Chapter 2: The Billionaire's Playground

MARION 

“THE GAMING FLOOR LAYOUT IS FINALIZED,” my project manager said, pointing to the plans of the latest progress. “Electrical work for the slot machine grid starts Monday. The VIP suites will be ready for inspection in two months.”

The steady hum of machinery filtered through the glass walls of the temporary conference room overlooking the casino’s steel skeleton. Architects, contractors, investors, and the marketing team were gathered around the blueprint-covered table.

“That’s good”. I commented, needing to wrap up this meeting ASAP.

“So,” I said, getting up and turning to face the room, “we’ll have a soft opening in four months, followed by a grand launch.”

“Mr. Whitfield,” my marketing director began with a small smile, “do you have a name for the casino yet? We’re already halfway through construction - we need it for branding, promotional materials, and licensing paperwork.” 

She's acting out of character today. As soon as she asked me the question, she fidgeted. I’m curious to ask. 

I pushed back my chair, letting the suspense stretch. “Yes,” I said with a faint smirk. “I have a name. But…” I closed the folder in front of me. “…you’ll hear it when the time is right.” My business, my choice. I’ll keep it to myself, for now. 

A murmur of anticipation rippled across the table as I left the conference room, heading towards my awaiting SUV.

“Took a while, huh?” Stephen, my head of security and personal driver, taunted me. I chuckled while buckling my seat, and relaxed to enjoy the ride home since it’s a 30-minute drive from here.

Building hotels and casinos has been my pride and joy. It generated a steady stream of income in real estate. My empire, “The Whitfield Global”.

Being one of the top five youngest billionaires in the country should tell you I know what I am doing. At thirty-two, I have no plans to slow down. Making money thrills me – it fuels me to do more. Last year, I was listed in the Forbes Billionaires List.

I had my undergraduate degree at Yale University, earning a degree in Business Administration.  A year later, I went to Columbia University for my Master’s in Real Estate Development. California was my classroom, and every skyscraper was a case study. By the time I graduated, I wasn’t just dreaming about building skylines - I was already sketching the blueprints.

I built my fortune starting at twenty-four, leveraging my trust fund - the perks of being born into old money. 

“Would you step out again when we get to your penthouse?” Stephen asked 

“No, I want to enjoy my quiet time and maybe visit my brother later in the night”, I replied, “it's been a while since I saw him, so I'll do that”.

 “Sure, boss,” he said.

I felt my phone vibrate with a notification. I opened it to see who had sent me a message.

Are you stopping by, babe? I've missed you. I came back from Paris yesterday. Would you stop by, or should I come to your place? That was Paula.

I'm exhausted from my meeting, so you can come at 7 pm. I need to rest, I typed back and hit send.

I can't wait, babe. Love you, she replied.

I shook my head, looking outside through the tinted windows. Whenever Paula says she’s missed me, it’s either for sex or because she wants something expensive. I don’t see any love here, not that I give a damn - she’s not my woman. I don’t do lovey-dovey shit with her trifling ass.

"Paula?" Stephen asked. 

"Who else?" I replied, and he laughed, shaking his head.

Stepping into my penthouse - my bachelor pad, as I like to call it - I kicked off my Tom Fords at the entrance. The place was quiet, the kind of silence you only get when you live thirty floors up.

I'll meet you at 9 pm, I texted my brother. Not waiting for his reply, I made my way to my bedroom, needing a nap before Paula came in. The mattress felt cool against my skin, and the city noise outside was nothing more than a distant hum. I was tired – tired like I’d been hit with a brick.

“Deeper, babe, I need to feel you!” Paula gasped.

I was deep inside her, her legs hooked over my shoulders, driving into her with the same focus I’d give a workout - nothing more. She might have been chasing some kind of connection, but for me, it was just release. After all, she’d woken me up from a dead sleep with that high-pitched voice of hers.

“I’m about to cum,” she panted.

“Hold on.” I groaned.

“I can’t hold back, Marion!” she cried.

I didn’t bother responding - just kept moving until I reached my edge. The second it hit, I let go, dropped her legs, and walked straight to the bathroom. No lingering, no looking back. Condom in the trash, I quickly rinsed, towel around my waist, and exited the bathroom. Inside my walk-in closet, I dressed casually: a blue sleeve shirt, black trousers, and Saint Laurent boots. Slipped on my Patek Philippe watch and silver necklace - nothing too flashy. Plugging out my phone from the charger, Aston Martin keys in hand, I was out the door.

“You’re going out?” she whined, noticing that I’ve changed. I glanced at her, sprawled across the bed with only the duvet covering her.

"Yes, I have dinner plans with Marcel," I said, meaning my brother.

“Okay…Babe, where’s my—” she started. Yeah, her gift. One of my assistants handled that - how she does it, I don’t care to know - she bills it to my card.

"Check inside the drawer beside you. Lock up when you leave. You know the code," I said over my shoulder. I didn't wait for a response. The elevator took me straight to the garage, and moments later, I was on my way to meet Marcel at Mélise, a two-Michelin-star restaurant in Santa Monica.

As I slid into the driver’s seat, my phone buzzed, a message from Cyprian, one of my close friends.

We need to talk. ASAP.