Chapter 492

Working at Mirage Lounge meant navigating a sea of personalities, each requiring a different approach. And Julian Montclair wasn't just another client.

His commanding presence, powerful connections, and that dangerous aura demanded absolute precision in every interaction.

The manager signaled for Seraphina to exit immediately, desperate to avoid further provoking Julian. Drawing a steadying breath, he pushed open the private room's door.

Inside, Julian lounged with predatory grace, his piercing gaze dissecting the room.

"Mr. Montclair," the manager began with a nervous bow. "Seraphina is still learning. Any offense was unintentional. I sincerely apologize. If you'd prefer another companion—"

Donovan Pierce, Julian's sharply dressed assistant, cut him off. "Unnecessary," he stated coldly. "Your services aren't required here."

Turning to Julian, Donovan lowered his voice. "Sir, your car is ready whenever you wish to leave."

The manager nodded hastily, already retreating.

"One more thing," Donovan's voice froze him mid-step.

"Yes, sir?" The manager's pulse hammered in his throat.

Donovan's words carried glacial finality. "When Mr. Montclair visits alone, ensure no female staff enter his suite. Understood?"

"Absolutely, sir. It won't happen again." Beads of sweat formed along his hairline as he backed away.

An outrageous suspicion suddenly struck him. If Julian refused female company... did that mean he favored—

The thought nearly made him stumble.

Julian Montclair, that paragon of masculine elegance, might have such unconventional tastes?

"Rich men always have their eccentricities," he muttered, shaking his head as he fled.

Julian stretched across the leather couch, his expression inscrutable. His fingers twitched toward a crystal glass, but Donovan was already there, pouring amber liquid with both hands.

Instead, Julian seized the whiskey bottle directly. Tipping his head back, he drained a third of the contents before letting it shatter against the marble floor. He watched the spreading pool with detached interest.

"Find me an underground fight ring," he commanded, rolling his shoulders to release tension.

Meanwhile, Adrian Blackwood guided Vivian Hartley into the penthouse suite of Harbor Grand Hotel. Her cheeks bloomed pink, eyes shining with vulnerable trust as she gazed up at him—a delicate blossom trembling in the wind.

Adrian's blood burned. That fragile beauty, that unconscious surrender in her gaze, only stoked his hunger to claim her completely.

The door clicked shut. In one fluid motion, Adrian pinned Vivian against it, capturing her lips in a searing kiss. His hand found the delicate column of her throat, fingers tracing the flutter of her pulse before tightening possessively.