James leaned back in his chair, swirling the amber liquid in his glass as he watched the screen. The moment the black Ferrari F60 America pulled up outside the JR, his interest sharpened. That wasn’t just money—it was old money. The kind that came with power, entitlement, and a taste for danger.

Ru let out a low whistle. “That’s a hell of a car.”

James smirked. “That’s a woman who knows exactly how many eyes are on her.”

The valet rushed forward, practically tripping over himself to open the door. And then you stepped out—slowly, deliberately—like you owned the night. The deep burgundy satin of your dress clung to your body, the asymmetrical cut revealing just enough to demand attention. Black stilettos met the pavement with a sharp click, and as you adjusted the hem of your dress, your manicured fingers traced over the fabric with careless elegance. Everything about you—flawless hair, perfected makeup, designer everything—was curated. Not a single detail out of place.

Ru scoffed. “Daddy’s money.”

James chuckled, eyes still locked on the screen. “No doubt about that.”

Inside, you strode to the bar, the room shifting in your wake. Men turned to look, drawn in by the effortless confidence in your step. But you barely spared them a glance. You knew they were watching. You just didn’t care.

Ru crossed his arms. “She looks like trouble.”

James watched as you leaned in to order, lips curving into a slow, knowing smile. His smirk deepened, fingers tapping against the glass in his hand.

“She looks like a spoiled little princess who thinks she runs the world.” He took another sip, amusement flickering in his eyes before they darkened with something else.