The Aureate

Steve rolled his eyes. "Sure, I'll send a polite brush-off. You're too big to respond personally now, Mr. Superstar."

They fist-bumped. Henry disappeared into the bedroom to change into black jeans, a black t-shirt—some polished casual vibe.

"No, security, alright?" He raised an eyebrow at Steve as hopped into his sleek convertible, top rolled down, letting the Aurora sunshine warm his blond hair.

Mike dreaded the thought of letting him drive off without security. But he just shrugged, oh well, you gotta give him his privacy sometimes. 

Henry cranked up one of his own tracks on the stereo, singing along to the catchy pop beats. Pedestrians at the crosswalk recognized him, pointing excitedly. He flashed them a quick wave before speeding toward the Aureate Hotel.

The building soared high, gleaming gold. The doorman recognized Henry immediately and swung open the tinted glass door with a respectful nod. Henry rode the elevator up to the 20th floor, heart thumping in anticipation.

"Kat, I'm here," he texted just before stepping out.

Suite 2002 was perched at the corridor's end. The door wasn't locked—he found it slightly ajar, as if Kat was expecting him. Slipping inside, he inhaled the spicy floral aroma of Sex Tease, her signature Valentine Inc. perfume. The lights were dim, curtains half-drawn, letting neon reflections dance across the plush carpeting.

Kat lounged on the edge of a huge bed, wearing a sheer black robe over red lace lingerie. She eyed him with sultry amusement. "You're late, golden boy."

He kicked off his sneakers. "Traffic, babe."

"You and your excuses," she teased, standing to greet him. As their bodies pressed together, she parted her lips, letting him taste the faint sweetness of her lip gloss.

"Miss me?" Henry murmured against her neck, running a hand along her waist.

"Mm, you have no idea," Kat whispered. She stepped back, giving him a once-over. "You look good in black. Told you."

He smirked. "I do sinful best."

They tumbled onto the bed in a swirl of laughter and tangled sheets. Between breathy kisses, Kat teased, "You better not stay half-dressed for too long."

Henry responded by tugging her robe away, trailing slow kisses down her shoulder. She arched into him, letting her hair spill across the pillows. "Damn," he murmured, half-lost in the sensation. "You taste like cinnamon."

She giggled, hooking a leg around him. "Blame the new lip balm. You like?"

"Love it," he replied, pressing deeper.

The suite filled with low moans, the soft rustle of clothing sliding away, the city's hum a faint backdrop. Henry's heartbeat soared with a mixture of lust and danger—what if Tanya found out this time? Then again, he was used to the adrenaline rush.

Suddenly, the door burst open with a loud bang. Henry froze mid-kiss, heart thudding. Kat yelped, scrambling for the duvet to cover herself. In stormed three men—two wearing black tuxedos, one in a black t-shirt and jeans, all with stern, unyielding expressions.

"What the—?" Henry tried to move but found himself pinned by one man's iron grip.

"Shut it," the man in the t-shirt barked. "We're taking you now."

Kat gasped, wide-eyed. "Who are—why are you—?"

"Quiet," hissed one of the tuxedos, pointing at her. Another scooped Henry's clothes off the floor, tossing them at his chest. "Dress, if you want."

Henry struggled, but they were too strong. They yanked him upright, half-naked. He managed to grab a towel, covering himself. "What the actual hell is going on?!"

The black-t-shirt guy said nothing, just tightened his hold. Kat clutched the sheets around her trembling body, eyes brimming with confusion. Her mind reeled—Was this Tanya's doing?

—----------------

Katherine Korotzov was a Russian model introduced by Don Mitzovich—Valentine Inc.'s sharp-eyed marketing director. She arrived in Aurora four years ago, relatively unknown beyond small Eastern European runways. Tanya Valentine's circle noticed her potential: tall, with striking features, and a grace that exuded both sensuality and class. They signed Kat under Valentine Inc. with a carefully devised plan.

Kat's Ping handle, @KatKorotzovOfficial, boasted a steady 20 million followers, grown over four meticulous years. Every post was curated by Valentine Inc.'s PR teams to avoid overshadowing Tanya but also keep Kat relevant. She shared behind-the-scenes glimpses of photo shoots, scenic Aurora tours, brand endorsements, and obligatory "shout-outs" to Tanya for "bringing her onto the big stage."

Kat's signature endorsement was "Sex Tease," a fiercely provocative cologne from Valentine Inc. aimed at bold, independent women. Billboards and commercials across Aurora flaunted Kat in provocative poses, wearing next to nothing, but always with Tanya's name attached: "A Valentine Inc. Original."

Whenever Kat appeared on talk shows—be it local morning segments or big network sit-downs—she'd dutifully mention Tanya as her mentor, the woman who "discovered" her. Even if Don was the real scout, the narrative was that all roads led to Tanya. Kat repeated the homage so often it felt scripted. And any time her star threatened to shine too bright, Tanya or her PR team would "coincidentally" show up, stealing the limelight. Kat never complained; she was loyal, well-paid, and valued her stable position under Valentine Inc.'s sprawling empire.

Kat's fame soared but never rivaled Tanya's. She topped out at a high-level model rank, traveling globally to represent top-tier brands, collecting a hefty paycheck that let her rent an upscale suite at the Aureate Hotel whenever she was in Aurora. She recognized the unspoken rule: never become a threat to Tanya. Never cross certain lines—like hooking up with Tanya's rumored partner, Henry Milton.

But lust sometimes overrides caution.

-----------------------

The men basically carried Henry out of the suite, ignoring his stream of curses. He tossed a wild, panicked look over his shoulder at Kat, who stared back, mouth parted in shock. The moment they reached the corridor, they slammed the door behind them, cutting off Kat's view.

Inside the suite, Kat collapsed onto the bed, chest heaving. She'd known it was risky hooking up with Henry, but this? She pressed a palm to her forehead, half-sobbing. "Tanya must've found out," she whispered, fear twisting her stomach. She felt a pang of guilt for Henry—what if they hurt him?

"At least let me put on pants," Henry hissed, pressing the towel around his waist.

One tuxedo shot him a glare. "Shut your mouth. You talk when we say you can."

As the elevator whirred downward, Henry's thoughts flickered to past fiascos. So many times, he'd nearly gotten caught by random influences—Tanya showing up, reporters in the hallway, unplanned appearances from brand sponsors. Steve had always swooped in, barking some excuse, hustling the women out, blocking doors, forging alibis.

But this time, Steve wasn't here. Henry felt vulnerable, pinned in a corner by men he couldn't identify. The sense of comedic chaos vanished, replaced by real fear.

The elevator opened onto a sub-level parking deck. The men hustled Henry toward a sleek black SUV. One popped the trunk, tossed Henry's scattered clothes in, while the other forced him into the back seat. They slammed the door, locked it. The engine revved, headlights illuminating a row of silent vehicles.

Henry swallowed hard, scanning the tinted windows, wondering why he let his security guys stay back. "Look, if this is about money, I can pay. If it's about Tanya—"

One man turned, pressed a finger to his lips in a hush gesture. The driver started pulling out. Not a word beyond that.

A cold dread crept over Henry. This wasn't the usual comedic meltdown. This felt bigger.

Meanwhile, in Henry's penthouse, Steve paced anxiously. He checked the time on his watch, half-expecting some update from Henry—something like: "Yo, meeting Tanya, be back in 2 hours, keep it hush." But no text arrived.

He tried calling Henry's phone. No answer. "Ayo, we gotta run. Henry's AWOL." Steve spoke over the walkie-talkie signaling to the security team that something was off.