Monday, February 6th, 2023 – 07:38 AM
Location: Valentino Mansion
Golden morning light leaked through the half-curtained windows of the secret chamber beneath Valentino Mansion. A low hum of distant waves and electric silence hung in the air, broken only by the soft, slow breaths of two tangled bodies.
John stirred first. His hair was a mess. His mind, fogged by the remnants of last night's wine and perfume, took a moment to register the warmth pressed against him. A woman—an escort, her hair spread across the pillow like spilled ink—lay quietly beside him , her warm and silky breast touching his waist, still fast asleep under one of Marco's imported silk sheets.
He blinked. Then, without thinking, started to suck her plump tits and leaned in, amused at the intimacy of it all. "Huh... so it wasn't a dream," he muttered, more to himself than to her. She stirred, smiling faintly in her sleep.
Just across the room, Marco Valentino lounged shirtless on a low leather couch, sipping something dark from a heavy crystal glass—an heirloom of his father's empire. He raised a brow at John's half-awake display.
"Well, well," Marco smirked. "Didn't expect the rookie to dive headfirst."
John froze, then laughed, sheepishly pulling the sheet up over his chest like a sitcom actress. "Bro, I swear—I died and woke up in heaven."
Marco chuckled, tossing a shirt across the room. "If this is your version of heaven, you're welcome anytime." He gestured to the vintage record player in the corner. "Frank Sinatra's been playing all night. Even he's impressed."
"I can't feel my legs," John groaned, but the grin on his face was wide and utterly unrepentant.
Meanwhile, on the upper floors of the Valentino estate, Ethan Vale stood under a rainfall showerhead in a marble-tiled bathroom. Steam rose around his silhouette, clean lines of muscle and poise—sharp, quiet. He wasn't rushing. He never did.
Today, he was going to meet Amilia Barrett.
His tailored shirt lay folded beside a slim digital tablet on the sink counter. On the screen were graphs—stock trends, news tickers, and names from a future no one else in this world could understand. The numbers didn't lie, and neither did time.
He ran a hand through his damp hair, eyes lingering on the blinking notification.
'Tent #167. Monday. Don't tell Jonathan. —Amilia.'
Ethan didn't respond. He simply marked it as Seen, placed the tablet aside, and moved to dress with precision. The future had already happened once. Now he was rewriting it—gracefully, powerfully, on his own terms.
---
Elsewhere — 08:10 AM
Manhattan Loft, Liora's Apartment
Liora's phone buzzed on the nightstand as she lay in bed, Jason's arms around her waist. He was half-asleep, humming against her cheek, until she pulled away—eyes fixated on the screen.
A model's video. One of those vapid influencers from Marco Valentino's party.
Jason blinked. "What is it?"
She didn't answer. She turned the volume up. In the video, the camera briefly caught a figure in the distance—black suit, too composed for a party like that. Then Marco himself appeared, patting the man's shoulder. The angle turned slightly, and for one breathless moment, Ethan Vale's face was clear in the background.
Liora sat up, spine straight as a blade.
Jason frowned, rubbing his eyes. "Wait—is that Ethan? But he wasn't invited, right? He's not on—"
She played the video again, slower this time. "He was there. With Marco. And that's Jonathan Barrett."
The implications hit them like a thrown stone. Jason opened his mouth, but Liora was already out of bed, grabbing her robe. Her face was unreadable, but her jealousy simmered just beneath the surface.
---
Meanwhile — 08:24 AM
Leona Joey's Suite, Valentino Mansion
The sheets still held his scent. Leona sat up slowly, her Honey blonde hair a disheveled halo. She stretched, eyes trailing over the empty space beside her on the bed. Ethan was gone.
She ran her hand over her stomach, her palm flat, as if to imprint his memory back onto her body and trying to fetch his seed. Her lips parted. A murmur left her—quiet, slightly dark.
"Mine," she whispered.
The soft morning light cut across the room like a blade of truth. But she wasn't done with Ethan Vale. Not by a long shot.
---
Back in the Secret Chamber — 08:29 AM
John finally rose, grabbing a robe while one of the staff discreetly knocked with espresso and croissants. Marco waved them in, tossing a sarcastic glance at his friend.
"You look like you fought a bear and lost."
"I won, actually," John said, pointing at the escort who was now sitting up, hair tousled and eyes glazed with amusement.
Marco poured more wine into his glass. "You and Ethan. Polar opposites. He's up there plotting moves like a CEO. You're down here doing cardio with a girl named Cherry."
"Hey," John pointed a finger, smirking. "Her name's not Cherry. It's…uh…"
"Exactly," Marco laughed.