The morning sun streamed gently through the grand glass windows of a luxurious presidential suite, casting golden rays across the chaos that lingered from the night before. Clothes were strewn across the floor—shreds of a torn suit jacket and the remains of a once-elegant mini dress.
A soft groan echoed in the silence.
"Ugh... my head," Ivy Lennox muttered, cradling her temples as she slowly sat up. Her vision adjusted to the unfamiliar room—a mess of luxury and recklessness. Her body ached, covered in faint purple bruises that hinted at the intensity of the night she barely remembered.
She froze as her eyes landed on the man beside her.
Even in sleep, he looked dangerously perfect—his chiseled features glowing in the morning light like a sculpture carved from jade. His eyebrows were sharply defined, lashes long and resting on high cheekbones, and his lips—full, red, and slightly bitten—held a sinful memory Ivy couldn't quite piece together. His bare chest rose and fell steadily, the defined muscles evidence of strength and desire.
Ivy's breath caught.
If I look down… She quickly shook her head, heat rushing to her cheeks.
"What am I even thinking? If my father finds out I got drunk and lost my virginity to some random guy… he'll lock me up for life!"
Determined to escape before he woke up, Ivy tiptoed around the bed, searching for her clothes. Her heart dropped when she found her dress—completely torn and unwearable.
"Oh no... how the hell did this happen?"
She frantically scanned the room and spotted a few fresh designer outfits hanging in the closet. Without hesitation, she threw on the first dress that fit, scribbled a quick note, and fled the suite without looking back.
---
Just down the hall, in another room of the same presidential suite, Mira White stirred beneath silky sheets. She stretched groggily, reaching for a pillow, but her hand landed on something firm and warm.
"Mmm… Ivy, since when did your chest get this hard?" she mumbled sleepily, still dazed.
As her eyes fluttered open, her heart nearly stopped.
Wrapped around her waist was not Ivy, but a man. A young man—with a disheveled mop of dark hair, scratch marks across his sculpted chest, and a peaceful expression that didn't match the chaos Mira felt inside.
"What the actual hell?" she hissed, sitting up in shock. "Don't tell me I slept with this... this baby-faced boy?!"
Her eyes scanned his features—soft, flawless skin, delicate bone structure, lips made for sin. He looked like a Greek god dressed in innocence.
No way. He's too young. He must've followed me from the bar. Is he a gigolo or something?
Still flustered, Mira tried to escape from his tight grip, but the soreness in her body made her stumble as she got off the bed.
"Ow—damn, I can't even walk properly. What is this boy made of? Steel?!"
She gathered her things, slipping into her clothes and grabbing her purse. Before leaving, she took out a platinum card and placed it on the bedside table beside a hastily written note:
"Little brother, take this card as compensation. Last night never happened. Let's not meet again. 🙂"
And with that, she limped out of the room in a hurry—only to crash into someone in the hallway.
"Ow! Are you blind—" Mira started, but her voice faltered. "Ivy?!"
Ivy blinked, her eyes wide with disbelief. "Mira? What are you doing here?"
"I should be asking you that," Mira said, eyeing Ivy's outfit—clearly not what she wore last night—and the unmistakable mark near her collarbone.
Ivy hesitated. "I… I got drunk last night. And then... I woke up with a stranger." She bit her lip. "He was insanely handsome."
Mira's jaw dropped. "You too?!"
"What do you mean, you too? Mira—don't tell me you also—" Ivy gasped.
Mira nodded, crossing her arms with a huff. "Yup. I woke up next to a ridiculously good-looking guy, probably younger than me. I don't even remember how it happened!"
"How the hell did we end up like this?" Mira muttered.