“What’s that?”

The amber glow of the penthouse bar reflected off two highball glasses. Eve Sweet swirled her drink, the ice clinking a soft, deliberate rhythm. Across from her, Agatha Vega leaned back in the leather chair, a portrait of smoldering confidence. The air between them wasn't just charged; it was a live wire.

Now, the door to the private lounge opened. A tall, striking woman—a stranger—paused, looking for a quiet corner. Agatha shot Eve a triumphant smirk. Too easy, that look said.

Wagered Affection

The air stilled.

The wager was forgotten. The stranger’s number lay untouched. Because the only prize that mattered was already leaning in, and the only bet either of them wanted to win… was each other.

“And if I win?” Eve had asked, her own smile a secret weapon.

“No,” Agatha breathed, leaning across the table. Her hand caught Eve’s wrist. “I won. Because you just proved my point.”

But Eve didn’t move. She simply turned her head, caught the stranger’s eye, and offered a small, vulnerable smile—the kind that hinted at a secret. Then she looked away, down at her drink, as if embarrassed to have been caught looking.

“Then I’m yours for a night. Truly yours.” Agatha’s eyes flickered with something deeper than competition. “But if I win, you’re mine.”