Song for the mood: Sucker by Madeline Kenney. A snippet of the lyrics:

But when it's all said and done
I'll make another
Pour myself a cup of coffee
I'm the sucker

Vera

Half an hour later

"Wow, your place is amazing, Mister Scott!" I nearly choked with astonishment at the opulence of Alistair's home when he guided me into the open-plan living room.

Amazing was an understatement. The playboy's penthouse apartment was a palatial haven reserved for the filthy rich, and Alistair was the epitome of modern-day wealth.

"My friends Robbie and Angie Somersby designed my home. They're the best architects in the city." Alistair toyed with one of my fallen curls as I nodded my head.

"Their boy, Jacob, goes to the same school as my son, Damian. He visits from time to time when Damian's with me, and I think he's a good influence, a church kid, you know."

"I see. They sound like nice people," I said, staring at the high ceiling, bespoke chandeliers, and a spiral staircase that connected the living room to the upstairs floor, where I assumed the bedrooms were.

"It's a pity that Robbie and Angie plan to leave Lester Harbor in a few years. They've just finished a project for me in Dubai."

"Oh?"

"Wait until you see my penthouse apartment there." Alistair clinched my waist in a tight embrace, planting an endearing kiss on my cheek.

"Dubai...wow." I adjusted his collar and allowed the gentle roughness of his unshaven jaw to rub my face.

"Do you have a swimming pool, Alistair?" If he owned a pool, it would have cost an arm and a leg. Or maybe a kidney.

He scoffed. "Sweetheart, I own the top floors of this building. In fact, I'm on the committee for the entire building. Would you like to see my rooftop swimming pool?"

"I don't think I'll stay," I announced, annoyed at how the rich took life for granted. I grew up in an average home featuring mismatched furniture that frayed and faded over the years. He grew up in the spoils of pristine perfection; his upbringing defined who he was.

He had everything he wanted-the best education, a career given to him on a platinum platter, people who pandered to his demands, and beautiful women. On the other hand, I had to work my ass off and appreciated every accomplishment I earned.

My sudden jealousy surprised me-I rarely gave a shit about prominent and wealthy people, but Alistair exposed me to his world, and he affected me emotionally. Things were getting personal.

"Don't go. Please! I need you to stay." Alistair's jungle-green eyes darkened as he tightened his grip on my right wrist and rubbed it in circular motions with his sensual thumb.

"Alistair, I don't know..."

"I need you."

"No, you don't, darling." My words said one thing, but my body betrayed me, allowing him to inhale my hair's fresh, floral fragrance.

"Stay. You're intoxicating." Bending his head, Alistair lowered his passion-glazed eyes as his lips brushed against mine. He deepened the heat, tasting every drop of me, while his erection pressed into my lower belly.

Alistair's natural scent, blended with his spicy cologne, ensnared me, seducing every inch of my body. "I want to fuck you," he whispered. "Take you here right now."

"God, I want your dick," I moaned, caressing the outline of his bulge.

"So, will you stay the night?" Alistair's warm breath blew against the nape of my neck.

"Mister Scott," I teased, unzipping his pants. "Will you show me your bedroom?"

***

Two a.m., Sunday morning

"Alistair?"

"Mmm?"

"There's someone at the door."

"What? Shit, Vera, you must be dreaming. There's no one at the door."

"Yes, the doorbell just rang." I shook Alistair's arm gently to wake him up fully. I started to panic, wondering if a man like Alistair was in any danger or connected with the mafia.

It was no secret that Lester Harbor's mafia had ties with wealthy citizens and politicians and drove a lucrative underground drug and prostitution ring.

The doorbell chimed again, forcing Alistair out of bed.

"I'll see who it is," he grumbled, shuffling to his walk-in wardrobe to put on a shirt and sweatpants.

"Shouldn't you call security?" I asked, getting out of bed.

"Here, you can put these on." Alistair handed me a T-shirt and a pair of boxer shorts.

"Alistair, can you answer my question?" I stared at him as I donned the shirt and shorts.

"No, I don't need to call security. They run a tight ship, and I've got a panic room for worst-case scenarios."

I ran my fingers through my unkempt hair, then crossed my arms.

"Vera, if anyone is allowed to get past security, it would be my son. That's who I'm worried about!" Alistair's eyebrows furrowed, deepening the lines of concern in his forehead. He stalked down the stairs and pressed the screen on the intercom.

"Hello? Dad?" A fragmented voice called out, matching the lanky frame of a boy on the screen.

"Come in, son," Alistair tapped the screen, triggering the front door to unlock.

Dressed in a dark hoodie and cargo pants, the boy, about ten or eleven years old, sprinted into the living room, hugged his father, then pulled back his hood, revealing blond curls and green eyes.

"Dad!" The boy cried, burying his face in Alistair's chest.

"Where's your mother?" Alistair asked, holding his son tightly.

"She's high, Dad! She's high as a kite!"

"Again?" Alistair released his son, his face red with fury and his voice shaking. "What happened, Damian?"

"She's got her lovers at home again. One of the women came into my room and crawled into my bed, Dad! She was naked!"

"Where was your mother?"

"You don't want to know. I caught a cab here." The boy glanced at his father.

Oh, my God. What kind of mother was this woman? I folded my arms and shook my head in disbelief.

"Dad, who is she?" Damian turned toward me, eyes filled with curiosity.

"I'm Vera Richland." I extended my hand to shake the boy's hand.

"I'm Damian Scott," he said, shaking my hand.

"Vera, can you excuse my son and me for a few minutes?" Alistair's face softened.

"Sure, I can leave."

"Wait, you said your last name is Richland, right?" Damian took one step toward me.

"Yeah, that's right."

"I know a guy with the same last name. Richland. Yeah, Julian Richland. Hmm, you have the same eyes as him." Damian stared at me.

"Oh?" I raised both eyebrows.

Damian tilted his head. "Do you know him?"

"I...uh, that's my brother's name," I managed to speak as I rubbed my trembling fingers.

"Mom pays him. She pays for lays." The boy smirked, showing too much knowledge for his age.

Alistair warned, "Damian, that's enough-"

"Julian went home early tonight," Damian continued, ignoring his father. "Your brother has kind eyes, dark like yours. That's why you remind me of him. He taught me to play Uno once-"

"Damian, enough!" Alistair ordered. He flushed, and his fists clenched as a muscle twitched in his cheek.

Air rushed from my body as if a vacuum had sucked the life out of me. My legs shook, and my hands trembled with shock. Think, Vera. Think.

Stay calm, Vera. The boy needs stability now. I masked my shock with a serene smile. "Damian, I'm sorry you've had a rough night. I'm also sorry that we met under these circumstances."

"Naw, it's alright. I'm used to it. I hate living with my mother."

"Would you like me to get you something to drink?" I asked, remembering the breathing technique my psychologist taught me to deal with anxiety.

"Yes, please, Vera," Alistair cut in. "I'll talk to you when I'm done with Damian."

***

One hour later

How could it be?

Alistair's ex-wife, Saira Quinn, was a ruthless business entrepreneur who came from old money. When she and Alistair married, two of Lester Harbor's most powerful families-the Quinns and the Scotts-became one.

If their union sounded like royalty, that was what they were. They were royals in business and politics with connections to key political leaders.

I was processing my thoughts and feelings when I heard footsteps entering the master bedroom.

"Vera, would you like some coffee?" Alistair called from the doorway. He walked toward me with two porcelain mugs in his hands.

"How is Damian?" I asked, taking my coffee from him. It was still the early hours of the morning, but my night was already ruined, and I was wide awake.

"He's asleep."

I nodded. "Did you know?" I asked.

"Huh?" His lack of an honest answer infuriated me.

"Did you know that your ex-wife pays my brother for sex?"

"Vera, sit down and let me explain."

I sat on the white leather sofa and stared at the city lights through the glass window. Alistair placed his mug on the coffee table and began rubbing my shoulders, but I flicked his fingers away. The last thing I needed was affection.

"Vera, I'm sorry. I should have told you."

"You knew all along." I turned to Alistair and stared at his ashen, unshaven face. "And yet, you devised an elaborate plan and feigned ignorance to get me to sleep with you!"

"Vera-"

"Was this your sick and twisted way of getting back at your ex-wife? By sleeping with her lover's sister?"

"Vera, it's not like that!"

"Then what is it like, Alistair? Because this is all fucked up!" I glared at the man. "You know what the worst thing is? I feel sorry for your son! That poor boy has endured enough hell in his young life! He has a mother who subjugates him to a world that he should never be exposed to, and," I pointed my finger at Alistair, "he has a father who's too busy fucking countless women to give a damn."

Standing up from the sofa, I narrowed my eyes at Alistair. "Damian deserves so much more than this!"

"Vera, if you give me a minute to explain-I never intended to hurt you. I care about you!" Alistair stood up, attempting to touch my arm.

"I'm going home," I declared, taking off his clothes and putting on my dress.

"Vera, please..." Alistair's voice faltered, and his eyes were wounded.

"You need to get your priorities straight." I unlocked my phone to call for a taxi. "I'm ordering a cab."

Right then, a crack of lightning blinded the sky, followed by the deafening sound of thunder. Watching the rain blur the cold glass window, I felt an uneasy sensation-I had to leave.

The game was over.

A/N: Please comment and vote; it motivates me to keep writing. Thank you for the boost.⭐️