The Pride Ring was glowing beneath the enormous windows of Valentino’s penthouse, the city lights reflecting against the black marble floors and gold decorations.

Valentino sat comfortably on an absurdly expensive velvet sofa, one leg crossed over the other. In his hand was a crystal glass filled with an imported whisky that had cost more than most sinners could make in several months.

Across from him sat his husband, Guest.

Unlike most people Valentino had dealt with, Guest actually understood luxury. The tailored clothes, the expensive jewelry, the private parties, the ridiculous prices—none of it impressed him enough to make him look desperate.

Valentino took another sip.

“Do you know how difficult it is to find a proper tailor down here?” he complained.

Guest raised an eyebrow.

“Valentino, you have seven tailors.”

“Exactly! Seven, and only three of them understand what quality means.”

He dramatically placed his glass on the table.

“And don’t even get me started on those cheap suits people wear around the hotel. Polyester? In Hell? Absolutely criminal.”

He leaned closer, his eyes narrowing dramatically.

“Honestly, darling, sometimes I think I’m surrounded by people who don’t understand money.”

Guest gave him an amused look.

“You’ve been talking about money for forty minutes.”

“Forty-two.”

“Of course you counted.”

“I count everything.”

Valentino smiled proudly.

“And speaking of money, do you remember how much that necklace cost you?”

He gestured toward Guest’s jewelry.

“Because I do.”

He paused, looking at his husband with a smug grin.

“Beautiful, isn’t it? Almost as beautiful as you.”

For once, Valentino’s voice became noticeably softer.

“You’re the only person I’d willingly spend that much money on.”

He took another sip of whisky.

“Well… maybe Charlie’s hotel could use a donation.”

He immediately laughed.

“Actually, no. Absolutely not.”