possessively on my waist, introducing me to people I'd only ever seen in magazines.

He fed me oysters as if I were a toddler, complimented my (apparently) enchanting smile, and even dabbed at a stray smudge “food stain” with a silk handkerchief. It was all so…domestic. So…unexpected. So unlike anything I'd ever imagined.

He held my gaze, his eyes dark and intense. "You look beautiful tonight, Liam. Absolutely breathtaking."

I felt my cheeks flush. "Thanks," I mumbled, unable to meet his eyes.

He chuckled, tilting my chin up with a gentle finger. "Don't be shy, baby. Enjoy the attention. You deserve it."

The night blurred into a haze of champagne, compliments, and increasingly confusing emotions. Was I enjoying this? Was I actually…falling for this act? I'd always considered myself straight, or at least, not particularly interested in men… the thing is, I know I have a sinful body, I try to cover it up with baggy clothes but hell, my body be screaming “I'm sexy, look at me, I'm sexy.” I've never been with a man, and…okay, I've never been with a woman either so I don't think my sexuality has always been clear, and I've never picked interest in any man. But the way Julian looked at me, the way he touched me… it stirred something primal, something I didn't understand. Am I gay now? Had I always been?

I watched him as he walked away for a moment, still wondering how could a man so different from what the press says, exist?

As the night wore on, I couldn't shake the feeling that something was off. This wasn't the Julian Davenport I knew, or thought I knew. This man was too playful, too sensual, too…touchy-feely. The Julian Davenport in the papers was cold, calculating, and detached. This man was…warm. Almost…caring? No, that was impossible. It had to be an act. A game. And I was just a pawn.

But even as I told myself that, a small, treacherous part of me wondered if maybe, just maybe, there was more to t

his than met the eye. And that maybe, just maybe, I was starting to like it.