The neon glow of the city lights had already faded into the early hours of the morning when Porsche wiped the last beads of sweat from his forehead. His shift at the bustling roadside restaurant had been brutal—endless trays of spicy Thai dishes, impatient customers, and the constant clatter of plates. His lean, toned arms ached from carrying heavy loads, the simple white shirt clinging to his sweat-dampened chest, outlining the firm lines of his pectorals. But there was no time to rest. His second part-time job awaited at one of Bangkok’s most exclusive hotels, a glittering palace of luxury where the wealthy came to indulge without restraint.

Porsche changed quickly in the staff room, slipping into the hotel’s crisp black uniform: a fitted vest that hugged his narrow waist and broad shoulders, paired with tailored pants that accentuated his long legs. He ran a hand through his messy dark hair, trying to look presentable. The hotel was a world apart—marble floors that gleamed under crystal chandeliers, a massive infinity pool shimmering under soft blue lights outside, and a lavish bar where crystal glasses clinked with expensive whiskey and imported beer.

He moved through the dimly lit bar area with practiced efficiency, balancing a tray of sizzling appetizers and frothy beers. The air was thick with the scent of aged liquor, cigar smoke, and expensive cologne. Laughter and low conversations filled the space, but Porsche’s focus was on his tables. That’s when fate collided with him—literally.

Kinn. The Kinn. The untouchable king of the university, heir to a powerful family whose influence stretched far beyond campus. He sat in a secluded corner booth, his powerful frame relaxed yet commanding. Kinn’s sharp jawline was shadowed by stubble, his dark eyes half-lidded from alcohol, and his expensive shirt was unbuttoned just enough to reveal a glimpse of smooth, tanned skin over defined chest muscles. Across from him was a sleek, attractive young man—clearly a rental companion—dressed in something tight that left little to the imagination. The boy’s hand rested casually on Kinn’s thigh under the table.

Porsche’s tray nearly slipped as their eyes met. Kinn’s expression shifted from lazy pleasure to cold fury in an instant.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Kinn growled under his breath, his voice low and dangerous. Without another word, he grabbed the rental boy’s wrist, yanking him up and out of the booth. Porsche stood frozen for a second, heart pounding, before continuing his rounds. But curiosity—and his job—pulled him toward the corridor leading to the private exits.

What he stumbled upon made his breath catch.

In the shadowed hallway, away from prying eyes, Kinn had the boy pressed against the wall. The kiss was raw, hungry, and unfiltered. Kinn’s mouth claimed the other man’s with bruising intensity, tongues visibly tangling as low, throaty moans escaped. The rental boy’s hand had slipped boldly into Kinn’s pants, stroking the growing hardness there with slow, teasing movements. Kinn’s hips bucked subtly into the touch, his powerful thighs tensing under the fabric, the outline of his arousal evident. The air between them crackled with heat—drunken lust mixing with the kind of dominance that made Porsche’s stomach twist in unexpected ways.

Porsche’s eyes widened in shock. Kinn? Gay? The king who ruled campus with iron authority, surrounded by women throwing themselves at him… was this?

The movement must have caught Kinn’s attention. He broke the kiss with a wet sound, lips swollen and glistening. “Go,” he snapped at the boy, who smirked and disappeared down the hall without question. Then Kinn turned, stalking toward Porsche like a predator.

“How dare you eavesdrop on me,” Kinn hissed, his breath heavy with whiskey. Before Porsche could back away, Kinn’s strong hand shot out, slamming him against the cool marble wall. The impact jarred Porsche’s body, but it was the heat radiating from Kinn’s chest that made his pulse race. Kinn’s fingers wrapped around Porsche’s throat—not enough to fully cut off air, but firm enough to assert control. Porsche could feel the calluses on those powerful fingers, the faint tremor of lingering arousal still coursing through Kinn.

“I-I wasn’t spying!” Porsche gasped, his voice strained. “It was just a coincidence. I came out for service and—”

“Shut up.” Kinn leaned in closer, their faces inches apart. Porsche could smell the alcohol on his breath, mixed with expensive cologne and the faint musk of desire. Kinn’s body pressed against him, hard muscle against Porsche’s slimmer frame, the earlier heat from the corridor encounter still evident in the way Kinn’s hips pinned him. “You think you can use this against me? Blackmail the king? If you breathe a word of what you saw… you’ll end up as my personal fucking man whore. I’ll ruin you, Porsche. Mark my words.”

Kinn’s grip tightened for a heartbeat longer, dark eyes burning with threat and something darker—hunger. Then he released him abruptly, straightening his shirt and stalking away into the night without a backward glance. Porsche slid down the wall slightly, coughing, his neck tingling where those fingers had been. His mind reeled, body strangely flushed.

The next morning at university, Porsche moved like a ghost through the crowded halls. His usual confident stride was gone; he was zoned out, replaying the corridor scene—the raw kiss, the bold touch, Kinn’s threatening body against his. Dark circles shadowed his eyes from a sleepless night.

During a break between classes, his closest friend pulled him aside near the lockers. “Porsche, what’s wrong with you, man? You look like you saw a ghost.”

The words tumbled out before he could stop them. Porsche told him everything—the hotel, the collision, the heated kiss in the corridor, the way the rental boy’s hand had worked Kinn, the choking threat against the wall. His voice was low, shaky. “He said he’d make me his whore if I talked. I’m… scared of what he might do.”

His friend’s eyes widened, but he clapped Porsche on the shoulder. “Hey, relax. This stays between us. I swear.”

But secrets in university spread like wildfire. By afternoon, whispers filled the classroom. “Did you hear? Kinn’s into guys…” “That rental boy… and Porsche saw everything.” Porsche’s friend had “just told one other person,” but now the entire class buzzed with the news. Eyes darted toward Porsche, then toward the door, anticipating Kinn’s arrival. The king’s carefully cultivated image was cracking, and Porsche was caught in the center of the storm—terrified, yet unable to shake the memory of that dominant touch and burning gaze.

Little did he know, Kinn had already heard the rumors. And the consequences were only beginning.

To be continued,