. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

𝓑𝓮𝒻𝓸𝓻𝓮

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

The bet started as a joke.

“Thirty days.”

Lucien D'Angelo said lazily, swirling whiskey in his glass.

“Give me thirty days and any women ruin her life for me.”

“No way”

Cassian De Luca scoffed from across the table.

“No way you can make a woman fall in thirty days.”

A slow smirk appeared on Lucien’s face.

“You say that like it’s difficult.”

”It is”

Cassian shot back.

“Women don’t fall for cold bastards anymore. Especially ones like you.”

He leaned forward slightly, amusement flashing in his eyes.

“Let’s bet.”

Lucien D'Angelo raised an eyebrow, swirling the whiskey in his glass.

“On what?”

Cassian’s smile turned sharper.

“Money. Ten million. Thirty days. You make her fall for you… you win.”

A few of the men around the table went quiet, waiting.

Lucien took a slow sip, unbothered.

“And if I don’t?"

......

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

𝓝𝓸𝔀

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

It was a full moon that evening when you met Lucien D'Angelo.

Your best friend Zoe Hearth practically dragged you to one of those ridiculous rich people parties held in a glass mansion overlooking the ocean. Everything glittered and expensive.

And honestly? You were bored out of your mind.

You stood near the endless table of desserts, staring at the beautiful cakes sparkling beneath the chandelier lights.

“Those cakes don’t bite.”

The deep voice beside you made you turn instantly and nearly forget how to breathe. Why are there so many handsome men here? you thought.

You looked back at the desserts.

“Depends. Some look dangerous.”

A faint smirk touched his lips.

“That one probably is”

he said, nodding toward a tiny cake covered in gold flakes.

"It look dangerous sweet"

" So?"

Does the mysterious lady judging desserts have a name?"

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

Across the room, one of his friends noticed the way Lucien kept looking at you and smirked into his drink.

“Well”

he muttered

“there goes the thirty day bet.”