บท 1: Pilot
WARNING: This story contains explicit sexual content, sexual harassment, violence, power dynamics and verbal violence/abuse. Reader discretion is advised.
The luxurious penthouse was dimly lit, the soft glow of city lights filtering through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Tristan Blackwell, a charming and successful billionaire, lay beneath the duvet with his girlfriend, Ivy. Both of them were panting after an intense moment, but the air was thick with unspoken tension.
"I don't think I can ever get enough of you," Ivy said, her voice a mix of affection and frustration. Her fingers traced patterns on his chest, but her eyes betrayed her feelings—there was more she wanted, more she needed from him.
Tristan pushed himself up from the bed, revealing his toned body clad only in boxers. He quickly began dressing, pulling on a crisp shirt and tailored pants with practiced ease. Each movement was deliberate, but Ivy watched him with growing irritation.
"Where are you going to?" Ivy asked, her brows furrowed in confusion, her heart sinking a little at the prospect of being left alone again.
"I have to prepare for a meeting with the Stones," Tristan replied, his tone brisk as he fastened his cufflinks. "I'm going to be busy for the rest of the week. I'll call you later. Don't wait up."
Ivy's expression shifted from confusion to anger in a heartbeat. "Are you serious? Am I just a cumbucket to you? Someone at your every beck and call?" Her voice rose, echoing off the sleek walls of the penthouse.
Tristan paused, his jaw tightening. "Ivy, not now," he said, his voice edged with impatience. "I have a lot to deal with right now. You know you mean more than that to me." He looked at her, his blue eyes searching hers for understanding. "I don't want to argue. I promise to clear my schedule for next week. Let's talk later."
Without waiting for a response, he turned away and walked out, leaving Ivy seething on the bed. She sat up, frustration bubbling inside her like a shaken soda can, ready to explode. She grabbed her phone, her fingers trembling as she dialed a familiar number.
"This is harder than I thought," she muttered to herself, pacing the room as she waited for the call to connect and eventually the call connected. "I thought if I was more patient, I could get him to finally open up to me."
On the other end of the line, a voice replied, calm and measured, a stark contrast to her own turmoil. "Tristan is a busy man. Be patient."
"For how long?" Ivy snapped back, her voice laced with desperation. "The man is so stiff, so boring. He doesn't like having fun. He's good in bed though, that's my only compensation." She ran a hand through her hair, exasperated.
"I don't need all this information, Ivy. Just stick to the plan. We are almost there," the voice on the phone said, maintaining its cool demeanor.
"Fine!" she huffed, ending the call with a decisive tap on her screen. She tossed her phone onto the bed, feeling trapped in a gilded cage.
Ivy folded her arms, her anger simmering as she stared out the window at the sprawling city below. The lights twinkled like stars, but the beauty of it was lost on her. She felt like a spectator in her own life, watching as Tristan, the man who claimed to care for her, prioritized business over their relationship time and time again.
In the silence of the penthouse, thoughts swirled in her mind. Was she really just a distraction for him, a fleeting pleasure in his otherwise cutthroat world? She wanted to be more than that. She wanted connection, intimacy, not just physical, but emotional.
With a heavy sigh, she slid back onto the bed, her thoughts racing. The plan she and her friend had concocted felt like a double-edged sword, what if it worked, but at the cost of her heart? She wrestled with her emotions, torn between her desire for Tristan's affection and the reality of their relationship.
As she lay on the bed lost in her thoughts, the penthouse grew darker, echoing the turmoil within Ivy. Alone in her thoughts, she felt the weight of her choices pressing down on her, a reminder that sometimes love was not enough to bridge the chasms of ambition and wealth.
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