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Bella Woods wasn't sure how the male prostitute from yesterday had her number, but she thought it was a bit rude to have slept with someone and not paid.
The guy didn't seem like the type to just let it go.
It's better to pay up and be done with it, or it could be troublesome if he kept bothering her later.
With that in mind, Bella decided to send a message to the number: "Give me your bank account number."
The other party quickly replied with a question mark.
Bella: "I don't like to take advantage of people. Give me your account number and I'll transfer yesterday's money to you."
This message seemingly fell into a black hole, with no reply.
Bella had no idea that a certain man, upon seeing this message, displayed an utterly... bewildered expression.
"Is she mistaking me for a male prostitute?"
In an exceedingly lavishly decorated office, a man wearing a black shirt, the collar open slightly revealing beautiful muscular lines, sat lazily on the sofa.
He repeatedly pondered over the message on his phone.
He looked at the person sitting across from him, raising an eyebrow: "Yesterday a kid mistook me for a male prostitute, slept with me, and now wants to pay me."
The moment he said this, coffee was sprayed from the person across!
"Sorry, Third Young Master, I deserve to die."
The man quickly grabbed a napkin to wipe the coffee splattered on the table.
Luckily, the person on the sofa wasn't sitting too close, or even ten lives wouldn't be enough.
But still...
"You said someone mistook you, Third Young Master Marshall, for a male prostitute, and wants to pay you?"
"That's what she meant." Ashton Marshall confirmed the text content once more.
The person across paused for a few seconds, then suddenly burst into laughter: "Who is this person, introduce me. I'll go call her little ancestor..."
The laughter was so unrestrained that when he met Ashton's gaze, he felt a chill down his neck.
"Well... the matter from yesterday has been investigated." Tim Season rubbed his neck, wisely dodging the topic.
Who could be so audacious to mistake this high-profile figure in Peace City for a male prostitute?
The key was that this Third Young Master Marshall seemed amused and found it rather entertaining.
Unable to guess what this master was thinking, Tim Season wisely switched to serious business: "It was orchestrated by your stepmother. The goal was to make her niece have a 'rice cooked' situation with you to elevate her status."
Such information didn't stir much reaction in Ashton Marshall.
Yesterday, he had attended a birthday banquet for a venerable elder but was caught in a scheme.
While resting in a room, that kid barged in.
Boldly grabbing his collar, she simply said: "Lend me something."
"Lend?"
"Yes, lend me your little brother for the night."
With that, she forcibly kissed him.
To this day, recalling the girl's forceful kiss, youthful and awkward, biting and swallowing, clumsily knocking their teeth together, and when it hurt, she blamed him: "Why aren't you more enthusiastic? Can't you do it?"
Ashton Marshall was a reasonable man.
Since there was doubt, he used his actual actions to show the young lady.
On the sofa.
In the restroom.
On the bed.
Or even pressing her against the floor-to-ceiling window, allowing her to enjoy the view while feeling him, whether he could or not.
Thinking back now, it was somewhat addictively memorable.
After all, that girl indeed was...
Fair-skinned, beautiful, with a soft body and delicate features.
"Third Young Master?" Tim Season tentatively asked: "What are you planning to do about this?"
Ashton Marshall glanced at the new message on his phone, his lips curling slightly: "She invited me to her house to collect the money."
Tim Season's eyes lit up, itching to gossip, but dared not inquire further: "Then Third Young Master, what do you plan..."
"When those male prostitutes at the club want money, do they offer services?"
Now that's a good question.
Ashton Marshall sneered, then stood up from the sofa.
The man was tall with long legs, wide shoulders, and a narrow waist, with an exceptionally advantageous physique, exuding an overwhelmingly powerful aura.
A natural leader, ruling over everything.
"Third Young Master, where are you going?"
"To collect payment and offer services."
Ashton Marshall sneered, one hand in the pocket of his suit pants, the other casually playing with his cellphone.
...
Bella Woods stared at the chat history with the male prostitute on her phone.
Pretty Boy: "I only accept cash."
Bella: "I have it, but I'm locked in my room by my family. Either you come to my room, or give me your bank card, otherwise this is over, we owe each other nothing."
Pretty Boy: "Okay."
Bella waited endlessly, but the Pretty Boy never sent his bank card.
Thinking he wouldn't really come to her room, probably finding it troublesome, he chose to let it go.
She tossed the phone onto the bed, exhaling a breath of relief.
Bella figured since she couldn't get out for the time being, she might as well have a good sleep.
She needed to recover her body, which had been overworked the previous day, before planning her next move.
However, as Bella turned in a daze, she heard some noise at the window.
She opened her eyes casually and saw someone push open her room's window, jumping in with the agility of an aerial acrobat, which shocked Bella into gaping her mouth.
But she didn't scream.
The man swiftly moved towards her, covering her mouth, pressing her onto the bed.
The familiar cold scent hit her, and every moment of yesterday resurfaced.
Bella's body reacted almost instinctively, especially feeling an ache in a particular place.
"You..." Bella grasped the man's hand.
"Didn't you ask me to come to collect the money, huh?"
"How did you get here?"
"A helicopter is parked on the rooftop, and I climbed down a ladder."
The man said succinctly, leaving Bella speechless in surprise.
Helicopter?
Ladder?
What kind of vocabulary is this?
"They said that when collecting money, I should offer a free service to make it thoroughly enjoyable."
The man's words left Bella in bewilderment.
But when she felt her clothes being gradually pulled down, she realized what this person meant.
"Don't mess around, this is my home, my parents are outside the door." She emphasized the situation.
Unexpectedly, the man listened and raised an eyebrow with interest: "Oh right."
"Then don't shout like you did yesterday."
While reminding her, he managed to strip Bella of her clothes, seamlessly entering, prompting a cry from Bella's mouth.
Knock knock knock.
"Bella, what's wrong?" Jade Patel knocked on the door, showing concern.
Since coming home, she had transformed into an understanding, loving mother figure.
Bella wanted to open her mouth, but the man's teasing actions made her cover her mouth consciously.
"Bella, if you don't say anything, I'm coming in?"
Bella's eyes widened, she frantically pinched the man's arm, swallowing her saliva, and shouted: "No, I just bumped my head when I was sleeping. I want to rest, I... will... consider... the engagement."
The last words were broken and fragmented even more.
But they were satisfying to Jade Patel.
She replied with a choked tone: "Mom said she didn't want to force you, after all, it's just being empty-handed."
"I, I know... going to sleep now."
Bella firmly pinched the man's arm.
After not hearing any movement outside, she slightly propped herself up, immediately biting down on the man's collarbone.
She was furious.
And Ashton Marshall found it amusing.
As the legitimate eldest son and grandson of the Marshall Family, he had been pampered since childhood, even amidst family power struggles, he remained in a high position.
From beginning to end, not to mention behavior like this, even speaking to him required weighing if they were worthy.
But this young girl acted without scruples.
Force-kissed him.
Bit him.
Spoke of borrowing his little brother.
Even mistook him for a male prostitute.
Making Ashton Marshall suddenly think that in the dull and boring life, there was now a toy to play with.
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