The game continued at the private high-stakes table, the green felt glowing under the soft amber light of the chandelier. Chips worth millions moved back and forth with each hand, the quiet clack of plastic against wood the only steady sound beneath the low murmur of conversation.
Mike felt like an electric shock had just passed through his entire body.
Marianne's hand had slipped under the table and rested boldly on his thigh — her fingers warm through the fabric of his trousers, slowly tracing upward with deliberate, teasing pressure. She wasn't touching his cock yet… but she was close enough that the heat of her palm radiated through the material, making his already-hard dick throb painfully against the confines of his suit pants.
He coughed lightly, trying to disguise the sudden rush of blood that made his shaft twitch and strain. His breath came sharper, chest rising and falling under the black shirt as he fought to keep his expression neutral.
He glanced sideways at Marianne. She was calmly sipping her cocktail, lips pressed elegantly against the rim of the crystal glass, not a single flicker of emotion on her flawless face. But beneath the table, her hand continued its slow, maddening journey — fingertips gliding along the edge of his thigh, brushing dangerously close to the thick bulge now tenting his trousers, teasing without ever fully touching.
To say Mike was at a loss for words wasn't enough.
Yes, countless women had thrown themselves at him before. They had submitted eagerly, moaned beneath him, begged for more. But this… this was different.
Her husband sat right beside her. Her future son-in-law sat directly across the table. And he was just a man she had met barely a day ago.
Yet here she was — the proud, untouchable Marianne Moreau — openly playing with his cock under the table like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Mike clutched his fists under the table, knuckles whitening. Marianne's fingers danced playfully along the edge of his crotch, brushing the outline of his throbbing erection without ever giving him the relief of full contact. The teasing was exquisite torture.
Take a breath, Mike. Don't let her control you, he told himself.
He leaned toward her, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous whisper only she could hear.
"You're playing a dangerous game, Mrs. Moreau," he said, eyes locked on hers. "Are you sure you can handle the consequences?"
Marianne chuckled softly — a rich, throaty sound that sent another jolt straight to his cock. Her blue eyes sparkled with pure mischief as she took another slow sip of her cocktail.
"Do you know what happens when a snake enters a mongoose's territory?" she replied, voice silky and calm.
Mike didn't understand the analogy at first.
Marianne smiled — slow, dangerous, and utterly confident.
"It devours the snake," she whispered. "Why? Because the snake never realized who was the prey… and who was the predator."
Mike gulped. The realization hit him like a punch.
He had underestimated her completely.
The outer shell — the warm, friendly socialite, the elegant mother — was nothing but a flawless facade. Beneath it was a predator in her own right, every bit as dangerous as he was.
And strangely, that truth only made his arousal spike higher. His cock throbbed hard against the fabric of his trousers, begging for her touch.
He smiled back — dark, dangerous, matching her energy.
Marianne's lips curved in response, her fingers still teasing along the edge of his bulge.
Fin, seated across the table, caught the subtle shift in their expressions — the charged looks, the way Mike's jaw tightened and Marianne's eyes gleamed. A fresh wave of unease settled in his gut, but he said nothing.
A few hands later, Fin excused himself.
"I need to step out for a moment," he said, voice tight. "Washroom."
He rose and left the table, his security detail following out of habit. Fin raised a hand without looking back.
"Stay with Clara. Protect her."
The guards remained.
Fin kept his hands in his pockets as he walked through the luxurious corridors toward the private washroom, the weight of the past few weeks pressing down on him like a physical force. He felt suffocated. His childhood flashed through his mind — his father always absent, his mother consumed by work and power. After his father's death, Fin hadn't even felt grief; he had continued existing in the shadow of Eleanor's empire. He had never really faced anything on his own. Everything he wanted — wealth, women, comfort — had always been at his fingertips.
Until now.
For the first time, he faced a problem he couldn't simply hand to his mother. Because if Eleanor ever learned that Clara had cheated on him… Fin knew exactly what she would do. And he loved Clara too much to let that happen.
He entered the private washroom — all marble and soft lighting, the faint scent of expensive soap in the air — and stood before the mirror. He stared at his reflection, then roughly pulled at his collar, feeling the urge to rip his shirt off and punch the man who couldn't protect the love of his life.
He sighed heavily, about to leave, when the door opened behind him.
Fin watched in the mirror as Lila stepped inside.
His brows rose. This was the men's room.
"Hey… this is the men's room," he said, turning slightly.
Lila smiled, folding her arms under her ample breasts, pushing them up invitingly in the shimmering electric-blue dress.
"I know, Mr. Harrington," she purred, stepping closer.
Fin stepped back instinctively, his back hitting the cool marble wall of the private washroom. The soft lighting cast a warm glow over the polished stone surfaces, and the faint scent of expensive soap lingered in the air.
"What are you doing?" he asked, voice tight with confusion and alarm.
Lila stepped closer, her electric-blue dress shimmering under the lights, the thin fabric clinging shamelessly to her full breasts and the curve of her hips. The hem rode high on her thighs as she moved, the lace tops of her stockings just visible. She smiled — slow, knowing, and dangerously seductive — her red lips parting as she tilted her head.
"How does it feel?" she asked softly, her voice low and teasing.
Fin blinked, completely confused. "What do you mean?"
Lila's smile widened, her eyes locking onto his with dark amusement.
"To watch your woman being taken right under your eyes."
The words hit Fin like a slap to the face, a brutal gut punch that knocked the air out of his lungs. His voice came out hoarse, barely above a whisper.
"You know… and you're still with that guy?"
He had thought Lila was just another victim — an innocent girl caught in Mike's web, unaware of the kind of man she was with. But now, standing in front of him in this luxurious men's room, he understood that the bold, beautiful woman before him was far more than she appeared. There was something calculating and knowing behind her seductive smile.
Lila smirked and took a step back, leaning casually against the marble wall, her body arching slightly so the blue dress stretched tighter across her breasts. She looked completely at ease, as if they were discussing the weather.
"Of course I know," she said, her tone almost playful. "Actually, I know more than you think."
She let the words hang for a moment, then continued.
"I'm not his girlfriend or anything like that. I'm just accompanying him on this trip."
Fin felt even more confused, his brow furrowing. "Then who exactly are you?"
Lila's smile turned sharper, her eyes gleaming with something almost protective.
"The one can that help you."