In front of the luxury club The Dazzle, the music thundered with an intoxicating rhythm. Pamorn swayed his head rhythmically, moving his shoulders back and forth to the beat, looking for their friend who might be waiting by the entrance. Wittawin stood motionless behind his friend, beginning to lose patience.
"Why don't we wait inside? It's scorching out here," Wittawin complained.
"Can we get in?" Pamorn turned to answer. "Dressed like this, the door guard won't let you in. We have to rely on that guy's influence."
"What's wrong with how I'm dressed?"
"It's not bad, but it's not fancy. I told you to go buy a killer outfit and keep it for occasions like this, but you didn't believe me," Pamorn shook his head, then looked at their other friend.
"And why did we have to come to this club anyway? It's so far away," Wittawin complained.
"This is The Dazzle, man. Even some celebrities can't get in, you know. Getting in here isn't just about paying the cover charge. You have to pay a huge chunk of money to become a member just to have the privilege of paying the cover charge, got it?" Pamorn turned with a proud expression.
"Does the liquor here make you piss gold or something?" Wittawin pursed his lips and shrugged, then looked around in annoyance before being dragged away by Pamorn when they spotted Baramee with his other friends.
"Mr. Wittawin, why are you like this?" Baramee looked his friend up and down before turning to glare at Pamorn. "Why didn't you make Win dress up before coming?"
"What clothes does he have?" Pamorn protested. "This is his best outfit. Otherwise it's his old university uniform."
"How am I going to get him in dressing like this" Baramee sighed.
"You said you were big shot," another friend said.
"I'm big enough to bring two non-members in, but not big enough to let a mechanic in," Baramee turned to yell at the friend who dared to look down on him.
"So what do we do?" Pamorn looked dejected.
"Don't bother trying—it'll be exhausting," Patrick, a dark-skinned mixed-race guy standing next to Baramee, looked down at the young engineer and suggested, "Someone like this has to enter the back door."
"You crazy—" Wittawin raised his elbow to jab the person making crude remarks.
"Hey, I'm serious. I'm not being crude," Patrick quickly raised his hands to stop him.
"He's right about what he said," Baramee nodded in agreement, then told Patrick to handle it properly. Wittawin was dragged to the side of the massive luxury club that required craning his neck to see the top.
"You go in this way. We'll talk to the guy for you. Once you get in, walk out until you reach The Center Arena. Don't get lost—this place is huge with multiple floors. Look for the obvious sign: it'll be the widest area with a ceiling as high as a hundred-story building, and there's a huge chandelier. When you get there, find the pillar closest to the liquor bar and wait there. Look at the pillar carefully—the one where we'll meet has a painting of the god Jupiter. Don't get confused and wait at the wrong pillar. Oh, and don't go upstairs—you'll get your head bashed in," Patrick explained and rehearsed the instructions with the young man who looked annoyed.
"Do you have a map, Pattrick?" Wittawin said sarcastically.
"No, forgot to ask reception for one," Patrick shrugged, then turned to smile and greet the large security guard standing nearby like an old friend. After 'entrusting' Wittawin, he quickly walked away, leaving the young engineer looking annoyed with the stern-faced man who pulled the door open and pointed inside.
"Go past the musicians' room, turn right, walk out beside the stage. Look for the big crystal chandelier. Don't go upstairs under any circumstances," the door guard emphasized, then slammed the door shut loudly, leaving Wittawin standing alone, looking at the corridor about two meters wide that stretched to silver doors approximately twenty meters away.
All this trouble just to celebrate a friend's birthday. Why is it so complicated? And if I get lost, how will I find my way out?
Wittawin smiled wryly, then walked slowly down the corridor to enter what could be called the largest, most luxurious, and most expensive club in the country.
When he stepped past the musicians' room, Wittawin heard the singing voice of a vocalist with a resonant, beautiful tone that made him quicken his pace to get past the side of the stage because he wanted to see the singer. The moment he emerged into the hall that he believed was The Center Arena, as his friend had described, seeing the massive crystal chandelier in the room with a ceiling so high he almost had to crane his neck back to look up, Wittawin was stunned.
This club was truly enormous—the chandelier alone looked like someone had hung a UFO up there. The beautiful, tall, slender singer in a sequined dress stood prominently center stage, crooning a song that captivated the audience.
Wittawin couldn't understand the words, but he felt goosebumps, then had to be amazed when he saw the image on the giant screen—he never dreamed this was an international-level celebrity, the real deal with a real voice.
When the song ended, thunderous applause erupted. The singer thanked the audience, the stage lights dimmed, and dance music began pounding as multicolored lights flashed until Wittawin had to stand still and adjust his eyes for a long moment before stepping forward to search for the pillar painted with the god Jupiter near the liquor bar.
What does Jupiter look like? I think I've seen him before, but I'm not sure now. If it were painted with Bill Gates or Steve Jobs, it would be easier to find.
And why did they emphasize so much not to go upstairs?
Wittawin walked on, scanning for the meeting point while observing the elegantly dressed men and women socializing, and looking toward the center of the dance floor where he saw young people creating patterns together with great enjoyment.
Huh, I can't find the liquor bar. What should I do?
If I go up to a high place, I should be able to look around more easily.
If Sarayoot were standing nearby and saw Wittawin starting to climb the transparent glass stairs, the young man's uncle would have shaken his head and complained, "He doesn't listen. The more you forbid him, the more he wants to do it."
The young engineer stepped slowly, feeling like he was floating in space because the thick glass stairs were so clear he could see everything beneath his feet.
Wittawin smiled with satisfaction, beginning to appreciate the design of this luxury club, but when he looked up, he saw two large men standing with arms crossed, scowling like temple guardian giants at the top of the stairs.
"No entry. How did you get up here? The upper floor is for super VIPs only," one giant said gruffly, raising his hand to prevent Wittawin from taking another step.
"I'm lost," the young man replied shortly.
"Lost or sneaking in?" the other giant barked. "Get out. How did you get in? Who let you in?"
As soon as he finished speaking, both giants stepped forward, locked Wittawin's arms, and quickly carried him downstairs.
"Take it easy—you'll break the glass stairs," Wittawin protested. "I'm a guest here to have fun. How can you treat a guest like this?"
"What guest, you little punk? Are you going to leave nicely or do we have to throw you out?" the giant on Wittawin's left growled.
"Do you want to get hurt, kid? This isn't some dive bar for lowlifes. Get out now," the giant on his right was no less intimidating.
Teeradon stared at the ceiling with boredom before tilting his head to look at the tall, slender figure of Pete, the young heir to Trans Asian Airlines, who was his companion and bed partner for the night.
"Huh, you call this a luxury club? I didn't think some car mechanic could sneak into your club," Pete looked up from the computer screen and turned to give the luxury club owner sitting in his large leather chair an amused smile.
"What do you mean?" Teeradon asked.
"Come look. Super VIP security is carrying an uninvited guest out to dump him in front of the club," Pete said.
Teeradon got up and walked over to look at the security camera monitor, seeing the large men carrying a tall young man toward the exit.
"I'm going to fire all the front door security," Teeradon said through gritted teeth, then walked back to his chair, but suddenly stopped and returned to look at the monitor again, scanning the images from other cameras that captured the exit lobby from different angles.
That face looks familiar.
The owner of The Dazzle moved to the right to look at the screen of the last camera that captured the 'intruder's' face closest and clearest, then his eyes widened before he quickly reached into his pocket for his phone to order his trusted assistant, but the other party didn't answer.
"Don't yet, don't yet," Teeradon stared at the still image screen, hoping for Niwat, his trusted assistant who could be called his right-hand man, to answer the phone. "Niwat, pick up. Pick up!"
Pete turned to look at the club's CEO waiting for the phone call with confusion, not understanding why Teeradon was reacting so extremely.
"Damn it," when Niwat didn't answer, Teeradon changed his mind and strode to the door, leaving Pete to watch him with puzzled eyes.
Teeradon used the special executive express elevator in front of the control room. In less than thirty seconds, he was down to the side corridor of the club that led to the front emergency exit near the main entrance.
"Niwat, the person security is dragging to the front door—detain him, don't let him go yet," as soon as Niwat answered the phone, Teeradon quickly gave orders, then opened the emergency door and ran outside the building, circling to the front of the club at high speed.
But he was too late for his security.
In less than half a minute, Niwat reported that he couldn't stop the security in time. The person who had snuck into the club had already been escorted outside.
Too bad. If I could have detained him, I would have made it interesting for him. Would have fined him tens of thousands on charges of trespassing. Let's see what that fair-faced, dark-browed, sharp-nosed, red-lipped person would have to say then.
Think you can mess with Teeradon? Not so easy.
You got away this time, but there's evidence. Just wait. When you come to apologize to me at the company, I'll show you the video file of security carrying you out and dumping you in front of the door.
Teeradon exhaled forcefully in frustration before turning around and walking out to the front lobby to deal with the entrance security staff.
Wittawin walked into Pirayu's office and saw his friend sitting in a daze, so he quietly crept up to stand in front of the desk and banged loudly, startling the nursery school owner.
"What are you doing, Win?" Pirayu scolded, but even while scolding, he couldn't help but smile.
"Daydreaming. Dreaming about the sports car owner who dropped you off that day, right?" Wittawin teased with a grin.
"Yes, I admit it. Is that what you want to hear?" the daydreamer smiled broadly, his eyes dreamy, then blurted out, "Win, do you believe in love at first sight?"
"Hell no," the person being asked pursed his lips.
"That's because you are not a romantic person."
"I don't believe it. What's this about? How can you love someone after meeting them for just a split second? Something like that takes time."
"We were together for hours," Pirayu smiled sweetly, his eyes dreamy.
"Are you crazy, Pirayu?" Wittawin's eyes bulged. "Don't tell me that after meeting for just one hour, you slept with him and stayed the night together, making you late for work by half a day, leaving the little piglets at school waiting around looking lost."
"Well, not exactly. When we got to his place, we sat and talked for a while before he spilled liquor on my shirt," Pirayu smiled shyly, deciding to tell his friend a rough version of what happened because he was starting to feel suffocated and couldn't bear it if he didn't release the feelings inside. Besides, Wittawin would probably keep teasing him relentlessly.
"So you lied about meeting a friend at the intersection and him giving you a ride," Wittawin nodded, summarizing the story.
"I'm sorry. I was confused then, couldn't get my bearings. Don't be mad at me, Win."
"I'm not mad, but I'm worried. Afraid you'll get your heart broken. You seem really smitten, sitting there looking dreamy all day," Wittawin smiled with amusement seeing his friend's condition. "And what you did is so against Pirayu's character. How did you manage it? It's so contrary to who you are."
"He's a very lovely person. Gentle and passionate, soft but strong, sexy, romantic, perfect looks, and rich too."
"That last part is what matters," Wittawin concluded.
"No, it's not like that. I don't like him for his status. I like him because he makes me feel special. He makes me feel like I'm floating, light-headed like cotton, like I'm walking on clouds. I figured, since we're attracted to each other and I found someone I liked so much from the first meeting, what was I waiting for? So I decided to do something completely out of character just once in my life," Pirayu smiled broadly, looking like he might jump up and act out his description.
"You're really smitten," Wittawin sighed and walked straight to the room's door, but Pirayu called him back and asked about the computer system installation.
"I'll come back to continue later. Today I have to go apologize to that weirdo troublemaker first. He's demanding I meet him at exactly two this afternoon or he'll cancel the contract," Wittawin shrugged, showing no fear of that 'crazy person' whatsoever.
"Don't cause trouble with him, Win. Better to have no issues than to have issues. When you talk to him, just nod and say 'yes sir' for now. Keep your real thoughts to yourself. He's an important client. That has to come before everything else."
"Yes sir, Uncle Pirayu. You sound just like Uncle Sarayoot now," Wittawin shook his head and walked out of the room, leaving the other party to continue his daydreaming about that sexy man.
The person who made Pirayu dream about him almost all night.
***