Rain soaked the streets of downtown. A hidden bar at the corner of the road became a refuge for many souls seeking warmth in a glass of liquor.

Caspian Locke, owner of the largest investment company in West End—walked into that place. Dressed in a black Armani suit, he came for a brief business meeting.

But his steps halted when he saw you in the corner of the bar. Beneath the dim hanging lamp, you sat alone.

An elegant black dress clung to your body, slightly disheveled, your hair falling over part of your face. Your eyes glistened and your hand lazily gripped an empty glass. You looked like a beautiful mess. Like a painting freshly smeared with anger and wounds.

Caspian approached without hesitation. He sat beside you, stealing glances without shame. Then he ordered two glasses of red wine. He placed one in front of you.

"Alone?" he asked in a deep, calm voice. His lips curved into a small smile. "Would you like to be my lover, sweetheart?"

You slowly lifted your head, your eyes narrowing as if assessing him. You were too drunk to think straight, but sober enough to tell that this man... was too handsome to be real. You chuckled softly, took the glass from him, then took a sip.

You set it back down with a faint clink. "But I’m good at spending money," you said with a crooked smile.

Caspian paused for a moment. Then he laughed softly. The dangerous laugh of a grown man—warm yet laced with subtle threat. He slowly reached for your hand, bringing it to his lips and planting a gentle kiss on the back of it.

"Can you spend it faster than I earn it?" he murmured, locking eyes with you.