Prologue
"Love is not my style, and I'll tell you what, I won't be penning any sonnets anytime soon," the words reverberated through the club, setting off a chorus of laughter that could rival a stand-up comedy show.
Harry leaned in, his eyes twinkling with enigmatic vibes. "Oh come on, old sport, love's not a bargain, it's an emotion. It's like a surprise party for your heart—you never know when it's coming, and suddenly, bam! Confetti everywhere!" He nodded toward his girlfriend, Lily Young, who beamed back at him, wrapping her arms around his like a human scarf.
Michael Rex rolled his eyes, watching their cosy display with a mixture of amusement and scepticism. "Emotions, huh? Well, my heart's more of a DIY project. Love? Nah, my jam is more like... a nocturnal adventure," he quipped, winking as he took a sip of his drink, as if he had just cracked the code to a secret cocktail.
He had the victory equation, simple as 1+1: Money plus looks equals a girl magnet. He was living proof of his own hypothesis. Ah, youth—where every problem seems solvable with a wad of cash and a chiselled jawline.
Regrets?
Nah, he was riding the thrill of life's grand casino, and he held all the golden chips.
"Dude, seriously, it's time to trade that bedsheet cape for reality," Andrew Carver grumbled, irritation practically tattooed on his forehead.
Michael leaned back, grinning. "Relax, my friend, I'm just making memories that...uh, fade after a while."
"Memories, huh? More like an Academy Award-winning series," Harry retorted, his brows almost airborne.
Ignoring the banter, Michael finished his drink, casting a glance that collided with the mesmerising blue of a blonde across the room. His lips curved into a charm-loaded smile, and like a siren to a sailor, she replied with her own brand of allure.
"Hey, it's not my fault," he shrugged as if the universe had conspired against him. "Blame Cupid; he must've been working overtime in my area."
His cup found the table, and he sauntered toward the blonde enchantress. "Ladies' choice, you know. Can't turn 'em away, can we?"
A languid sigh followed him from his friends. "Another day, another damsel," Andrew sighed, shaking his head.
Harry rested a hand on Andrew's shoulder. "Give it time. Beneath that playboy facade, I promise you, there's a guy who's just a few steps away from a plot twist."
Andrew stared after Michael, exasperation warring with hope. "I hope the plot twist arrives before he ends up writing a tragic epic."
