The Retired CEO's Guide To Being Spoiled Chapter 176: The Price of Indulgence

Regarding precisely how he had managed to return ho on that fateful day, Julian Sterling possessed absolutely no recollection whatsoever. His mory was a blank slate, washed clean by exhaustion. He had simply fallen into a slumber so deep, so absolute, that it felt akin to a temporary death, his consciousness completely subrged in darkness. He had been entirely at the rcy of the world, leaving Ethan Caldwell free to do precisely as he pleased with Julian’s insensate form.

The imdiate consequence of that unbridled, chaotic night was swift and severe: Ethan Caldwell was strictly prohibited from crossing the threshold of the master bedroom. Julian had issued a non-negotiable decree, Ethan was banned from the bed for an entire week.

As a result, the titan of a man, boasting a stature of nearly one ter ninety, was forced to curl his imposing fra onto the sofa in the living room like a banished pet. To be fair, the residence boasted a perfectly comfortable guest bedroom equipped with a proper mattress, but this obstinate man was clearly staging a performance. He chose the living room deliberately, a calculated ply for sympathy. Even though that particular sofa was a piece of high-end Italian import, upholstered in leather so buttery and soft it felt like a second skin, it was ill-suited for a man of Ethan’s formidable build. For him to compress his long limbs to fit that limited space was, without a doubt, a form of physical torture. Every morning, upon rising from his makeshift bed, Ethan would make a show of massaging his stiff neck, emitting exaggerated groans and theatric grimaces, all pitched perfectly to ensure the occupant of the master bedroom could hear his suffering through the walls.

It was truly a pity, then, that Julian Sterling currently possessed absolutely nothing resembling pity or compassion.

During this period of dostic cold war, Julian was ticulously focusing on his own affairs. He was in the midst of preparations for his re-enrollnt at the Saint Lawrence Arts Academy, getting ready to resu his studies. However, before he could return to the hallowed halls of academia, there was a matter of far greater urgency to attend to: the scheduled eting with Dahlia Thorne.

"Where exactly are we eting? And please, spare the suggestion if you are planning to say The Ebony Lounge again." Julian remarked sharply.

He stood before the floor-to-ceiling mirror, his fingers deftly working the intricate fastenings of his cufflinks. He adjusted the collar of his pristine white dress shirt, smoothing out non-existent creases, before casting a questioning glance at the man leaning casually against the doorfra.

Objectively speaking, The Ebony Lounge was the quintessential venue for clandestine etings that required a veneer of high society and absolute discretion. The establishnt boasted impeccable privacy protocols and a rigorous security system that was second to none. n of status, like Ethan Caldwell, enjoyed the privilege of private garage access and exclusive elevators that whisked them directly to personal suites, completely bypassing the cacophony of the public entertainnt areas below. It offered the perfect shield against prying eyes, ensuring that one’s business remained strictly one’s own.

However, after the sheer insanity of their last visit, after that night of unhinged passion, Julian had absolutely no desire to set foot within those walls again. The re thought of it made his skin crawl with a mixture of embarrassnt and anxiety.

Julian was well aware that behind the closed doors of The Ebony Lounge’s private suites, debauchery was commonplace. There were undoubtedly acts occurring there daily that were far more depraved than what had transpired between him and Ethan. The world of the ultra-wealthy was a tapestry woven with dark secrets, hidden behind velvet curtains and soundproofed walls. At least their union was legal; they were lawfully wedded partners, their intimacy sanctioned by marriage. In contrast, many of those other patrons were likely engaging in transactional flings, exchanging benefits for flesh in monts of fleeting pleasure.

But that rationalization did little to thicken the skin on Julian’s face. He simply did not possess the fortitude to face the staff again, the very people who had, in all likelihood, been tasked with cleaning up the chaotic battlefield of their lovemaking. The service staff at The Ebony Lounge were trained to be professional, to see everything and say nothing, their eyes averting naturally. Yet, Julian still felt as though their gazes would strip him bare. Even though Ethan had sworn over a dozen tis that he had tidied up the worst of the ss before carrying Julian out, Julian remained unconvinced.

Cleaned up? How could one possibly ensure it was spotless? The lingering, heavy scent of musk in the air, the disarray of the furniture, the carpets kicked askew, and those ambiguous, tell-tale stains that inevitably remained... It was impossible to erase everything. No matter what Ethan said, anyone walking into that room afterwards would have known exactly what had taken place.

Therefore, Julian currently harbored a profound dislike for The Ebony Lounge.

"Rest assured, that place isn’t suitable for today anyway." Ethan murmured, his voice low and soothing. He moved from the doorway to stand behind Julian, wrapping his arms around Julian’s slender shoulders. He gazed at the reflection of the two of them in the mirror, a portrait of dostic intimacy, and pressed a tender, consoling kiss to the crown of Julian’s head: "Helen Lloyd has already arranged a location with even greater confidentiality. Besides, I know you aren’t ready to return to The Ebony Lounge just yet. I wouldn’t dream of putting you in such an awkward position."

"Keep your mouth shut." Julian snapped, though the bite was lacking in his tone.

"Our Little Jules is becoming increasingly irritable these days." Ethan teased, his tone dripping with playful wickedness. He began to behave improperly, his large hands sliding down the front of Julian’s shirt to rest over his flat, toned abdon. He rubbed the area gently, tracing circles through the fabric: "You aren’t... expecting, are you? This volatile temperant is identical to the mood swings of a pregnant woman."

"Expecting? In your dreams! Ethan Caldwell, behave yourself imdiately!" Julian’s face flushed a brilliant crimson, the heat rising from his neck to his ears. He swatted the wandering hands away with force, glaring daggers at his husband through the mirror’s reflection.

"Alright, alright, don’t be angry." Ethan chuckled, retreating slightly with his hands raised in mock surrender.

He watched the transformation with amusent. The timid, trembling youth who had once entered his ho, head bowed in submission and voice barely a whisper, had evolved into this feisty creature capable of scolding him. It was a change Ethan welcod. After all, he was the one who had spoiled Julian into this state of delightful arrogance. It was entirely his own doing, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

Once their preparations were complete, Ethan escorted Julian down to the villa’s expansive underground garage. The space was a veritable showroom of automotive excellence, lined with machines that cost more than most people earned in a lifeti. However, Ethan breezed past the familiar row of sleek, polished black luxury vehicles without a second glance. He ignored the sedans and the sports cars that he usually favored.

Instead, the man walked with purpose toward the farthest, darkest corner of the garage, stopping before a shape concealed under a heavy, dust-laden tarp. With a dramatic flourish, he yanked the cover down, revealing a BMW of an older vintage. Its design was unremarkable, the style clearly dated, but it possessed one glaring detail that made it impossible to ignore: the paint was a shocking, blinding shade of neon orange that assaulted the senses and made one’s eyes ache.

Julian stared at the vehicle as if he had just encountered a extraterrestrial lifeform that had crash-landed in their ho. He turned his incredulous gaze toward Ethan, who was already opening the passenger door with a nonchalant expression, as if this were the most normal thing in the world.

"We are taking... this?" Julian asked, his voice laced with disbelief.

Seeing the man nod with a perfectly calm expression, Julian found himself utterly speechless.

"I am only realizing now, Ethan Caldwell, that your aesthetic taste is truly bizarre."