The Billionaire's Plaything

Masquerade Party

Rennier quickly made her way to Clara's table and sat down. Coincidentally, her seat faced the counter while Clara's back was turned to it. The line wasn't particularly long, but the man from earlier stood at the end of it. Rennier glanced at the man, unaware that she was being thoroughly scrutinized from head to toe. A smile crept onto Rennier's lips.

"Guess what? After abandoning me, my parents are now calling, asking why I haven’t checked in with them. For all I know, they only consider me their child because my business is thriving—are you even listening, Ren?"

No response.

"Should I flirt with him?" Rennier asked herself, completely ignoring Clara. Her gaze lingered on the man again, noticing how the latter's brows furrowed as he turned toward her. Rennier wasn’t surprised; after all, who wouldn’t feel someone’s stare, especially when it was filled with intention? Rennier smiled, revealing her pristine white teeth, and gazed at the man with her alluring eyes. But instead of softening, the man’s brows furrowed even further.

Rennier felt an inexplicable shiver run down her spine as those deep, stormy blue eyes met hers. They weren’t gray, after all.

"Or maybe not."

What a waste—he was handsome, but it seemed like he doesn't do f**k buddies. Better to pass, Rennier thought. The man didn’t look deprived based on his appearance, anyway.

"What are you mumbling about?" Clara asked, confused, before turning toward the counter. She immediately noticed the man Rennier had been eyeing. He was hard to miss.

"You’ve locked your target, huh?" she remarked sarcastically. “He’s definitely your type. Rich, brooding, and way out of your league.”

"He looks like a nice conservative man, lol," Rennier muttered as she sipped Clara’s drink.

"Hey, that’s my latte," she said with irritation.

"I didn’t say it wasn’t," Rennier replied nonchalantly, then laughed. "Just kidding." She placed the drink back on the table and pushed it toward Clara. "Here."

Clara immediately furrowed her brows. "If we weren’t friends…" she said with annoyance, but Rennier ignored her.

"So, your family contacted you, huh?" Rennier asked.

Clara nodded. "And they’ll be attending the masquerade ball tomorrow night. I’m invited, too. I need an escort. I don’t want to look like a loser there."

I know where this is going, Rennier thought to herself.

"I need a favor," Clara said, and Rennier immediately smirked.

Bingo.

Rennier dragged her gaze back to her, arching a perfectly sculpted brow. “What is it this time?”

"I need an escort. For the party."

Rennier raised a brow, swirling the amber liquid in her glass. “A party? Isn’t that what your array of suitors is for?”

Clara sighed, exasperated. “If you must know, my parents are trying to set me up with some bore from the finance world. I need you to be my distraction. And my suitors? They’re all talk. I’m sure they’d worship my parents the moment they learned how rich they are.”

Rennier chuckled, taking another sip of her drink. “Ah, I see. You want me to play the charming scoundrel.”

“Something like that,” Clara admitted. “Can you do it or not? Especially now that my family is saying they have a fiancé lined up for me. I don’t want those entitled elites. So you have to be my escort. You’re my best option.”

"Damn, your life is a mess," Rennier commented, making Clara roll her eyes.

"Yours isn’t any better," she replied, and they both laughed.

Rennier arched a brow and stared at her. "I’m your best option?" she asked incredulously.

Clara grimaced as if caught in a lie. "Fine. You’re the only option."

"But I am a woman." Rennier states the obvious.

Raja crossed her arms and raise an eyebrow. "Who cares?! With your rest b***h face, you'll shoo away any flies."

Rennier smirked internally. Honestly, it was the perfect thing to do now that her contract with Matthias was over, but she decided to play hard to get.

Rennier groaned theatrically, tossing her head back. “A party? Clara, you know how I feel about stuffy parties filled with pretentious elites.”

“Please?” Clara pleaded, her green eyes wide with faux innocence. “You’ll get free food, free drinks, and plenty of eye candy. And stop pretending you hate it. I know you love fishing, and there’ll be plenty to catch at the party.”

“Fine,” Rennier relented with a sigh, tapping her fingers on the table. Pretending to be reluctant. “But only because I adore you. And you’ll owe me.”

“Good,” Clara replied, clasping her hand dramatically. “Pick me up at eight. And try not to flirt with every rich widower in the room.”

“No promises,” Rennier teased.

As they left the café, Rennier couldn’t help but glance down the street, still thinking about the mysterious man in the charcoal suit.

The man retrieved his coffee and walked out without a backward glance. Rennier watched him disappear, her curiosity piqued.

The night of the party had come. Rennier was dressed to captivate. She had chosen her outfit carefully, ensuring she wouldn’t blend into the crowd. Rennier wore a stunning burgundy gown that clung to her chest and waist. The bodice was made of sheer fabric, decorated with intricate lace and beads. The deep burgundy color highlighted her curves, with beads tracing a floral pattern across her body. The plunging neckline framed her chest, and satin ribbons criss-crossed around her waist, accentuating her figure. A small, elegant rose sat on her left hip, adding a soft touch. The gown fit perfectly, combining both sensuality and elegance in every detail.

Her mask was a sleek, dark design of black and silver, complementing her sharp features and mischievous smile.

Her beautiful red sports car pulled up to an elegant house. Her left hand was on the steering wheel, while the other pressed a button to open the rooftop of the car. She honked the horn to let Clara know she was there, but she couldn’t do it because she saw Clara emerge from their rotating door.

She wore an emerald gown. It hugged her body. It had a low neckline that allowed a slight view of her cleavage. There was a slit on the side just enough to show her legs. The back was backless. She also carried an emerald purse. She was already wearing a mask that looked like the wings of a phoenix.

Rennier paused. She didn’t know her friend had that much to offer.

"Not bad." She said with feigned indifference, smirking. "But my baby here is still better, I think." Referring to her car.

She scowled and pouted angrily. "You’re lucky this gown doesn’t let me run, or I’d already be finding a better ride."

She laughed. "Get in, my queen. Or else you'll ruin the dress."

Clara didn’t hesitate and got in. "You really like to show off, don’t you?" she said, giving the car a pointed look.

"What's the use of dressing this good, if no one sees it?"

"Fair enough."

With a shake of her head and a small laugh, Clara settled in as Rennier pulled away from her house, the cool night air sweeping through her curls. The city lights blurred past them as the car sped toward the venue.

The ride took almost 30 minutes. When they arrived, there were other luxury cars parked. They stepped out and were immediately greeted by the grand and opulent venue.

The grand mansion was illuminated by hundreds of lights, casting a golden glow against the evening sky. Elegant fountains could be seen at the stone-paved entrance, their flowing waters shimmering like liquid silver under the moonlight. A red carpet was stretched from the driveway to the massive double doors, which were thrown open to reveal the dazzling interior of the mansion.

Clara handed over the invitation card and they entered.

The ceiling soared high above, along with a massive crystal chandelier that sparkled. Gilded columns and intricate frescoes lined the walls, while the polished marble floor reflected the grandeur above. An orchestra played softly in one corner. Everywhere, men and women in masks and evening wear moved gracefully, their laughter and conversation blending with the gentle clinking of their glasses filled with expensive wines.

'This is why I don’t want to go to these grand gatherings. It’s like poverty is slapping me in the face.' Rennier thought to herself.

“Damn,” Rennier muttered, taking it all in. “This is more than I expected.”

Clara chuckled, her green eyes sparkling behind her mask. “What did you think? Jake Dyrotthea doesn’t do things halfway.”

Rennier’s attention snapped to her. “Jake Dyrotthea? That Jake Dyrotthea?”

She knew exactly who she was talking about.

Clara raised an eyebrow, surprised. “You didn’t know? CEO of Dyrotthea Enterprises. He’s the host of tonight's event. This whole event is his way of thanking donors for supporting his charity initiatives.”

As if on cue, Rennier’s eyes found him: Jake Dyrotthea, standing on the grand stage, surrounded by women whose intentions were both good and not so good. Jake exuded an effortless aura, his tailored midnight-blue suit hugging his broad shoulders and lean frame. The crisp white shirt and silk tie he wore emphasized his sharp, angular features. His storm-blue eyes were so captivating that it felt as if you were drowning in them, even with the mask on. Every subtle gesture—a nod, a handshake, a brief smile—was enough to weaken one’s knees.

“Good evening, everyone,” Jake began, his voice deep and steady. “Thank you for joining me tonight. Your generosity and unwavering support have made a tangible difference in countless lives. This event is not just a celebration of our achievements, but a reminder of what we can accomplish together. So please enjoy tonight's banquet to your heart's content."

Everyone started clapping. Clara clapped with a smile. But that smile faded when someone called out to them. A man and a woman, both in their 40s.

The woman, clad in an elegant golden gown, and the man, wearing a sharp black suit, exuded an air of wealth. They both looked classy.

“Clara,” the woman greeted warmly, “It’s been too long.”

Clara quickly turned around, slightly surprised but immediately smiled, masking whatever tension the sudden encounter might have caused. “Mrs. Callaway, Mr. Callaway. Lovely to see you again. How are you?”

"Oh, we're fine, dear." She waved her hands. "Just a few small problems here and there," she said, before looking at her companion. "Who's this elegant woman who's accompanying you?" she asked with an intrigued tone.

She gestured toward Rennier with an almost imperceptible smirk. “This is my partner for the evening, Rennier Langston.”

The couple's expressions shifted instantly. Mr. Callaway stiffened, while Mrs. Callaway’s lips pressed into a concealed rage. “Rennier Langston?” she repeated, as if confirming she had heard correctly. Her voice grew louder, drawing the attention of several people nearby.

Rennier arched an eyebrow and gave an unbothered smile. “A pleasure to meet you,” she said smoothly.

“A pleasure?” Mrs. Callaway hissed. “You’re the reason my son’s company is in ruins!” Her voice rose, and nearly everyone turned to look at them.

Clara’s jaw tightened as her eyes scanned the crowd. Too many people were paying attention to them. “Mrs. Callaway,” she began cautiously, “this isn’t the place—”

“Don’t you dare defend her!” Mrs. Callaway snapped, her fury unrestrained. She snatched a glass of red wine from a passing waiter’s tray, her hand trembling with indignation. Before anyone could react, she threw the liquid toward Rennier.

She didn’t bother to dodge. She was already thinking about who she was referring to. She had used so many men that she couldn’t remember all of them. She was drenched in red wine as it hit her.

Everyone gasped. Rennier raised her hands and emotionlessly wiped her face. She could feel that her chest was also wet from the excess wine.

“You’re nothing but a manipulator, a traitor. You will bed anyone who’s got bucks, huh? A w***e! You’ll do anything for money, won’t you? Disgusting!” she said with a look of contempt.

"Look, Mrs. Callaway, it’s not my fault your son couldn't afford me," Rennier said indifferently, which only fueled the woman’s rage even more.

"You?!"

Before they could start arguing again, a familiar voice stopped them.

"What's going on here?"