Dim lights cast a golden glow across the marble walls of the nightclub. The scent of expensive perfume and the low, bass-driven music filled the room, adding to the luxurious yet slightly oppressive feel. Amidst the glitz, Zeya stood, dressed simply, in stark contrast to her glittering surroundings.
The nightclub manager, a man in a smart suit and slicked-back hair, stared at him from behind the glass counter. His eyes were sharp and appraising, like a salesman assessing a valuable item.
"Of course, there are no bartender openings, Miss," he said, his voice calm but leaving no room for small talk. "However... there is another position that might interest you." He leaned back in his chair, his arms folded across his chest, and a faint smile spread across his lips. "A sort of... female model. You'll be delivering drinks to each private room. Besides a decent tip, you'll also have the opportunity to meet our guests—all of them billionaires or billionaires. With your good looks... perhaps, you could snag a wealthy actor or businessman." He stared at Zeya intently. "So? Interested?"
Zeya didn't answer immediately. Her eyes scanned the surroundings, taking in the luxury she'd never experienced before. This room was too unfamiliar—too glittering for someone whose life had been built on solitude and struggle.
Twenty-two years old, and she's been through almost everything on her own. From a small cashier at a grocery store to a part-time waitress at a student cafe, Zeya worked her way through her education without ever relying on her parents. She knows full well that any help from her family is only for Larin, her younger sister, who has always been at the center of everything. Her parents only know the word "sacrifice" when it comes to Larin. As for herself? She's had to learn to strengthen herself long ago.
Slowly, he took a deep breath, trying to swallow the objections building up in his chest. "Okay," he said finally. His voice was flat, almost hollow. But beneath it, his determination echoed clearly: he would survive. In his own way.
The manager's smile widened, as if he had just won a high-stakes bet. Quickly, he pulled a skimpy suit from the drawer and handed it over. The black fabric was shiny and cut to reveal more than it covered.
"Great! You can start tonight."
Zeya nodded slowly, then turned toward the dressing room. Her steps felt heavy but steady. She didn't have many options, but she had one weapon she wouldn't let go of: her pride.
The club manager watched him leave with a wider smile, his eyes narrowed calculatingly.
"Perfect," he murmured softly. "Looks and a body like that... she'll make me a lot of money."
Satisfied, he returned to his room, letting the door close softly behind him, as the thump of the music mingled with the hustle and bustle of the night.
Inside the luxurious VIP room, secluded from the hustle and bustle of the club's main floor, the scent of expensive Cuban cigars and spirits lingers in the air. Crystal chandeliers cast soft light onto velvet sofas occupied by a group of young men immersed in the evening's euphoria.
Soft jazz music drifts from hidden speakers, giving it an exclusive, almost intimate feel.
"Tonight we party until morning!" Philip exclaimed enthusiastically, raising his glass aloft. Laughter filled the room as the others echoed his call. The sound of glasses touching created a soft, echoing clink.
Delson, sitting at the end of the long sofa, his legs crossed casually, smiled slightly. He raised his crystal glass—filled with a cool, golden drink—and took a slow, unhurried sip. Behind his calm gaze, there was a flash of relief and satisfaction. Washington welcomed him again, and for tonight, he wanted to enjoy that freedom without any distractions.
"Let's have a toast!" Hans exclaimed loudly, but after taking a sip, his brows furrowed in disappointment. "Alcohol isn't enough! We need whiskey or champagne! Premium ones!"
Colin, sitting next to her with cards in hand, just chuckled, "Patience, I already ordered it. Just wait." He returned his focus to his game, placing the cards down with a confident air.
Laughter and jokes filled the room again, as the table in front of them began to fill with bottles of liquor, leftover specialty snacks, and scattered cards. Yet, amidst the commotion, Delson remained calm. His eyes scanned his surroundings, observing his old friends who hadn't changed much, and the atmosphere he'd known so well since his youth.
But for him, tonight was different. His return wasn't just a reunion; it was the beginning of something bigger. And though he appeared calm on the outside, his mind was racing... until finally, a soft knock on the door and the soft creaking of the hinges drew everyone's attention.
A soft knock sounded from the door, followed by the soft creak of hinges as it swung open. A young woman stepped in, pushing aside a metal shelf filled with neatly arranged drinks. Her dress was simple yet elegant, her hair neatly combed, and her clean, unadorned face was a calming sight. She smiled politely before saying, "Excuse me."
The atmosphere of the room, which was originally full of laughter and card discussions, suddenly subsided. Several pairs of eyes turned, but only one pair could not turn back - Delson's eyes.
Zeya, as she was known on a small plaque on her chest, began placing drinks one by one on the table with graceful, practiced movements. Nothing over the top. No flirtatious glances. No pretentious greetings. She simply carried out her duties politely and calmly.
Delson was speechless. For the first time in his life, he was speechless. Not just because of her beauty, but because of the way she carried herself—so graceful, calm, and unperturbed by his presence.
In London, he had grown accustomed to being the center of attention. In Washington, women approached him without hesitation, offering themselves shamelessly. But this woman... she didn't even look up. She just looked down, as if unaware of who was staring so intently at her.
Delson frowned faintly, muttering to himself, "Does she really not know who I am? Or... does she not care?" A strange silence crept into his chest, not because of rejection, but because the woman's unique demeanor felt... refreshing.
After completing her task, Zeya bowed her head slightly and said softly, "Enjoy," before gently pushing her shelf out of the room.
The door closed again. But Delson remained frozen, his gaze lingering on the now tightly shut door, while his mind was still filled with images of the woman's face who hadn't even had time to look back at him.
"Who was that woman just now? Was she an angel or a nymph? She was so perfect... so polite and elegant," Philip muttered in disbelief, his gaze still fixed on the door that had been opened earlier.
"I think she's new. What was her name?" Colin asked, still frowning, trying to remember the details of the face and name of the young woman who had just entered with their drinks.
Hans nodded slowly, his voice firm, "I think we should get her number." Colin turned and nodded in agreement, amused smiles on both their faces.
But only one person remained silent. Delson.
He stared blankly into his glass before finally speaking in an undeniable tone.
"Get that woman for me."
Three pairs of eyes immediately turned to stare at him. Shocked. Disbelieving. Almost unsure of what they had just heard.
In a simultaneous motion, the three of them shifted to sit closer to Delson, as if pulled by the gravity of the words he had just uttered.
"Don't be crazy, have you forgotten why you came back to Washington?" Philip said, trying to bring Delson back to rationality. "The arranged marriage, remember? Your parents arranged it all."
Delson chuckled softly, setting his crystal glass down calmly on the table. His sharp gaze pierced the shadows of the chandelier above them.
"It was just an arranged marriage," he said flatly but meaningfully. "A paper marriage, without feeling, without passion. Why should I think about it? I need a woman who can keep me going. Who makes me want to come home. Who makes my heart beat faster... and it seems I've found her."
The words fell from Delson's lips with unusual conviction, leaving his three friends speechless in amazement.
"Crazy... you're really crazy," Hans mocked, looking at him with a look that was half astonished, half amazed.
Colin leaned in, his voice sharp but honest. "This is the first time I've seen you this down over a woman. But... will she be the same as all the other women before? Once you get what you want... will you just throw her away? We've been friends for over ten years, Del. We know who you are. You're the biggest playboy we've ever known. You can change women like a watch in a month."
He looked straight at Delson, as if he wanted to dig out certainty from his friend's eyes.
"That's why Uncle Weather proposed a match. So you'd stop-"
Delson just smiled a little, not because he agreed, but because he knew how little they understood what had just happened in his heart.
He slowly rose from the sofa, straightening the creases of his jacket and adjusting the slightly undone buttons of his shirt. His eyes were sharp and cold, but behind them burned an unusual desire.
"For once," he said in a low but firm voice, "I think I'm serious. I'm going to get it... no matter what it takes."
His three friends could only stare silently at Delson's back as he slowly moved away, carrying with him an aura of determination and obsession that they had never seen before.
For the first time... the playboy king fell in love. And when Delson wants something, the world knows—he'll do it any way he can.