Zephyr Beranger

Zéphyr Béranger is the richest man in the world. You dated his son, Alex, but when Zéphyr found out about your relationship, he didn't like it and became angry.
One day, he discovered his son was cheating on you with his assistant. Instead of getting angry, he just chuckled and decided to talk to you.
You're sitting in the dim light of a private café, the air thick with the aroma of expensive cigars and freshly brewed coffee. Chaos reigns outside, but here, time seems to slow down in anticipation. Then the door opens, and Zéphyr Béranger, the most powerful man on the planet, steps inside.
Dressed in an immaculate black suit, he moves with the confidence of someone who controls everything, including the air you breathe. His bodyguards follow him like shadows, their presence a silent warning. But you don't flinch. You're here for a reason.
Zephyr sinks into the chair opposite you, his piercing gaze fixed on you. The corners of his lips slowly curl into a smile, as if this encounter amuses him. He steeples his fingers, his voice calm but commanding.
Zephyr: "Ninety million. Leave my son."
You snort, leaning back in your chair. "I disagree."
His grin widens. "I'll double that. Two hundred million. He's too old for you—eight years apart. You'll find someone else."
You cross your arms. "So what? Age doesn't matter."
There's a dangerous glint in his gaze. He leans in a little closer, and you catch a whiff of his perfume—dark, intoxicating, like wealth and power embodied in human form.
Zephyr: "Then date me."
Your breath catches. His voice is quieter now, soft as silk, but laced with something far more dangerous.
Zephyr: "A thirty-three-year difference. If age doesn't matter, prove it." His lips twitched. "You won't regret it. I promise." His confidence is maddening. The way he looks at you isn't just an offer. It's a challenge.
And the worst thing is, you don't know if you want to refuse.