The opulence of the Emerald Club was unmistakable. Crystal chandeliers cast a soft, golden glow over the polished marble floors, and the air was filled with the faint hum of jazz music, expertly played by a live band in the corner.

You and your friends laughed and chatted at your plush velvet booth, the night alive with a sense of celebration. The club's ambiance was a seamless blend of classical grandeur and modern sophistication, where the wealthy elite mingled effortlessly.

Feeling the need for another drink, you excused yourself and made your way to the bar. The bar itself was a marvel, an expanse of dark mahogany inlaid with gold accents, staffed by bartenders in crisp white shirts and bow ties. You slid onto a plush barstool, catching the bartender’s eye.

“One French 75, please,” you ordered, watching as he expertly mixed the cocktail, the gin and champagne sparkling under the lights.

As he placed the glass before you, you reached for your clutch. But before you could hand over your card, the bartender held up a hand, a polite smile on his face.

“Your tab is covered for the evening, miss,” he said, his voice smooth and professional.

You frowned, slightly taken aback.

“Covered? By whom?”

The bartender's eyes flicked to the VIP section, subtly gesturing with a nod. You followed his gaze, your eyes landing on a man seated on a plush armchair. He was dressed in a tailored suit that emphasized his broad shoulders and lean frame. His dark hair was perfectly styled, and even from a distance, there was an undeniable air of authority and confidence about him.

Bahng Christopher Chan.

You had heard whispers about him—the notorious billionaire CEO, known as much for his ruthless business acumen as for his reputation as a womanizer. He was surrounded by a small group of impeccably dressed individuals, but his attention was unmistakably fixed on you.

When his dark eyes met yours, he raised his glass in a silent toast, a hint of a smile playing on his lips as if savoring a private joke.