09:31 PM — Valentino Estate, Private Tents at Shoreline
The moonlight rippled like silver knives across the sea.
Ethan was still sitting on the stone bench, legs slightly stretched, forearms resting on his knees. He had the stillness of a man meditating in a storm—watching noise, beauty, decadence blur into one endless cinematic party.
Then he heard her.
"You want to come in for a minute?"
Vivienne.
She was standing at the edge of the dunes, the warm breeze pushing strands of hair across her cheek. The white slit dress she wore kissed her thighs with each step. Behind her, the massive array of 250 luxury tents sprawled across the beach—lit like royal chambers, each a cocoon of high-end fantasy.
Ethan stood up slowly.
Didn't smile.
Didn't speak.
He simply walked.
Behind her.
Like a man chasing not lust… but an answer.
---
Tent #27 – Queen's View Pavilion
It was lavish.
High-thread satin drapes. A carved walnut bed with violet silk sheets. Two crystalline oil lamps flickering beside a chilled bottle of apricot wine. The scent of rose tobacco hung in the air, almost nostalgic.
Vivienne walked in first. Then turned near the bed.
She didn't sit.
She just stood—arms crossed, yet not defensive.
Her voice was softer now. Like she was unsure how to breathe near him.
"Tell me, Ethan… what do you think about me?"
A pause.
Ethan took a step forward, then two.
His eyes flickered—half-shadowed by the low lamp glow, gleaming with composure that melted more than heat ever could.
He didn't answer immediately. He looked at her as if she was a chapter he'd already read but wanted to revisit.
Then, with a low tone:
"I think you're the kind of woman men sculpt stories about—too graceful for the life you were thrown into… too dangerous for the men who mistake you for decoration."
Her lips parted slightly.
Ethan moved closer.
Just close enough for the air between them to thicken.
"You walk like something sacred. Yet speak like someone who has forgotten what it's like to be worshipped."
Vivienne's throat tightened.
A sadness in her eyes twisted… and broke.
For the first time tonight, she lowered her head.
Then she said it.
"All of this… all of me… it started with his brother. Not Marco."
Her fingers slid across her own wrist like she was remembering chains.
"He brought me here. Told me I was… an investment. Something to 'elevate.'"
Ethan didn't interrupt.
She walked to the bed's edge now, her posture more brittle.
"Marco never used me. He educated me. Dressed me. Protected me from men who weren't… gentle." She swallowed. "But it's all so... blurry. I don't know if I'm real anymore. I feel manufactured."
Then a strange silence.
Almost childlike.
"I'm still pure," she added, eyes blinking hard as if trying to convince herself more than him. "I don't even know why I said that."
Ethan stood unmoved. His expression unreadable, but listening. That alone made her knees weak.
Then—without planning—his mind whispered a line from the Bhagavad Gita:
> "A man must elevate himself by his own mind, not degrade himself. The mind is both the friend and the enemy of the self."
He breathed slowly. She wasn't the enemy. But her mind was trying to become one.
---
Outside – Main Lawn Area
The party shifted into a higher tempo. Lights danced madly. Fire breathers began their act near the north pool. Several well-dressed men entered private tents. Influencers were live-streaming semi-nude dances. Drunk laughter and minor chaos grew.
Marco now searched.
He checked the main hall, the cigar lounge, and the sun deck. No Ethan.
"Where the f*** is this bastard?" he muttered, draped in a velvet beach shirt, two soft chicks trying to cling to him.
---
Inside Tent #27 – 09:56 PM
Ethan realized—
She was tipsy. Or worse—drunk in disguise.
Vivienne moved too slowly now. Her eyes didn't blink as much.
She reached for his wrist. Fingers cold.
"Don't go," she whispered, stepping closer, pulling his arm.
Her hand slid up his chest. Her face flushed red—not from the heat… but from desire and chemical haze.
Ethan tensed.
This was danger.
Not the physical kind.
He slowly turned his body, trying to back away without triggering shame.
But she pulled harder. Her fingers desperate.
Mouth inches from his.
Eyes lost.
And then—
A loud voice burst through the tent flap.
"Ah, there you are, brother!"
Marco.
His presence tore through the tension like a cleaver.
He saw the scene instantly—Vivienne holding Ethan. Her eyes wild. Her lips parted. Ethan shirtless, hand still held by her.
Marco didn't flinch.
He laughed.
"Don't worry," he said, waving it off with smirking ease. "My boy Ethan doesn't fall that easy. He's not weak like most men."
Vivienne suddenly stepped back, like she'd just woken from hypnosis.
But Marco's mood shifted fast. He turned his head to her. His voice dropped into frost.
"Go. Now."
Vivienne nodded quickly, almost stumbling as she exited through the back curtain.
Ethan remained calm. Not defensive. Not apologetic.
Marco walked in fully now. "Come. Let's change the scene."
---
Secret Area – 10:10 PM
Valentino Mansion, Jade Section – Restricted Access
Thick oak doors slid open with facial ID.
Ethan followed Marco into the most decadent inner chamber he had ever seen.
Four stunning escorts—each dressed in transparent robes and silver threads—sat or leaned near black granite furniture. John was there already, shirt open, trying to act like he belonged but clearly overwhelmed.
Two butlers stood on standby with vintage wine bottles, imported caviar, and glossy cigar cases.
The air reeked of forbidden luxury.
Marco handed Ethan a glass. "You've got too many layers, brother. It's time you peeled one off."
Ethan glanced at the escorts, the wine, the shadows.
But inside—
He was already playing a different game.
And he had just started laying the pieces.