The bouncer's eyes lingered on Nia, then slid lower, his gaze lingering on my cleavage despite my trench coat. His blatant appraisal made my blood boil. "Not for you," he sneered, his voice dripping with contempt, "you loser." The dismissal stung, but we pushed past him into the opulent hall, the vast expanse dominated by a shimmering pool.

Zenny introduced me to her friends: Noran (Rian's cousin), Scot, Esteban, and Cade. Noran, the source of our VIP access, looked genuinely surprised by the bouncer's behavior. He offered profuse apologies, gesturing towards the bar, "Drinks are on me, ladies. Please, have a seat." I rolled my eyes, the apology feeling somewhat hollow. Zenny, already several shots in, was sprawled on a plush sofa. Noran's gaze, intense and lingering, followed me as he sipped his whiskey.

I escaped to the bar, ordering a Margarita. My eyes were immediately drawn to a striking figure: a man, easily six foot five, with a lean, muscular physique. Half his chest and both arms were covered in intricate tattoos, a testament to a life lived on the edge. He stood at the pool's edge, casually showering the water with champagne as women bathed below, their laughter echoing in the luxurious space. His light brown eyes, partially obscured by dark, wet hair, held a playful smirk. The scene was both captivating and unsettling, a perfect blend of opulence and raw sexuality. The way he moved, the confidence radiating from him, was undeniably alluring. His presence commanded attention, a silent challenge to anyone who dared to look away.