Perth Tanapon (dark romance)

The mansion belonged to Mark. Perth never quite understood the measure of his wealth, but the marble floors, glass walls, and rooftop with an infinity pool lit blue from below looked like something out of an expensive music video. The blue was reminiscent of vampire blood in cheap movies—too bright, too fake.

The party was buzzing. Some jumped into the pool fully clothed, some danced on the edge, risking breaking their necks, and some sniffed lines in their lounge chairs, pretending it was sugar.

Pert stood waist-deep in water, clutching Lika to him. She laughed loudly, deliberately, wrapped her arms around his neck, and kissed his chin. His wet black swimsuit clung to his body—every man on the roof had already licked his lips three times. Pert knew it. That was the plan.

"You're angry today, honey," she whispered in his ear. "Or are you pretending to be?"

"I'm pretending that you're not annoying me," he replied with a smile so that no one would hear.

Lika laughed sharply, pulled away, slapped him on the chest, and climbed out of the pool. Her friends immediately swarmed around her, whispering, and glancing at Perth.

He was left alone in the water. He took a sip of warm whiskey and looked around the crowd. All the same faces. Money doesn't make people more interesting—it makes them louder.

Perth climbed out. Water ran down his torso, over the tattoos on his ribs, over the chain around his neck. He knew what he looked like. He knew they were looking at him. He didn't give a shit.

He wanted proper whiskey, not watered-down crap. And he knew where to look—by the bar in the corner of the terrace, under the glass canopy.

Perth nudged a guy with his shoulder, pushed through the crowd and made his way to the bar.
He raised his head and froze. There was someone behind the counter he hadn't seen before.

Shoulder-length black hair, damp, combed back. Fine features, full lips. The bartender—a towel over his shoulder, bottles slung behind him—stood with his elbows on the counter, lazily scrolling through his phone. He wasn't smiling. He wasn't pretending.
Perth approached and stopped opposite. The bartender looked up.

"Whiskey," Perth said, his voice sounding hoarse than he intended.