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The man in the silver suit, with an entourage that was anything but small, had eight bodyguards in black suits standing behind him like javelins. Each of their gazes were filled with murderous intent, ready to strike at their master's command. In the grand hall of the luxury club, many onlookers were speculating about the identity of the man in the silver suit.
Before the man in the silver suit stood eighteen tall and sweet-faced women, each seductively dressed in camisoles and stockings, uniform in their attire, awaiting his selection. Whomever he chose would have the privilege of serving him that night. These eighteen women, in both their aura and appearance, could be considered noble, perhaps even escorts, but they were not the kind for whom money alone could buy their company, for they had the power to drive men to ecstatic desperation.
"Leave that one, the rest may go," said the man in the silver suit, lounging on the sofa with a celebrity's ease.
