Mr. Billionaire, can I be honest?

Omniscient POV

It took twenty-four years to build something meaningful and less than twenty-four hours to watch everything crumble to dust.

Bentley Kai, a 24-year-old guy, lost his house, properties, job, and girlfriend within ten hours. He spent the rest of the day at the police station trying to solve the scammer problem. Devasted, drained, and lost all hope, he drank to a stupor and then wandered aimlessly in the streets of Maverick City.

Bentley settled on a wooden bench, his head bowed. Bentley's coffee-brown eyes darted to the digital camera dangling on his neck. "This is hopeless. I'm hopeless. How can I be so... gullible? So stupid..." He raised his head to the pop music booming from the opposite building lit up.

Bentley gripped his phone in his right hand and walked into the building. The music bounced back from the four corners of the place.

He paused, then glanced at faceless individuals in all sorts of clothes to decipher a pattern-the skimpy-dressed danced around for entertainment, the casually-dressed relaxed on couches, and held conversations with a person or two, and the formally dressed were crowded like pollen to bees, they sprayed money everywhere and had enough drinks on their table.

Bentley took a seat on the bar stand. "Good evening, sir, what can I get you?" a soft masculine voice said, with a small smile.

Bentley paused. "The cheapest alcohol." "Okay, coming right up!" the bartender turned on his heels and poured it into a glass cup.

"Sir, your order." Bentley took out some cash from the breast pocket of his blue checkers shirt and dropped it on the smooth white table. "Thank you, enjoy your drink," he smiled, then turned to attend to other customers.

Bentley sipped his drink; the burning sensation somehow helped to numb the pain of failure, the pain of foolishness, and that of bad decisions.

"Hey, cutie." He came back to reality as someone grabbed his hand. Bentley darted to the hand, then raised his head to a blonde man in his late twenties. He tried to pull away, but the man grinned and tightened his grip.

"What's the matter? I just want to talk." Bentley got up and wiggled away from his grasp. "Excuse me," he walked briskly, peeking from the corner of his eyes to make sure he was not being followed.

Bentley's head collided with a hard surface. "Ouch..." he took some steps back as the room spun around him. "I'm sorry, beautiful, are you hurt?" a deep voice said.

"Seriously? What's wrong with men in this place? Can't they differentiate a man from a woman?" Bentley thought inwardly, his eyebrows creased, following a sigh. "I'm fine."

"That's good to hear. Can I buy you a drink?" "No! It's fine, thank you." Bentley turned to the left but halted as the man blocked his way.

"I said I want to buy you a drink," the man's tone increased. "And I refuse... I'm not interested," Tipsy Bentley pushed his glasses, like that would make him see the blurry person in front of him. He couldn't blame his poor vision on his eyes this time.

The stranger took a step forward, and Bentley took one back. "Who are you to refuse? Do you know who I am?" the man spat in anger.

"I... didn't mean to disrespect you; honestly, I'm just in a hurry," Bentley stuttered, turning his head sideways as if searching for an escape route. A creepy smirk crawled on the man's face. "Oh, it's fine. I can drop you off," he squeezed Bentley's hand and pulled him. "You don't have to," Bentley retorted.

The blonde man from before walked to them and gripped his other hand. "I found him first! Back off." Bentley shut his eyes tight; being pulled like a ragdoll by shameless rich men was the last thing he wanted on the worst day of his life.

"Can this day just end?" Bentley said internally.

A man in a black suit, who had been observing the whole drama from the barstand walked toward them. His eyes narrowed to the brown-haired guy in the middle-head drooped, and lifeless body swayed to the direction of force.

"Gentlemen, he's with me," a baritone voice chirped in, his aura, a masculine combination of lavender and fresh woody undertones. The blonde man sneered. "And you are?"

The man paused; he raised his cold, dark gray eyes to them. "Giovanni... Damian Giovanni."

Their eyes popped out of their sockets. "S-Sir!" they chorused, choked up by his dominating aura. "My sincere apologies; we had no idea," the blonde man forced a dry laugh. "Yeah, he's all yours," the brunette man nudged Bentley towards the stranger with his shoulder, and they both scurried away.

Bentley raised his head to a blurry muscular figure. He smiled at the stranger and thought inwardly. "Finally, an angel came to my rescue." Damian raised a brow at Bentley casually holding his arms.

"Urgh! He reeks of alcohol, completely wasted," he murmured. "You saved me, thank you," Bentley smiled sheepishly. Damian pinched his blue checkers shirt like it was garbage; his eyebrows crinkled in disgust as he pulled Bentley past the ocean of people to the exit.

Damian dialed a number, and it was picked up within two seconds. "Hello, it's time to leave." A shiny black Tesla zoomed in front of him, and the door opened automatically. Damian darted to Bentley, who stared blankly at him. "Hmm... bye," Damian entered the car and turned to the driver.

"Let's go." He tapped his index finger constantly on his thigh, then twisted his neck at Bentley-staggering in circles.

Damian looked away, a sigh escaping his mouth. His conscience judged him from the inside. "I can't just leave him there. What if he gets hurt or harassed by those repulsive men? Well... maybe that'll teach him to drink responsibly after tonight."

Damian held his lower lips between his teeth, his finger still restless; invasive thoughts got the better of him. "Driver, turn around." "Sir?" the aged man glimpsed at the backseat. "I said turn around." The car swerved back to the club, where Bentley was standing still.

Damian stepped out of the Tesla and walked to him. "Hi... we can drop you off if you want," he said. Bentley looked at the blurry face and tilted his neck slightly; he thought internally. "Oh, that sounds like my angel... and smells like them!" he inhaled the enticing smell of masculinity and elegance blended in perfection.

Bentley walked to him slowly, his steps swaying from one side to another. He stopped in front of him and then rested his head on Damian's sturdy chest.