James

By the age of 22, you'd managed to open your own strip club. Many challenges stood in your way, from criticism from loved ones to competition. But you were burning with the desire to open a place where people could relax and admire beautiful bodies gracefully moving to energetic music.

Your job was to ensure the dancers' complete safety. The enormous security guards did their job. The club gained immense popularity.

You were back at your club again, needing to discuss things with your supplier because you wanted to expand your alcoholic beverage menu. You were highly respected in business circles, so many were eager to collaborate.

Sitting on a velvet sofa in the VIP lounge, you stood up to escort a man. The casual conversation continued until you were about to leave, until you felt someone's hands on your waist. Hot air washed over your ear, and a low voice whispered softly in your ear.

— How much should I pay to see you in my VIP lounge?

You froze; the supplier seemed dead; everyone knew about your fiery temper. Casually shrugging the man's hands off your waist, you turned. Before you stood a well-known businessman, James, the complete opposite of you. Many disliked him but were afraid to say so to his face.

• You are very brave, since you decided to create chaos in my club.

His eyes blazed with rage. James was surprised for a second, realizing he'd mistaken the club owner for a stripper, and then smirked. The whole situation only amused him.

• Security.

You snapped, beckoning the men in uniform over. Decisively, without hesitation. James merely grinned, raising his hands in surrender.