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The private jet landed smoothly, its wheels kissing the tarmac like a whisper. Mira followed Damien down the stairs where a sleek black car waited for them. As they entered, Mira glanced out the window, her brows furrowing.
"I thought we were going on the cruise," she said, puzzled.
Damien checked his watch, not sparing her a glance. "Three days from now. We rest first, then sail for four days."
Mira nodded, unlocking her phone, scrolling absentmindedly as the car sped toward their next destination.
When the vehicle stopped, they stepped out into the entrance of an opulent resort—pristine white buildings laced with tropical flowers, fountains humming gently in the background, and palm trees bowing with the sea breeze. The scent of salt and citrus clung to the air. Resort workers were already lined up, ready to serve.
"Sir, the villa has been prepared exactly as you requested," the manager said with a respectful smile. He gestured grandly and began leading the way.
The path opened to reveal their private villa—contemporary, luxurious, and surrounded by lush gardens. Its wide glass doors faced the sea, waves crashing gently in rhythm. The breeze carried the sound of the ocean inside.
Mira's eyes caught the neighboring villa.
Noticing her curiosity, the manager added with a smile, "That villa is also booked under Mr. Damien. We've converted it into your private spa, salon, and massage center."
Her eyes slid to Damien, who gave no reaction—his expression bored, as if all this was nothing more than routine.
"Go pick a room. Refresh. Clothes will be arranged," Damien said flatly, walking past her and vanishing into the hallway.
Sometime later, Mira emerged wearing a soft peach beach gown—flowing, elegant, neither too revealing nor overly modest. The sunlight caught her skin, her damp hair falling in waves around her shoulders.
Damien was already waiting. He wore a white linen shirt, its top two buttons undone, sleeves rolled to the elbow, revealing sculpted forearms and a gold watch that glinted under the sun. His dark trousers fit too perfectly, too effortlessly.
As they approached the main villa—clearly a central hub of activity—the servant held the grand door open. Suddenly, Damien's arm wrapped around Mira's waist, pulling her close. She gasped softly at the intimate gesture, but he didn't release her.
Inside, murmurs buzzed as heads turned. The hall was vast, filled with wealthy elites and their companions—some with lovers, others with mistresses, each flaunting power in their own way.
Mira could feel the stares—the envy, the curiosity, the judgment.
She tilted her head instinctively, eyes drawn to the upper floor where a glass wall shielded someone's gaze. But she knew. Someone was watching. Her. Or Damien. Or both.
Damien's gaze flicked upward. His eyes narrowed, then his lips curled into a cold, mocking smirk.
Above, a man with sharp eyes raised his glass of wine toward Damien in an unspoken message, then disappeared behind the tinted glass.
Just then, a man with striking red hair, clearly one of the resort heirs, approached with confident steps.
"Mr. Damien. I'm Alex," he said, then glanced at Mira with interest. "And this is…?"
Damien chuckled, his voice a blade coated in silk. "She's my little pet. Meant for entertainment."
Mira stiffened. Her eyes shot daggers at him, but he didn't flinch.
"She's very talented," Damien continued, sipping from his wine. "Our guests have praised her for being... quite entertaining."
His smirk deepened, possessive fingers tightening around her waist.
Alex's gaze shifted from polite curiosity to raw appraisal, a knowing chuckle slipping from his lips. "Hmm. She certainly looks the part."
Mira felt the room shift. The curious glances from the women turned to sneers. Mockery glittered in their eyes, while a few still held envy for her beauty, now tainted by their assumptions.
Then Mira's gaze collided with another across the room.
Rian.
His expression twisted as he took in the scene. Disgust.He turned away.
And Damien—of course—noticed it all.
"You look upset," Damien murmured, his breath brushing her ear, smooth and low like the warm slide of silk against skin.
Mira didn't move at first. Then, slowly, she brought her wine glass to her lips, tilting her head with a lazy smirk. "You did that on purpose, didn't you?"
Damien chuckled, his tone careless—dangerous. "Hmm? I simply told the truth. Aren't you my little pet? Aren't you here for my entertainment?"
Mira turned toward him, her smile icy sweet. "Yes… I'm indeed your pet. How could I forget?" She set her glass down with a soft clink. "Is there anything you'd like me to do for you, Master?"
Her voice was velvet laced with steel as she slid her hand up, curling her fingers around the back of his neck. The air between them shifted—thickened. Her body pressed slightly against his, deliberate, yet effortless. Her eyes—clear a moment ago—narrowed, darkening with a sultry gleam that made the room blur behind her.
Damien's expression didn't flicker, but something in his gaze deepened.
He leaned in, just enough to feel the edge of her breath on his skin. "Hmm… baby girl," he murmured, voice low and indulgent, "I'm already entertained... right now."
His hand that had been lazily resting on her shoulder drifted down—slowly, confidently—fingertips brushing the bare skin of her collarbone before rising to her chin. He tilted her face up, his thumb tracing the curve of her bottom lip, pressing lightly, stroking it as if savoring the softness through touch alone.
Mira didn't blink. Her lips parted slightly, not in invitation—but in challenge.
Their eyes locked—his almond-shaped ones smoldering with restrained heat, hers transformed into siren eyes, half-lidded and daring, as if to say: You want control? Take it. If you can.
He lingered there, thumb still against her lips, before drawing back just enough to stand upright—his gaze never leaving hers.
Then, slowly, with unbothered arrogance, Damien brought that same thumb to his mouth… and sucked it clean. His lips closed around it lazily, eyes locked onto her like she was prey pretending to be the hunter.
A smirk tugged at his lips.
She didn't flinch. Instead, Mira tilted her head with mocking grace, her voice smooth as wine. "You'll choke one day, Damien."
"And you'll be the reason for it and I will gladly get choke ," he replied, smile turning razor-sharp.
--
The private room was lavish—dimly lit by golden chandeliers that hung like dripping molten light from the dark mahogany ceiling. Velvet curtains shimmered in the candlelight, enclosing the space in decadent privacy. The air was warm, tinged with sandalwood and expensive cigar smoke. Smooth jazz played faintly beneath the sound of clinking glasses and murmured laughter.
A long, low table of dark stone stood in the center, surrounded by plush leather couches and armchairs. Wine bottles rested in crystal buckets of ice, and silver trays of seafood, roasted meats, and exotic fruits lined the sides like a royal feast.
Damien lounged on the leather couch like a king in his domain, arm lazily draped behind Mira, who leaned into him with the practiced grace of someone who knew how to own a space without seeming to try. Around them sat powerful men—heirs to empires, shadowy politicians, cold-eyed CEOs—each sipping aged liquor and chuckling lowly at old jokes and new women.
"Brother Damien, your woman is… truly something else," a businessman with a sharp suit and a sharper smile said, lifting his glass. "So beautiful it's hard to believe she's real."
The others nodded in agreement, some sneaking glances at Mira's relaxed form as she swirled wine in her glass, her fingers delicate and eyes unreadable.
"She's got that softness that makes you think of silk sheets and whispered lies," another man said with a smirk, earning a chorus of approving laughs.
Mira smiled politely and leaned closer to Damien, her voice a silky murmur only he could hear.
The politician across from them had a young woman tucked under his arm, all curves and glittering cleavage. She pouted suddenly and grabbed the man's hand, sliding it between her breasts with a pouty look. "Brother… you're ignoring me. You're hurting my feelings," she whined.
More chuckles.
The politician glanced at her chest with an amused grin and stood to pour more wine into their glasses. As he returned, he pulled the woman closer, his hand now lazily stroking her stomach as she giggled against him.
Relax I won't ignore my baby you have your own attracting side the politician said as he looks at the girl chest
Alex—the red-haired heir with sharp eyes—laughed lightly. "There are things that just shouldn't be compared, you know. Like silver to diamond."
A few women nearby—fashionably dressed and sipping on expensive cocktails—rolled their eyes. But one of them, bolder than the rest, raised her voice with a challenging smirk.
"Well, it's not just about being pretty," she said, glancing at Mira. "It's about whether you can keep a man's attention. She looks new to this game." She leaned forward, pressing her cleavage together as she looked Damien up and down. "Brother Damien, I know how to make a man feel very comfortable. I could make your night unforgettable."
Some of the other women rolled their eyes, while others sharpened their posture, nudging closer to their men, legs brushing against thighs, fingers tracing collars.they each have thought on Damien who is so handsome that he can make anyone go weak in the knees and have nose bleed and dream of him for weeks and bonus point he is fucking rich and very powerful too as these men are acting respectful to him through their behavior as if they are thinking before they thought and it was not only them that notice the girl also did so she was shooting her shot
Some of the men clapped and laughed, already enjoying the drama unfolding.
Mira blinked slowly, then picked up her dessert spoon and tapped the woman's chest with it—lightly, mockingly. "He doesn't like fake breasts," she said sweetly, her voice lined with innocent venom. "And makeup gives him migraines. Brother Damien prefers women like me. Clean, soft, and natural. He can't even get erect around others."
The woman jerked back as the room froze for half a second, then erupted into gasps and stifled laughs. Some women looked stunned. Others looked furious.
"You crazy b—" the woman started, rising to her feet, but Alex gave her a lazy warning glance that immediately silenced her.
Damien, calm as ever, reached over, plucked the spoon from Mira's hand, and tossed it into a silver dish. "Behave," he said softly, coldly. "Don't ruin everyone's appetite by trying to kill a fly."
Even that insult sounded polite in his smooth tone, but the message was clear. Several women giggled behind their hands. The insult hit harder because it was delivered without emotion.
"I'm scared she looks scary…" Mira whispered suddenly, turning to press her face into Damien's neck. Her tone was playful, but her gesture was intimate—deliberate and the way her hair covers her face it was like a painting. The soft warmth of her breath against his collar made a few men shift in their seats .
Damien raised a brow.
What is she up to now?
Then, without warning, she bit his neck—not hard, but enough to make him freeze. He didn't stop her, didn't flinch. Instead, he resumed eating, cool as ever.
"Possessive, isn't she?" one of the businessmen said with a chuckle. "sister if brother Damien,leaves you , you know how to reach me." He slipped a sleek black card across the table toward Mira with a wink.
Alex chuckled. "If she really likes Brother Damien that much, prove it. Let's see something, eh?"
Cheers echoed from the couch.
Mira slowly let go of Damien's neck and looked at them. Her eyes sparkled, mischievous and glassy from the wine. Then, with a dazzling smile, she poured a bit of the wine into her mouth, leaned in, held his chin—and kissed him.
A deep, slow, sensual kiss that poured the wine into his mouth in a rush of heat and sweetness. It was bold, beautiful, and shocking her mouth explored his his as he let her dominate the drink entering his mouth.
The room clapped again, louder this time. Some whistled. Others just stared.
Damien didn't pull away. Instead, his hand slid gently to her cheek, and when she finally pulled back, he brought his mouth to her ear.
"What are you planning?" he murmured. "I didn't know you had such talent for performance."
Mira giggled softly, whispering back, "It's called strategy. If something doesn't favor you, you adapt. And besides…" She traced his jaw with her nail. "Aren't I your pet?"
Damien looked at her, eyes glinting, and let out a rare, genuine chuckle.
He picked up a shrimp, dipped it lightly in sauce, and without a word, fed it to her with his hand.
Mira took the bite with a small smirk, chewing elegantly as the room settled into a
Got it! You want the scene adjusted so:
Mira lets out a sob loud enough for Rian to hear before he enters the room, leaving a deeper emotional impression.
Her laugh isn't broken or bitter but sarcastic, because she finds the situation ironic and almost absurd.
Damien's private club should be described with more hedonistic, sensual detail—with women fighting for attention, men touching them, and the overall atmosphere rich and indulgent.
Mira sat at the corner of the long table, silent and composed as she toyed with her food. Her ears, however, absorbed every word of the conversation around her.
From what she gathered, most of the men here didn't bring their wives, fiancées, or girlfriends—unless the women were powerful enough to bring themselves. The real heiresses and noble daughters? They were upstairs, granted suites on the second floor, away from this display.
This part of the night belonged to indulgence.
The private club on the lower floor glittered under chandeliers that sparkled like temptation itself. Music pulsed like a second heartbeat. Men lounged on velvet couches, their arms wrapped around women clad in silks and diamonds. Some women fought subtly, laughing louder, pressing closer, offering whispered secrets into ears just to steal attention. Perfume and expensive cologne clung thick in the air, but even thicker was the tension—jealousy, lust, power plays.
Mira watched one of the women slip her hand along a man's thigh, while another one leaned over, exposing her chest with feigned innocence. He laughed and let both stay.
Disgusting. Predictable.
She excused herself without a sound and ascended to the second floor.
Here, the music softened. The air was cooler, quieter, more refined. The suites on this level belonged to the truly important ones—those who didn't need to fight for attention. She lit a cigarette with fingers that didn't tremble, exhaling slowly as the smoke curled through the dim hallway.
Then one of the private doors opened.
Rian stepped out, adjusting his cufflinks.
He froze when he saw her.
Mira leaned against the wall, lazily drawing on her cigarette, eyes half-lidded. Her gown shimmered under the low light.
He turned, clearly intending to ignore her.
"Won't you greet me?" she asked smoothly. "Is that how you treat a fellow business partner?"
Rian paused. "I thought you were busy," he replied without looking at her. "But I guess you're not serving your master tonight."
Mira chuckled lightly, unbothered. "You really enjoy saying things like that."
Rian glanced briefly toward the staircase, then at her. "Maybe because I say what others only think."
He turned again, ready to go.
Mira's voice rose—soft, but piercing. "I envy your fiancée. Must be nice to be born rich. To be treated like treasure."
He didn't respond.
"Is that why you look down on women like me?" she continued, her smile hidden by smoke. "Because you think we deserve it for being born in the wrong family?"
Rian glanced back. "Don't blame your background. Even poor people can have dignity."
"Who said I was poor?" she said, eyes narrowing. "Maybe I was from a rich family. Maybe I ended up like this because of them."
Rian raised an eyebrow. "If your family was really powerful, they wouldn't have let this happen."
And with that, he turned his back and walked toward his room.
Mira stood still.
Then, just as his hand touched the doorknob—
She let out a sob.
Soft. Sharp. Real.
Just loud enough for him to hear it.
Rian froze for a moment. Just a heartbeat.
But he didn't turn.
The door clicked shut behind him.
Mira took another drag of her cigarette and then—laughed. Loud. Amused. She tilted her head to the ceiling.
"How poetic," she muttered. "The rich man with a heart of gold and morals, judging the fallen girl. This is straight out of one of those cliché romance novels."
She flicked the cigarette to the marble floor and crushed it under her heel.
"Ironic, isn't it?" she whispered to herself. "My parents are the ones who pushed me into this life . They nearly killed me for the property my grandparents and master left for me then they shared the property btw themselves and marry different people. And now I'm going to kill everything they care about."
She pulled out her phone and made a call.
"Start the plan early. Begin buying Vale Company—piece by piece."
She ended the call before the reply came.
Her eyes narrowed with purpose.
Rian's fiancée—perfect, polished, innocent—was the daughter of Mira's stepmother's sister. If this cooperation between the Vale family and her stepmother's martnerl empire succeeded, they'd all win.
Mira didn't plan to let that happen.
She'd destroy every connection. Every company. Every happy ending.
And when it all burned down, they'd have no one to blame but themselves.
She smiled coldly and turned to leave, her heels echoing like gunshots down the hall.
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