By the time Charlotte had fed Fifi her medicine and tucked the children into bed, it was already past nine. After a quick shower, she collapsed onto her bed and fired off a text to Gigolo In Debt: How’s business tonight?

He replied almost instantly: Not good. No one picked me.

Charlotte felt a surge of anxiety. If he doesn’t make money, I don't get paid! She began typing a long, fervent message, schooling him on how to handle wealthy female clients:

"Don’t always wear that mask and act all cold and aloof. Sure, some rich women dig the mysterious vibe, but others want someone bright and bubbly. You have to adapt! When they’re choosing, you need to wow them with your charm. Take off your shirt, put those abs and chest muscles on full display, and maybe grind your hips a little. Those women won’t stand a chance—they’ll be drooling! Then, whisper in their ear that you have incredible stamina and can last for ages..."

His reply came back dry and sharp: “Incredible stamina and lasting for ages... you seem to remember that night quite vividly.”

Charlotte’s face turned crimson. She fired back an angry emoji. "I’m teaching you how to run a business and make money, and you’re talking nonsense! If you don’t hit your target tonight, you owe me the difference tomorrow. I told you—at least five thousand a day!"

Gigolo In Debt replied with a simple sweating emoji.

Charlotte didn't let up: "Work harder! The night is young. Who knows? Maybe a big client will come knocking after midnight. Don’t be picky. Who cares if they’re skinny or obese? As long as they like you, you take the job and get paid..."

This time, he was silent.

"Forget it," Charlotte typed, frustrated. "I’m coming to Sultry Night right now. I’ll bring you some supplements and teach you some real skills in person!"

She remembered a lesson her father once taught her: being a boss meant winning over your workers, not just squeezing them dry. You had to lead with "virtue and sentiment," or your talent would eventually jump ship. Charlotte decided she needed to start treating her "investment" a little better.

After telling Mrs. Berry she was heading out, she changed quickly and stopped at a pharmacy near her neighborhood. She kept her head down, scanning for anyone she might recognize before whispering to the clerk, "Do you have any supplements... to improve... male drive?"

"For a man or a woman?" the salesperson asked loudly.

"For a man," Charlotte hissed, her voice barely audible.

"These are our options. Which one do you want?" The clerk pointed to a glass cabinet.

"I’ll take the cheapest one," Charlotte said without hesitation.

"This one, then. It's buy three, get one free."

"How much for three?"

"Three thousand three hundred and eighty!"

"Too expensive! I’ll just take the one bottle!"

The salesperson was rendered speechless but rang up the single bottle. Charlotte stuffed it into her bag and bolted. Behind her, the clerk turned to a colleague and gossiped, "Did you see her? Pretty girl, but no conscience. She’s clearly worked her husband to the bone, so she buys him a supplement—but she’s too cheap to even buy the full set! Talk about a vicious wife."

Charlotte ignored the imaginary whispers and took a cab to Sultry Night. She went straight to the private room where they had met before.

Sure enough, he was there.

As usual, his face was hidden behind that mysterious mask. Clad in all black, he sat with a lofty, arrogant posture, sipping a drink. He emanated an aura so unapproachable it was a wonder he ever got hired at all.

"Tsk, tsk. Look at that attitude. No wonder you’re sitting here alone," Charlotte scolded the moment she entered. "Women come here for a good time, not to be looked down on by a statue. Who do you think you’re going to seduce with that grim face?"

"Take it or leave it," Zachary said, swirling the amber liquid in his glass.

"How can you be successful with that mindset?" Charlotte sighed, exasperated. "You need to think big! Strive for a better life!"

"Even a gigolo needs a 'big vision'?" Zachary questioned, a hint of amusement in his voice.

"Of course! There are levels to this profession," Charlotte said earnestly. "If you perform well, you could be the top gigolo in the city. Others earn ten thousand, but you could earn a hundred thousand a night! You could retire in two years. You have to make the most of your youth—if you don't work hard now, what are you going to do when you're old and used up?"

"That... actually makes sense," Zachary nodded slowly.

"So, you need to boost your performance." Charlotte fished the bottle out of her bag. "Here. I bought this for you. Take it and go close a big client tonight."

"I don't need that. My drive is perfectly fine." Zachary glanced at the bottle, his lips curving into a wicked smile. "Didn't you experience it firsthand?"

"That was years ago! After doing this for so long, you’ve probably developed some... technical issues, haven't you?" Charlotte gazed at him with genuine pity. "Everything wears out if it’s overused."

Her gaze drifted significantly toward his groin, and she let out a tiny, mournful sigh.

Zachary’s eyes narrowed dangerously. He reached out, pinching her chin to force her to meet his gaze. "Are you actually doubting my abilities?"

His eyes gleamed with a natural, suffocating dominance that made her heart flutter. Charlotte scooted back, trying to maintain some distance. "I'm just worried about your career! I even spent money on these supplements. You should repay me for my effort..."

"And how," Zachary whispered, closing the gap between them until she was pinned against the sofa, "do you want me to repay you?"

He exuded a predatory aura, looking every bit like a wild beast that had finally caught its prey.