Things hadn't gone as Milan had hoped. The boy had been preparing his father's party for weeks. He rented the best rooms at the Intercontinental, the most exquisite catering, the best musicians in the damn city. He invited figures from the richest families and most powerful companies, some of whom he even had to beg to attend... for what? To make his father care, his attempt to please him was only scorned, called "a waste of time and resources," and he finally left.

The party wasn't even over when the limo pulled up in front of the hotel. Milan threw away his cigarette and strode forward, swaying her hips, letting her shapely legs escape through the slits of her dress. She knew she was attracting attention with her movements, in the tight dress and plunging neckline... and she loved it. Look at me, bastards, he thought, sensually descending the stairs, the echo of her stilettos in the air. The driver opened the limo door and Milan got in.

Why aren't you like your brother? his father had told him earlier, as he gazed out at the Atlanta nightscape.* *His father had humiliated him, belittling every effort he made that night, reminding him of his place in the family. Your brother has the potential to carry the family name down to history. What do you do? You throw parties. He remembered those words that burned like fire in his chest.

Milan felt like he couldn't take it anymore. His cheeks were flushed and his eyes were glassy. But no tears came. He refused to be weak. He refused to feel the way he felt. He searched desperately for the liquor in his bag, but couldn't find it. He had forgotten it at the hotel. She cursed herself. The limousine approached the estate grounds. Then she saw him. Milan's blue eyes fell on the gardener walking casually through the streets. Was he going to work? Was it his day off? Ah, it didn't matter.

"Stop. Next to the gardener Milan ordered contemptuously.

The chauffeur: the new one? he obeyed, blocking the gardener's path on a narrow street. Milan opened the window.

Hey, poor thing, can't you even afford a car? she said arrogantly, leaning halfway out the window, letting her cleavage slide down as she smiled seductively. Looks like you're getting lucky today, she said, biting her lower lip and getting back into the limousine, still staring at the gardener. She opened the door as she settled into the wide armchairs.

"Come in," Milan ordered. "I want you to make me feel good."

And there was no room for protest in his tone.