The moment Corinne's lips met his, disbelief flickered across the man's face. For a split second, his mind seemed to go blank. He was caught completely off guard.
A light floral fragrance mixed with the sharp tang of alcohol swept over him. Her soft, yielding body pressed close, molding against his chest, and the reckless closeness she forced between them—combined with the drug still coursing through his veins—sent heat spiraling through him, rising faster with every heartbeat.
Awkward and unrefined, her kiss lacked any real technique, yet it carried a startling boldness. Without the slightest hesitation, she leaned in harder, her warm breath brushing his lips as her tongue pushed forward, insistent and unrelenting, trying to pry past the barrier of his mouth.
Whatever restraint he had left was slipping, thread by fragile thread.
His hand came up to shove her away, but his palm brushed instead against the sleek warmth of her shoulder, sliding dangerously close to her neck.
That single touch stole the air from his lungs, and for one perilous heartbeat, the strength in his resistance faltered.
In Corinne's alcohol-clouded mind, though, his hesitation didn't read as rejection at all—it felt like playful resistance, the kind meant to be overcome.
Fuelled by liquid courage, her movements turned reckless and bold. She seized his wrist before he could pull back and forced him down into the sofa with surprising strength.
What had begun as an unsteady kiss shifted abruptly, sharpening into something more demanding, more consuming. A faint trace of cedar clung to him, but the heat of his breath against her lips burned in contrast, sending a strange thrill through her. Beneath that composed exterior, something tightly held flickered, and that restraint only made her head spin harder.
With the alcohol heightening every sensation, her fading reason gave way completely to instinct. Her fingers shot out, catching his tie, and she jerked it free in one sharp pull.
In the blink of an eye, everything reversed.
Without warning, a strength she couldn't possibly fight slammed into her, sending her reeling backward. When her vision steadied, she found herself sprawled across the sofa instead. By the time she pushed herself up, the man had already vanished.
The door stood half-open, a thin strip of hallway light slipping into the dim room.
Fixing her gaze on it, Corinne exhaled softly, irritation slipping into her voice.
So this was how he worked as an escort? The thought struck her as absurd.
If even a kiss was too much for him, what was he doing trying to make it in this field?
As the haze of alcohol began to thin, irritation sharpened her senses. Clutching the loosened tie in her hand, she straightened with unsteady determination, already planning to track down the club manager and demand an explanation.
After all, the man had bolted without warning—didn't that mean she was entitled to a refund?
Stepping out into the hallway, she nearly collided with a young man stationed just outside Room 3269.
Everything about him fit the image of a high-end escort—sleek suit, meticulous styling, an air of practiced charm that felt almost rehearsed. He looked impossibly young, barely out of his teens, his features softened by subtle makeup, giving him the polished appeal of a boy-band idol.
At that moment, his gaze flicked between her and the photo on his phone, brows knitting slightly as he checked for a match.
"Ms. Scott? Ms. Curtis told me to wait in 3269 for—"
Before he could finish, Corinne stopped listening entirely. A cold realization slammed into her chest.
Her head snapped up, eyes locking onto the room number above the door.
Oh no, no, no.
She had walked into the wrong room and kissed the wrong man!
Everything else vanished from her mind as she whirled on her heel, abandoning the actual escort without a second glance. Driven by a rising panic, she sprinted after the stranger, desperate to catch him before he decided she was completely unhinged and called the cops.
Her heels struck the floor in rapid, uneven beats, but speed did her no favors—by the time she burst out through the club's entrance, he had already disappeared. Beyond the doorway, only the cool sweep of night air greeted her.
Standing there, she bent slightly as she caught her breath, irritation tangling with a sharp, simmering frustration in her chest.
Just as she turned to head back inside, something near the entrance snagged her attention and refused to let go.
Parked under the glow of the streetlights sat a limited-edition Rolls-Royce Phantom, its sleek body gleaming with authority. The custom vanity plate read APEX1—issued in the city of Saltmere.
A stunned stillness held Corinne in place for a heartbeat. Then recognition crashed through her all at once. More than once, Jonny had gone on about his elusive uncle, his voice laced with envy and something dangerously close to awe. According to him, the man owned a globally limited Phantom. The car itself was breathtaking, but what truly made it unforgettable was the license plate that said everything—APEX1.
Corinne fixed her gaze on the vehicle, her fingers curling tighter around the tie in her hand, the fabric creasing under her grip.
A pair of slaps would never be enough to make Jonny answer for what he had done—the sting of humiliation, the cruelty of his betrayal.
What she craved now went far beyond that, something sharper, something that would linger long after tonight faded.
In her mind, she tore apart the polished image Jonny showed the world, determined to become someone he would never dare belittle again. Even more than that, she wanted to force him into a place where, every time their eyes met, he would have no choice but to lower his head and speak to her with respect.
If she could become his uncle's wife…
Once the idea rooted itself in her mind, she found no way to shake it loose.
That car parked outside wasn't just a car—it was a doorway, a straight path toward the revenge she wanted.
Corinne's pulse slammed wildly against her ribs, sharp enough to sting. She shoved the loosened tie into her crossbody bag, then fumbled out her perfume and spritzed it over herself, trying to drown out the lingering bite of alcohol.
Next came her makeup. She worked quickly, smoothing, blending, fixing every detail with practiced precision before running her fingers through her hair to tame the mess.
When everything was in place, she inhaled deeply, steadying herself, and began walking toward the black car.
Never in her life had she approached a man like this on purpose—let alone someone so far out of her reach that every step made her feel like the ground might give way beneath her.
Countless opening lines flickered through her thoughts, each one dismissed the moment it formed.
Finally, jaw tightening with resolve, she lifted her hand and knocked on the window. Seconds stretched thin and heavy, ticking by with no sign of movement from within.
Right as disappointment and embarrassment started tightening in her chest, the tinted glass slid down abruptly with a soft mechanical hum.
Immediately, her gaze locked onto a pair of icy, unreadable eyes staring back at her.
A strange sense of familiarity tugged at her, halting her breath for a brief, suspended moment.
Then, as her eyes adjusted, the rest of his sharply defined face came into view.
The man she had only glimpsed in shadow earlier was now fully revealed under the clear light, his presence striking with far greater force.
In that brief instant, her thoughts scattered into nothing.
It was him! The very same man she had forced onto the sofa and kissed without restraint just moments ago.
Why on earth was he sitting in this car?
Wait… did that mean he was Jonny's elusive, untouchable uncle?
