I sat quietly on the large balcony facing the garden. The cold breeze caressed my skin, easing the weight of recent days. The moonlight danced across the marble floor, and with each puff of cigarette smoke, it felt like my secrets were escaping. The ornate railing, cold to the touch, grounded me in the present, even as my mind wandered through treacherous memories. The scent of jasmine from the garden below mingled with the harshness of the tobacco, a bittersweet symphony that mirrored my life.
A rustling sound came from the door. I listened intently to the footsteps—heavy, cautious, familiar. "King, bad news." Levi. Always direct, no beating around the bush. He was my most trusted lieutenant, a man of few words but unwavering loyalty. Silence followed before he spoke again. "Miss Ivelisse went missing." I remained expressionless, gazing into the distance. The city lights twinkled below, indifferent to the turmoil within me. No emotion. No hint of surprise. This was a game, a dangerous dance she insisted on leading. "You know what to do." My voice was a low growl, barely audible above the night sounds. "Understood, King." I gestured for him to leave. He moved with the efficiency of a trained soldier, disappearing as silently as he had arrived. After the door closed, only the hum of the wind remained. "Ivelisse... how long will you hide?" I whispered to myself, barely audible. The question hung in the air, unanswered, like a prayer lost in the vastness of the night. I took a deep breath and lit another cigarette. The smoke wafted through the air, accompanied by memories I tried to bury. Memories of laughter, of shared dreams, of a love that had turned to ashes.
The scene shifted to a flashback of my mother teasing me, her voice lively but with a hint of scrutiny. We were in the family library, surrounded by towering shelves filled with leather-bound books. "Miracle, you're here tonight!" she said, her eyes sparkling with mischief. I responded with a smile, and she playfully threw a book at me. It was a worn copy of "The Count of Monte Cristo," a story of revenge and redemption. I chuckled, remembering her energy. She always saw the best in me, even when I struggled to see it myself. Her faith was a shield against the darkness that threatened to consume me.
The scene shifted again to my father, who informed me that Magnus was making moves and asked about my plan. We were in his study, a room filled with the scent of old wood and power. "Magnus is getting bolder, Miracle. He thinks he can outmaneuver us," my father said, his voice grave. I replied that I would let him enjoy his last two days. My father mentioned Gardo, a man who had been abusive due to Magnus's support. Gardo was a stain on our city, a symbol of the corruption that Magnus fostered. I listened intently, my expression unreadable. My father's words were a call to action, a reminder of the responsibility I carried on my shoulders.
Later, Levi called to report that the Seravell family was quiet, except for their son, who frequented the JC Club. The JC Club was a den of iniquity, a place where secrets were traded and desires were indulged. I instructed him to follow the son and report everything. Every detail, no matter how insignificant, was crucial.
The next day, I attended a meeting at the company, where tensions ran high. The boardroom was a battleground, the air thick with suspicion and resentment. Mr. Froilan, a man with a face like a weasel, accused me of killing Gardo and embezzling project funds. His words were like poison, designed to undermine my authority. I remained calm, my expression a mask. I told them I would clean up the mess within three days. My words were a promise, a declaration of war.
After the meeting, I left the office and stopped at a coffee shop near the JC Club. The city buzzed around me, oblivious to the storm brewing within. Inside, I saw a beautiful young woman with long, curly hair and calm, deep eyes. She smiled as she took orders, and for a moment, the atmosphere seemed to shift. Her smile was like a ray of sunshine, piercing the darkness that clung to me. I watched her, intrigued, as she moved with poise and confidence. There was something about her that drew me in, a quiet strength that resonated with my own.
As I observed, a customer became overly aggressive, touching her inappropriately. My instincts kicked in, but I remained seated, watching as she handled the situation with grace. She spoke to him firmly but politely, defusing the situation without causing a scene. I was impressed by her composure, her ability to maintain her dignity in the face of disrespect.
That night, the weight of the day pressed down on me. The meeting, the accusations, Ivelisse's disappearance – it all felt like a carefully orchestrated attack. I needed a release, a way to escape the suffocating pressure.
Wearing a medium-sized blouse, her beautiful assets were visible. Full and seemingly delightful to caress. The fabric strained against her curves, a silent invitation.
Fitted jeans, outlining the curve of her butt, further ignited my heat. The kind that's so good to squeeze and transfer anger into. The denim clung to her like a second skin, accentuating every line and curve.
I suddenly found myself inside the VIP room. The plush velvet seats, the dim lighting, the scent of expensive perfume – it was all designed to create an atmosphere of indulgence and secrecy.
"Mr. Grayson." Samuel, the owner of the club, greeted me with a knowing smile. He was a man who understood the desires of his clientele, a facilitator of fantasies.
"I want a petite lady. Someone I'll enjoy the night with." The words were out of my mouth before I could stop them, a desperate attempt to find solace in the arms of a stranger.
He gave me a knowing nod. Soon after, there was a knock on the door. A woman, not too tall, and her flesh looked so good. Her eyes were vacant, her smile practiced.
She just smiled, and without hesitation, I approached her. I licked and explored her mouth, sucking on her tongue. The kiss was empty, devoid of passion.
With every moan she made, only one woman appeared in my mind. The woman Gardo desires. El. Her face haunted me, a constant reminder of what I could never have.
"Hmmmm, so good!" she released a flirtatious moan. The sound grated on my nerves, a hollow imitation of genuine pleasure.
My load, wanting to invade the cave, raging and wanting to break free from my pants. The need was overwhelming, a desperate attempt to silence the voices in my head.
A hot, delicious, and tight mouth welcomed my raging manhood. From her eyes, I knew it was difficult for her because it didn't fit. But I didn't care. I wanted to lose myself in the physical sensation, to forget everything else.
"Deeper!" I said with a moan. The word was a command, a demand for release.
"Lean on the wall!" The order was harsh, devoid of tenderness.
Without a word, she followed my desire, tearing the small cloth blocking her newly cleaned pearl. Her compliance was unsettling, a reflection of the power I wielded.
Long and delicious moans were released as I began to brush her womanhood. Not too tight, but I needed to release the heat from my body. The act was mechanical, devoid of emotion.
Slowly, I moved in and out of her sin, slippery but so good. Reaching for her two large assets, trying to erect her red nipples. The sensation was fleeting, unsatisfying.
Before long, she willingly accelerated with my manhood, meeting every thrust I gave her. Her eagerness was unsettling, a reminder of the transactional nature of the encounter.
"You're so big!" she moaned. The words were empty, meaningless.
Standing was tiring, so I pulled her and made her lie face down on the sofa, wasting no time, I immediately fucked her hard. The act was violent, a release of pent-up frustration.
Her whimpers and not knowing where to look, her eyes rolling in pleasure. Her reaction was a performance, a charade.
"Damn it, it's so good to fuck you." The words were crude, a reflection of my inner turmoil.
I felt like I was close, I faced her towards me. From the lower part, I accelerated my position towards her mouth. Before she could speak, one thrust and I inserted my entire load into her small mouth. The act was degrading, a violation.
I fucked her violently, not caring. I just wanted to release what needed to be released. The release was temporary, fleeting.
I did it greedily and completely, fluids flowing from my penis down her throat. Her face was red, perhaps from the difficulty of breathing while I was fucking her. The sight was disturbing, a reflection of my own darkness.
"Fifty thousand pesos for tonight." I said to her, placing the check on the table after getting dressed. The money was a payment for services rendered, a way to absolve myself of guilt.
I didn't wait for her to speak. Her words were irrelevant.
A smoky and alcohol-smelling environment greeted me. The club was a maze of shadows and secrets, a place where desires ran rampant.
Not far away, I saw the woman in my thoughts again while someone else was hitting on her. El. Her presence was a beacon in the darkness, a reminder of the possibility of love and redemption.
"El, let's go home together!" The words were a plea, a desperate attempt to connect with her.
"Okay." Her agreement was a glimmer of hope, a sign that maybe, just maybe, there was still a chance for me.
On the side, an unrecognizable person was looking at the young woman. Their eyes burning with desire for the young woman. The stranger's gaze was possessive, a threat.
'It seems I might have a rival.' The thought was unsettling, a reminder of the competition for her affections.
I was uneasy, holding my breath, a chilling and familiar tattoo on their hands. The tattoo was a symbol of their past, a connection to a world I didn't understand.
Why did you come back? The question was a whisper, a plea for answers. The night was far from over. The game was just beginning. The stakes were higher than ever. And I was caught in the middle, torn between my desires and my responsibilities.