The man placed a large hand on her forehead, easily keeping her at arm's length. No matter how wildly Charlotte flailed her arms, she couldn't land a single blow.

He stared down at her with a chilling detachment, as if she were nothing more than an entertaining clown. "Get your facts straight. You were the one who requested my services. It was consensual. You’re making it sound like I forced myself on you."

Charlotte bristled, her eyes flashing with fire. "You’re an unprofessional hack! What kind of gigolo doesn't even use protection? Damn you! You deserve to be castrated!"

"Mm?" The man’s gaze darkened instantly, a dangerous glint flickering in his eyes. "Did you get pregnant?"

Charlotte stiffened. Images of her three adorable babies flashed through her mind. Yes, I got pregnant! I gave birth to triplets! And you, you bastard, you haven't spent a single day being a responsible father!

"Answer me!" he demanded, his voice dropping an octave.

"Yes, I got pregnant!" Charlotte blurted out. But the moment the words left her lips, panic seized her. If the world found out their father was a club escort, the kids would be mocked for the rest of their lives. She immediately pivoted. "But I aborted it! Do you think I’d actually give birth to the child of a shameless gigolo?"

No... I must keep them a secret. No one can ever find out the truth!

"Good." The man nodded, seemingly satisfied. He reached into his pocket, his fingers brushing against a checkbook.

"The nerve of you! I can't believe you're still grifting women as a 'male escort.' How many more lives are you going to ruin? I’m going to find your manager and file a formal complaint right now!" Charlotte turned and stomped toward the door in a fury.

The man’s hand froze on the check. He watched her retreating figure, a faint furrow appearing between his brows, and slid the checkbook back into his pocket.

Just as she reached the hallway, her phone vibrated. It was Wesley. "Charlotte, everyone is getting ready to leave. If you don't show up with the credit card in five minutes, don't bother coming to Divine Corporation tomorrow. You’re finished."

"Go to hell!"

Charlotte slammed the phone shut, her body trembling with rage. Why is the world so full of scumbags? They're all the same! But then, a thought struck her.

That "gigolo" had ruined her life. Why should she walk away empty-handed? Why should he live in luxury in a private suite while she and her children struggled to afford basic necessities?

Her jaw hardened with newfound resolve. She spun around and barged back into the private room. "Listen here, you stupid gigolo! You ruined my life. You have to take responsibility!"

The man was calmly sipping his wine when she made her grand re-entry. He looked up, his expression unreadable behind the mask. "Oh? And how exactly do you propose I do that?"

"By compensating me!" Charlotte declared, planting her feet firmly. "If it weren't for you, I wouldn't be in this mess!"

If it weren't for him, I would have seen my father one last time. If it weren't for him, my reputation wouldn't be in tatters. If it weren't for him, I wouldn't be a struggling single mother... though my kids are the best thing that ever happened to me. She shook the thought away. Be firm! Get the money!

"How much do you want?"

The man lounged back on the sofa with an arrogant grace, slowly buttoning his shirt. In the dim, amber light, the sharp lines of his abs gleamed—a sight that was undeniably distracting.

Charlotte’s gaze lingered for a split second too long before she cleared her throat and held up three fingers.

"Three hundred million?" he asked dryly.

"Ha! If you could pay me three hundred million, I'd wake up laughing every day!" Charlotte scoffed. She stepped closer, trying to look imposing. "You’re just an escort. Stop acting like a tycoon. I want three months of your salary. From tonight onward, you’re giving me half of everything you earn!"

I can't even afford their formula milk right now. Since I ran into him when I'm at my lowest, I might as well fleece him. He owes it to the kids, even if he doesn't know they exist. Three months of his 'tips' should be enough to get us through my probation period. Once my salary hits ten thousand, we can go our separate ways for good.