Bentley's POV
A smile slowly tugged at my lips. "Never mind, it's nothing."

"You're sure?" he said, arching a brow. 
"Yeah, I'm fine," I replied, reassuring him with a smile.

"Okay, let's read." Damian touched something on the couch, and I marveled as it gradually unfolded into a bed for two.

I pointed with a shaky finger. "It could always do that?"

"Yes, but I don't use it often," he said, lying down. 
"Cool. Can all the couches do that, or just this one?" I asked, lying next to him.

He grabbed my waist, snuggling me close with a long sigh. "Yeah, I guess."

"Are you even listening?" I narrowed my eyes at him as he placed tiny kisses on my neck. I darted away, pressing my lips together, my cheeks flushed pink. "Shouldn't we start reading?" I mumbled.

"Oh, that's true," he paused, handing me the comic. "You hold it... I like watching you read," he confessed, deepening the shade on my cheeks.

"Okay, I'm starting over," I said, turning to the first page.

***

Mark's POV
I hated coming back here—a private mansion is less than a family bungalow. The company of others makes the difference.

I would roll to the edge of my king-sized bed and back again to while away time—boredom clung to me like an unloved child.

I let out a heavy sigh, staring at my spiral-shaped chandelier emitting a dim pink light. I contemplated in my mind about going out with Damian tonight or inviting my friends for a house party.

It's not like my parents would ask about any of this. If I dropped dead in this house, it would take six months until they found my corpse. How hard was it to care for one child when others have much more?

I grabbed my phone and dialed his number. I wouldn't pick my best friend over anyone. We're inseparable, like socks to feet.

"Hello?" his voice came through.

"Hey," I grinned, rolling to the other side of the bed. "I'm in your city. Let's go out; drinks on me."

I raised my head from my pillow, brows creased as he went silent. "Damian?"

"You know we can't keep doing that. I have a boyfriend now," he answered calmly.

"Yeah, but he wouldn't mind sharing, would he?"

"He's the jealous type; yes, he would," I could hear the smile in his voice.

"It must be nice to date someone, huh? You've forgotten about me."

"It's not like that. We can meet during the day—"

"It's not fun," I exhaled, throwing my legs around in annoyance.

"I'm sorry, there's nothing I can do."

"Yeah, bye. I'll go by myself," I said and hung up.

I predicted this might happen; it was no surprise at all. I scrolled through my contacts, narrowing my eyes at the name l saved my manager as—'Hottie.' My lips curled into a sly smirk. This man wouldn't sleep with me no matter how much I flirt with him.

I dialed his number, and he picked up after two rings.

"Good evening, Mark. What can | do for you?" His deep, raspy voice came through. His lowered tone was such a turn-on—teasing between my legs.

I tied my feet together, biting my lower lip. "Papi, wanna drink with me tonight?"

"Mark, please, get some sleep," he sighed tiredly, hanging up.

"Hey! I'm not done yet," I sat up, staring at my phone. "How rude," I frowned, turning my head knowingly. I grabbed my purple pillow and screamed my frustrations into it.

"Why is everyone rejecting me today?" I whispered, swallowing the lump in my throat.

Feeling sorry for myself got boring. I checked the time on my phone and jumped off the bed. It was time to hit the club. I could host my party another day, maybe when Damian has more free time. "Tilly, prepare my bath," I commanded.

An automated voice answered from my bedside table: "Preparing bath."

Tilly was my personal inbuilt AI; she's similar to Damian's Alpha, but he is slightly more advanced.

Tilly's a lifesaver and a true friend—she would engage in conversations with me when I summoned her at times when I was dying of boredom.

I walked into the bathroom, butt-naked—like I had been this whole time. I raised my leg, feeling the temperature with my toe. "Perfect," I sighed heavily, soaking in rose water and a sea of red petals.

I washed myself tenderly as if performing for an imaginary audience. A model had to look flawless no matter the situation we find ourselves in, posing? Perfection; dancing? Perfection; eating? Perfection; sleeping? Perfection... blowing cocks? That's right, perfection!

You give the people nothing but two hundred percent perfection. That's what it means to be a supermodel.

The glass door slid open as I came closer and shut itself after I passed.

I wore the 'Spellbound' and 'Classic' scents to smell like him—but something was missing. I bet he added a secret ingredient to smell extra special... it could be his body wash or shampoo.

Going to the club, my style was influenced by whom I was going with and sometimes, my mood—I was going full emo today in my black cropped vest, tight pants that popped out my perfectly round ass, and boots that went up to my thighs, the same way my gloves went up to my elbows—polished in black.

I settled in my golden dressing chair, putting on light-eye makeup for the finishing touches.

I left my blue Tesla on auto-drive, letting it zoom to the club.

***

Stepping out of my car and into the place, I flashed one charming smile, throwing a few "heys" and "hi's" as I waltzed to the VIP room; the people parted effortlessly for me.

The volume of the song muffled into the background—one reason I disliked this section, the second being not being able to dance and mingle to your heart's content. I never stayed on the ground floor because Damian doesn't like to dance.

I ordered a vodka and sat by the corner—where I normally sit if I'm with him. I exhaled, pouring into my glass and downing it, my throat dry from the burn.

I poured the second one. I was about to chug it when a familiar voice called my name.

"Mark."

I lifted my head to the man, grinning widely, and then I gasped. "Damian! I knew you'd come," I said, hugging him tight... but he smelled slightly musky today, different from his usual scent.

Author's note:
We would be seeing more POVs of some side characters.

Thanks for reading.❤️