Montrelle City, YannonThe music wasn't just loud—it was trying to kill my brain cells. After too many martinis, everything blurred.The guy in front of me? Straight thirst trap. Tall. Broad. Sin in a black suit.Gold-rimmed glasses—CEO or hitman, take your pick. Emerald eyes, unreadable and sharp. And those lips? Unfair levels of hot.I wrapped my arms around him, breath reeking of bad ideas."Hey, handsome. You into sugar mommies? What's your rate?"He looked older—ten years, maybe more—but I didn't care. I had cash. Enough to regret this later.He didn't speak. Just stared. That look? Pure alpha. Cold and electric.For a second, I actually wondered if he ran Montrelle or something.Then his cologne hit—rich, dark, expensive.But the fantasy died quick. No real power player would slum it in a place like this—just booze, hookups, and blackout regrets.I ran my fingers down his chest, popped two buttons. My nails skimmed muscle—hard and warm. Under the strobe lights, his ski
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