Seducing Mr. Untouchable

Neon lights pulsed as deafening music reverberated through Oak Hill Estate, the city’s most exclusive private club. 

Emily Harrison moved through the chaotic crowd, balancing a tray of drinks while doing her best to make sales. 

Almost unconsciously, she tugged at the hem of her short uniform skirt, a non-negotiable part of the club’s dress code. 

On her head sat a pair of fluffy bunny ears.

"Such a pretty face selling drinks—what a waste!" A drunken man sneered as he suddenly stood up and blocked her path. His eyes scanning shamelessly over her body, his gaze sharp and predatory.

Emily turned to face him, her blue-green eyes clear and composed. 

Her makeup was heavy, with lightly winged eyeliner and full red lips. Beneath the neon glow, she looked less like a waitress and more like a beautiful, dangerous creature of the night.

"One drink costs one thousand dollars," she said evenly.

The man, Jason Lee, a locally known trust-fund heir, stared at her in visible surprise, clearly taken by her beauty. He swallowed hard, admiration flickering in his eyes. "Really?"

His friends began egging him on, whistling and laughing.

"Who would have thought the great Ms. Harrison would end up selling drinks? If people heard this, they would think it was a joke!"

"Jason, you hit the jackpot tonight! Don't let a golden chance like this slip away!"

Jason pulled a credit card from his pocket, slammed it onto the table, and spread his arms grandly. "For every drink you finish tonight, I'll transfer that amount. This might equal a month's salary for you in one night!"

Emily gave a firm nod. "Deal."

She set down her tray and approached Jason's table. Rich playboys like him lived for this kind of thrill. The table was crowded with expensive bottles and glasses filled with hard liquor.

Emily picked up a glass and emptied it in one swallow.

The strong alcohol scorched her throat and stomach. 

Tears instantly welled up in her eyes, but she fought the urge to vomit, digging her nails into her palm. Then she grabbed a second glass and drained it just as quickly.

She needed the money.

The whistles from the VIP booth grew louder as Jason watched her with eager anticipation.

Emily ignored them and drank ten shots in row. She bit the inside of her tongue, using the pain to steady herself against the rising dizziness, then stretched out her slender hand. 

"Ten thousand dollars. When do I get paid?"

Jason rose from the booth, unhurried, swaying slightly as he approached her. "What's the rush? You think I'd go back on my word?” His lips curled into a smirk. “Come to a hotel, and I'll definitely pay you there."

As he spoke, his hand slid toward Emily's waist.

Emily slapped it away at once and stepped back. The alcohol had flushed her cheeks, but her eyes remained cold and alert. "Keep your hands to yourself."

Humiliated in front of everyone, Jason’s expression darkened.

"You're just a glorified call girl,” he spat. “Yet you still act like you're the noble heiress of the Harrison family. You think playing hard to get makes you virtuous?” His eyes swept brazenly over her body. “You want money, right? Then come to the hotel with me now. And if you satisfy me, maybe I’ll even throw in a tip."

He leaned closer, his voice low and venomous. "Refuse me, and you get nothing."

Emily fought against the burning pain in her stomach, realizing Jason had planned to pay her fairly in the first place.

She pressed a hand discreetly over her stomach and said in a voice as cold as ice, "I drank the alcohol, and you owe me the money! I've seen plenty of people play these games, but you're the first to stoop this low over a deal. Should I spread the word about your disgusting behavior?"

Jason let out a harsh laugh, then yanked a wad of cash from his wallet.

"The watch on my wrist could buy your life, and you dare call me cheap!" he snapped.

The next second, he hurled the money straight at her face.

"You wanted money, didn't you? Then get on the floor and pick it up."

The stack of bills struck her like a slap. 

Emily staggered, but quickly steadied herself. 

She looked around at the faces enjoying the scene, her crimson lips nearly bleeding from how hard she had bitten them.

These people had come here to laugh at her.

Back when the Harrison family had been at its peak, people like them would never have dared approach her. Now that she had fallen from grace, they circled like vultures.

Jason kept taunting her. "What's wrong? Weren't you just asking for money? It's all yours if you pick it up. But you’ll have to get on your knees to do it."

Emily's nails dug deeper into her palms. She stared at the bills scattered across the floor as though they were stained with blood.

She desperately needed the money, yet the pride ingrained in her upbringing would not let her bend. Even standing there, her back remained perfectly straight.

Jason’s friends burst into laughter.

"Ms. Harrison, let's drop the act. You don't really think the Harrison family still means anything, do you?"

"How the tables have turned! Your family used to looked down on the Leess. Now money is enough to humiliate you!"

Emily fought to suppress the crushing humiliation rising inside her.

Her gaze dropped to her short skirt, and a bitter smile touched her lips. 

At this point, what dignity did she still have left to protect? She had abandoned most of it the day she decided to work at this club.

Amid the jeering voices, Emily finally began to bend down slowly.

But just as she was about to reach for the money, a cold, detached voice cut through the noise. 

"So noisy."

Emily instinctively looked up.

A man stood there in a light gray casual suit. His features were refined and sharp, like God's most favored creation. 

His steel-blue eyes were utterly indifferent, as if nothing in this world deserved his attention. A chilling aura of detachment surrounded him.

It was Michael Wilson.

His assistant, Jonathan Parker, immediately stepped forward and instructed the staff to clear the club floor.

The club manager bowed repeatedly, nearly tripping over himself in panic, apologizing, "I'm sorry for disturbing Mr. Wilson's peace. We'll remove these unwanted guests right away."

Then he turned to Jason and his group, his face hardening. "Get out. Now!"

Jason was furious, but did not dare argue. No one in their right mind would risk offending Michael Wilson. He could only leave in frustration, though not before pausing beside Emily to mutter a threat. "You got lucky today. Next time, you won't be."

Emily kept her gaze lowered, too ashamed to look up. She could endure mistreatment and humiliation. She had grown used to it. But in front of Michael , she could not pretend not to care.

The manager hurriedly gathered all the scattered money from the floor and thrust it into Emily's hands. "What are you standing there for? Go attend to Mr. Wilson immediately."

Emily looked up in surprise, only to meet Michael's indifferent gaze.

He said nothing. He simply turned and walked upstairs.

After a brief hesitation, Emily followed. 

Michael rarely visited this club, but whenever he did, she was always the one assigned to serve him. Maybe it was because he considered her cleaner and more presentable than the other staff.

Inside the private room on the second floor, the music was much quieter.

Michael sat lazily in the main seat.

Emily approached slowly to pour him a drink. The pain in her stomach was becoming unbearable, but she endured it n silence.

Then, suddenly, his cool voice sounded above her.

"Are you unwell?"