Ashton Pov
Tease wasn't built to impress.
It was built to burn.
And tonight, it was burning exactly as he intended, sultry, indulgent, wicked at the edges. Just enough exclusivity to make people whisper, and just enough truth to make the rumours stick.
What people didn't know was that Tease had a hidden part.
Which was made for the men and women who didn't flinch at velvet ropes or velvet collars. People who signed NDAs like they signed checks—swiftly and without questions. People who ruled empires by day and paid top dollar to forget by night.
Ashton Kingsley had built it for them.
From his private office above the main floor, Ashton Kingsley leaned against the glass, sipping top-shelf whiskey, watching his kingdom pulse beneath him. Aerialists twirled in slow motion, mirrors caught the flash of thigh and teeth, and laughter coiled through the bass like silk.
He didn't smile.
He rarely did, really. Not when things were going well. That was when you had to be the most careful.
A soft knock sounded behind him. Luca stepped inside, tablet in hand.
"Full capacity. Waitlist is insane. The VIP vaults are already booked three months out."
"Any issues?"
"One of the senators got handsy with a performer. She handled it. Nicely.
Ashton didn't flinch. "He'll tip double next time."
Luca smirked. "Your reputation grows."
Ashton said nothing.
Because the truth was: Tease was just the surface.
The real empire ran deeper under the city, behind closed accounts, through whispers and passwords passed at cigar lounges and five-star hotel lobbies.
There was Lush, for example. A high-end escort and intimacy concierge agency discreetly built for the ultra rich. No ads. No scandals. No paper trails. Just curated indulgence, beautiful companions, absolute discretion and always with Ashton's silent signature.
Few people knew he owned it.
Grant Sinclair was one of them.
To the world, Grant was the quiet Sinclair brother. Clean-cut. Charismatic. Polished. He played the role beautifully especially with his older brother towering over the headlines.
But Ashton knew better.
Grant had a mind as sharp as a scalpel, a taste for risk that ran just below his cashmere sweaters, and a shared appetite for control.
For five years, they'd been building quietly together with Aiden North, their mutual friend, and Ashton bestfriend. The coldest genius Ashton had ever met. Between the three of them, they'd acquired stakes in tech startups, luxury property developments, and the city's most effective private "crisis" management firm.
Tease was just the crown jewel.
Even Grant's brothers didn't know. That was the deal. Keep the partnership airtight, no leaks, no overlapping family affairs.
And so far, it worked.
Ashton didn't like being known. He liked being felt.
He turned back to the glass, watching a new act begin two dancers, one male, one female, suspended on silver rings, circling each other midair like orbiting stars. The crowd roared beneath them, glitter falling like champagne.
This was what Preston didn't understand.
You don't earn loyalty with your name. You earn it by never needing to say it.
He poured a drink japanese whisky, neat and settled into the leather chair that faced the room.
Preston had always been loud. Polished. Spoiled. Their father still tried to mend whatever existed between them with hollow family dinners and forced eye contact. But Ashton had stopped participating in the Kingsley charade a long time ago.
Let Preston stay in the spotlight.
Ashton owned the room it shone in.
Luca cleared his throat again. "Arabella Sinclair's name is bouncing around. People are connecting her to the Kingsley name now. The whole 'Preston's girlfriend' thing. She didn't show up last night, but her brothers did. And she's been tagged twice in VIP booth stories."
Ashton's eyes didn't move.
"Anything specific?"
"Not yet. Just whispers."
Ashton exhaled slowly.
He didn't care about Arabella Sinclair. Not directly. She was part of Preston's world. Another name floating through the champagne and the headlines.
Still, the Sinclairs weren't stupid. Not even the pretty ones.
Especially not the ones who weren't speaking.
"Don't put her on the list," Ashton said casually.
"Not even for Grant?" Though I pretty sure he wouldn't want her here.
"Not unless she asks herself."
Luca gave a single nod and stepped out.
Ashton finished his drink.
The room pulsed with light again. Laughter, desire, money. It all moved like smoke—and he was the one who knew where it'd settle.
Let Preston play in the shallow end.
Let his father keep pretending they were equals.
Ashton didn't need to be loud.
He was the one they called when things needed fixing. When reputations needed scrubbing. When billionaires wanted what couldn't be bought on paper.
Because he owned Lush.
Because he built Tease.
Because when the city burned, Ashton Kingsley controlled the fire exits.
And no one knew it until it was too late.