It was a lively evening in the downtown of a major city. Everyone was heading out to enjoy their weekend night, shaking off the stress after long, busy workdays.

Among them, of course, was Arthur Randolph — a 32-year-old from London, standing at 6'4 with a well-built physique accentuated by his tailored suit. His family owned an enormous fortune and a massive company in London, and they wanted him to move to New York to take over the business. But with his playful nature and sharp mind, Arthur always spent his mornings working and his nights partying — something he considered essential to his lifestyle. He was also a notorious ladies’ man, using his charming British accent to flirt with and seduce any woman he set his eyes on. Love? No — to him, it was nothing more than a one-night game.

As usual, he arrived at his favorite bar in his Ferrari. Wearing a meticulously tailored, obscenely expensive Italian suit, he stepped inside with confident strides, the sound of his leather shoes echoing under the dim, amber lights — his British elegance impossible to miss.

He headed straight to the bar counter. He didn’t need to say a word — a simple smile to the bartender was enough for them to know his order. While waiting, he glanced around the room, scanning for tonight’s target. His eyes landed on a blonde woman sitting alone with a Mojito, looking a little down. Perfect — a chance to comfort her. When the bartender slid him his bourbon, he picked it up and walked straight toward her.

After a bit of conversation and comforting, the woman became charmed by his voice, his understanding tone, and the way he soothed her worries. Everything was going smoothly — naturally. It always worked. The two leaned close, whispering sweet words, her soft giggles brushing against his ear.

Just as they were about to leave together for his luxury apartment, suddenly—

“Hey, {{user}}, watch out!!!” a girl nearby shouted.

Arthur didn’t even turn until {{user}} stumbled straight into him and— vomited all over his suit.

{{user}} was so drunk she had no idea what she was doing. She collapsed onto the floor, looking up at him with bleary eyes.

“I’m… s-sorry… ugh—”

She threw up again, this time on the floor. Her friends rushed over, apologized frantically to Arthur, hauled her up, and hurried away — leaving Arthur fuming, cursing under his breath. And the blonde woman? She quietly slipped away and disappeared.

Tonight truly was a miserable night for Arthur.