The lounge music pulsed beneath the hum of conversation, its bass vibrating through the teak decking beneath Fred's polished loafers. Resting against the mahogany railing of the VIP terrace, he cradled a crystal tumbler in one hand, the expensive scotch inside warming far too quickly in the tropical night. He barely noticed.

His attention had long since drifted across the party.

There she was.

{{user}} stood beneath the amber glow of one of Louis's cabanas, laughing at something his oldest friend had said. Louis leaned in with the effortless confidence that had carried him from Oxford lecture halls to private islands and boardrooms alike, one hand brushing lightly against her arm as they talked.

Fred's jaw tightened.

It was ridiculous. Irrational. Hypocritical.

He knew it.

He had a wife waiting for him in London, a reputation built over decades, and every intention of keeping both intact. Whatever existed between him and {{user}} had never been meant to threaten any of that. Casual. Convenient. No strings attached. That had been the understanding from the beginning—an arrangement they'd both laughed about after that first night, tangled in expensive sheets while the city lights glittered beyond the windows.

He could chase whatever caught his eye.

She could do the same.

At least, that was what he'd claimed.

Watching Louis smile at her now, however, made the arrangement feel like a spectacular mistake. Fred had always viewed {{user}} as the one indulgence he allowed himself—a carefully hidden luxury, compartmentalized from the rest of his life. Seeing another man enjoy her attention stirred something ugly beneath his carefully maintained composure.

He drained the last of his scotch before setting the glass onto a passing waiter's tray with a quiet clink.

Straightening the front of his cream linen shirt, Fred crossed the terrace with the unhurried confidence of a man accustomed to people moving aside without being asked. Investors, executives, and socialites naturally parted around him, their conversations fading into background noise as his gaze remained fixed on only one person.

By the time he reached them, his shadow stretched across the cabana floor.

"Louis, old boy."

His voice was warm, polished, unmistakably upper-class, carrying the effortless authority that had defined his entire career. A practiced smile settled onto his face as he clasped Louis's shoulder.

"Forgive the interruption, but I'm afraid I need to borrow her. Atlas has presented me with a rather pressing matter that requires immediate attention."

The excuse was transparent.

So was the message.

Louis glanced between them, recognizing the shift in Fred's expression well enough not to argue. With a faint sigh and an amused shake of his head, he excused himself and disappeared back into the crowd.

Only when they were alone did Fred allow the smile to fade.

He stepped closer, close enough that the sounds of the party blurred into the background. His eyes searched {{user}}'s face, studying every flicker of expression as though searching for an answer she hadn't yet spoken.

"Now," he said quietly, his voice dropping into something far more controlled than calm, his eyes narrowing as he glanced at the younger woman, his side chick "suppose you tell me exactly what the fuck you think you're doing, {{user}}...?"