HOURS LATER. TONY'S POV.
Noir Hotel & Suites — VIP Lounge.
The bass pulsed through the walls like a second heartbeat.
Low. Heavy. Relentless.
Blue light washed over everything— skin, glass, leather— turning the VIP section into something unreal, something distant from the chaos below. It clung to Tony's jawline, caught in the sharp edges of his cheekbones, glinted faintly in his eyes as he leaned back into the cushioned chair like he owned not just the space— but the night itself.
Marcus sat to his left, one arm draped lazily over the backrest, a half-empty wine glass dangling between his fingers. Jerry lounged opposite, head tilted slightly back, smoke curling upward from the blunt resting between his fingers.
The air smelled like alcohol, smoke, and money.
Marcus let out a quiet laugh, the kind that started in his chest and slipped out slowly, like he was savoring a private joke.
"Can you believe that riffraff that confessed she's in love with me?" he said, shaking his head as he swirled the wine in his glass. The deep red liquid caught the blue light, turning almost black. "All because I call her when I feel the need to satisfy my sexual urges."
Tony's lips curved slightly, amusement flickering across his face.
Marcus leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, voice lowering but not enough to hide the disdain laced through it. "I had to remind her real quick where she stands. Nothing but a sneaky link."
He exhaled sharply, leaning back again, dragging a hand over his face before taking a slow sip.
"Boys can't even have fun anymore without these girls feeling special… catching feelings."
Jerry huffed out a laugh, smoke slipping past his lips as he watched Marcus through half-lidded eyes.
Tony tilted his head slightly, studying Marcus for a second before speaking. His voice was calm. Measured. "Why do you even mess around with lowlifes like that?"
Marcus glanced at him.
Tony's gaze held steady, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "Learn from me and Jerry. One campus girl— once or twice— and we're done before they even start imagining things."
Marcus chuckled under his breath, nodding slowly. "I accept my mistake. Won't happen again." He reached for a chicken wing, biting into it without hesitation. "I'll be smarter."
Jerry straightened slightly, flicking ash off the tip of the blunt before bringing it back to his lips. "That's the game, bro," he said, voice thick, slightly slurred but still sharp. "You don't pick one. You rotate. Keeps them from thinking they're important."
He exhaled slowly, smoke drifting lazily between them.
Tony's fingers tapped once against the armrest, his gaze distant for a moment before it sharpened again. "The girl," he said, eyes flicking back to Marcus. "The one claiming she's in love with you… is she a freshman?"
Marcus swallowed, nodding once. "Yeah."
A pause.
Then—
A knowing look passed between the three of them.
It was quick. Silent. But loaded.
Tony's smirk deepened.
"I knew it."
The laughter came all at once.
Low. Amused. Effortless.
"Those are the worst," Tony continued, shaking his head slightly as he leaned forward, resting his forearms on his thighs. "They feel so entitled."
Marcus laughed again, louder this time. "I swear."
Tony leaned back again, stretching his legs out in front of him. "That's why I barely mess around with them. Because of shits like this."
Marcus raised his glass slightly. "Lesson learned."
They clinked glasses lazily.
Time slipped.
The music never stopped.
Neither did the drinks.
The conversations shifted— women, classes, money, cars— blurring into one long, unbroken thread of indulgence.
—
Tony's wrist lifted slightly, the face of his Rolex catching the dim light.
1:16 AM.
His eyes lingered on it for a second before he exhaled quietly and leaned forward, planting his feet firmly on the ground.
"It's time to leave, boys," he said, voice cutting clean through the haze. "Got an 8 AM class."
Jerry groaned, dragging a hand down his face as he pushed himself up. "I've been ready," he muttered. "I'm sleepy as fuck."
He swayed slightly as he stood, catching himself with a hand on the table before straightening.
Marcus followed, grabbing one last wing before rising to his feet. "Let's move then."
Tony stood last.
Slow. Controlled.
The moment he did, something shifted.
Even in the secluded VIP section, heads turned.
It was subtle— but it was there.
They stepped out together, moving past the velvet rope, descending into the main club floor.
The difference hit instantly.
Heat.
Noise.
Bodies packed together, moving in rhythm with the pounding beat.
But as they walked—
It changed.
Not the music.
Not the lights.
The people.
Conversations faltered.
Eyes shifted.
One by one.
Like a ripple.
Tony didn't look at anyone.
Didn't acknowledge a single stare.
His expression remained untouched, his stride steady, unhurried.
Marcus and Jerry moved with the same ease, the same quiet arrogance.
Like they belonged above it all.
A voice pierced through the music.
"Is that Tony Blackwood?!"
Another followed immediately, louder, sharper. "Yes! He comes here sometimes!"
A few heads turned fully now, whispers spreading, excitement bubbling under the surface.
Phones lifted discreetly.
Some not so discreetly.
But Tony didn't react.
Didn't slow.
Didn't turn.
He already knew.
They all did.
They were the names people whispered.
The ones people watched and wanted.
And they wore it like second skin.
They stepped out of the club, the sudden cool air hitting their skin.
The noise dulled behind them as the doors shut.
The parking lot stretched ahead, lined with cars that gleamed under the streetlights.
Tony walked straight to his black sleek supercar.
The McLaren W1 sat low, almost predatory in its stillness.
He pulled the door open, sliding in without hesitation.
Marcus and Jerry moved to their own cars, engines already humming to life as they climbed in.
For a moment, the three cars idled side by side.
Engines purring.
Lights cutting through the darkness.
Marcus leaned out slightly, nodding toward Tony. "Tomorrow."
Tony gave a short nod in return.
Jerry lifted two fingers lazily in a half-wave.
Then—
Engines roared.
One by one, they pulled out.
Three different directions.
Three separate paths.
The night swallowed them whole as they sped off, leaving behind the fading echo of music, laughter, and everything that came with it.