First Intergalactic Emperor: Starting With The Ancient Goddess

"My apologies," he said, inclining his head in respect. "Tonight was supposed to be a night of enjoyment, not… this. On behalf of Galaxy Club, I'll make it right. A luxury suite has been prepared—it's usually reserved for our top clients, but tonight, it's yours. A personal apology, for the inconvenience."

The crowd stirred. Whispers broke out since luxury suites were legendary, untouchable even for most of the elites.

Xavier chuckled, brushing imaginary dust from his shoulder as if everything that happened had been nothing more than a minor scuffle. "Well, if you're offering, I'd be an idiot not to take it." He straightened, then without hesitation, slipped an arm under Angel and pulled her close. She was too drunk to process what was happening, head resting against his chest, but she didn't resist.

"Send up the best bottle you've got," Xavier added with that cocky grin. "And maybe a few extras—don't worry, I'll put them to good use."

The manager bowed slightly, still keeping his composure, though his eyes flicked between Xavier and Angel, clearly measuring just what kind of man he was dealing with. But he didn't argue. "It'll be done."

Xavier didn't wait for more words. He walked toward the private elevator at the back of the club, Angel in his arms, his steps unhurried but carrying the same dominance he'd shown all night. Behind him, the crowd parted like water, watching him disappear into the lift, half in awe, half in disbelief at the sheer control he commanded.

The balcony crowd watched the lift swallow Xavier and Angel. For a beat they only heard the bass and the clink of broken glass below. Then the top manager moved back up the stairs and approached the big shots like a man carrying something he wanted nowhere near his hands.

One of the men—silk robe, bored smile—tilted his glass and asked, "You let him walk, boss? Could've milked him for damages. You don't usually give away money. Why the pardon?"

The manager's jaw tightened. He let the question sit, then looked at them in a way that made the air go colder. He'd kept his calm all night; now it cracked. He blew out a breath like a man who had held in smoke too long. "Do you really not know? Or are you pretending?"

They exchanged glances. A half-laugh, an eye-roll. "Enlighten us," another called, casual, expecting theater.

The manager's eyes flicked toward the doorway where the elevator had disappeared. "Did any of you see the girl with him?" he asked flatly.

Silence splintered. A couple of the men shrugged. One smirked, lazy. " Maybe. Hard to tell in the mess."

Another leaned forward. "I thought I'd seen her before. Somewhere ugly and loud. Can't place it."

The manager shook his head slowly. He didn't try to be polite. "Better you don't. Don't poke at her name, don't hunt for it. Trust me—this isn't about money or pride. If you get tangled with her, you don't just lose credits. You lose much worse than that."

A ripple ran across the balcony. Voices softened. Smiles faded. The bigshots who'd been hunting for the night's next toy glanced at each other with new caution. The club, for all its glitter, had rules none of them liked to test. The manager's words had redrawn the line.

The man in the silk robe laughed nervously and raised his glass slower, quieter. "Noted," he said. "We don't poke the sleeping snake."

Meanwhile, the elevator dropped Xavier and Angel to the suite. He guided Angel inside.

The suite looked nothing like the chaos they'd just left. The Galaxy Club's luxury floor was built for the elite—the kind of place where money erased anything. Glass walls stretched across one side, giving a perfect view of the city lights below. A chandelier of floating crystal shards rotated lazily above the lounge, casting soft blue glows across velvet couches and polished marble.

Xavier closed the door behind them with his heel.

Angel wobbled forward, still drunk, her cheeks red, her eyes glassy but sharp in flashes. She kicked her shoes off, stumbled onto the couch, and collapsed, laughing for no reason.

"Nice place," she slurred. "We should get a suite in the midnight club too."

Xavier smirked, loosening his collar as he walked over. "Don't compare. That place is business. This one…" He looked around at the lavish room, the bar stocked with bottles older than him, the private pool shimmering in the corner. "…this one's just a toy."

Angel half-rolled, half-sat up, squinting at him. "Toy for who? You?"

Xavier ignored the jab, walked over to the bar, and poured her a glass of water. "Drink this before you pass out on the marble."

She stuck out her tongue but took it anyway, sipping slow. For a moment she was quiet, watching him with something unreadable in her eyes. The weight of her earlier words lingered between them—the complaints, the accusations, the way she had spat out everything she'd been holding in.

Xavier leaned against the bar, folding his arms. "You always talk too much when you're drunk?"

Angel let out a soft hiccup, then smirked at him. "Maybe. Or maybe I only say what I really think when I'm drunk."

Angel set the empty glass down with a clink and leaned back into the couch. Her hair had come loose, strands falling over her face, her eyes half-lidded but still burning through him.

"You know what I don't get?" she muttered, her voice dragging, heavy with drink. "You chase every girl. You don't even try to hide it. But me? Nothing. Not once. Why?"

Xavier raised a brow, unfazed. "You're drunk. You'll regret this conversation in the morning."

Angel sat up straighter, pointing at him with a shaky finger. "No. Don't brush it off. You owe me an answer. Why never me?"

Xavier leaned down, his face close enough that she could smell the liquor on his breath. "Maybe. Or maybe I just respect you enough not to fuck you like I do everyone else."

For a second, Angel froze, her cheeks redder than before—not just from the alcohol. Then, as if fighting against sleep itself, she slumped back, eyes fluttering. "Respect, huh…? That's bullshit. If you respected me, you'd… you'd…" She yawned mid-sentence, her voice slurring. "…you'd prove it. Right now. Before I pass out."

Her hand tugged weakly at his sleeve, eyes glassy and pleading. "Come on, Xavier. Just this once. Have sex with me… before I black out…"

Her words hung heavy in the air, raw and unfiltered, her drunken honesty pressing against him harder than her grip.