Dear son,

I have always wanted the best for you. I have always wanted you to be the best. What is this nonsense I hear from your teacher about that Stark boy beating you in all classes? You were at the top of your class before he swept in. No son of mine would ever be second. As much as I hate to say this, do not write to me again till you beat him in grades. And if you don't do as I ask, I shall never write back to you. I shall not stand by and watch you become a second option. My regards to your mother.

yours truly,

Commander Edmund Finley.

Gerrard held the old piece of paper in his hand, jaw clenching, green eyes rioting with thunderous rage. That was the last he heard from his father before he died months later. He was never able to beat Robert's grades and till today, hated himself for it. That Stark brat was an annoying genius, always flaunting his knowledge in the bloody university.

He sighed, glancing around his London office. The walls were adorned with oak shelves stocked with books, a high black wooden table before him, a floor carpeted with rich brown rug and walls panelled with dark wood. He built all these just to prove to his dead father that he was better than Robert. But apparently, his father won't approve considering this new moon lamp that has surfaced.

From what he could tell, that moon lamp meant something to Robert. He would take away that dream from him just the way he took his father's love from him. He would make Robert wish he never went to Cambridge. When he was done with him, Vultures would rather die than eat his cadaver.

There was a knock on the door and he folded the paper, hiding it in his black waistcoat. "Come in, Mr Featherington."

He walked, fair light from the high window behind Gerrard, bouncing off his shaved head, golden refraction in his spectacles. He was dressed in a white work shirt and black trousers.

"You asked for me, Sir," his gruff voice resonated in his throat.

Gerrard gestured at a chair across his desk. "Yes, I did. Have a seat."

Featherington's footsteps echoed down the room as he moved closer, settling neatly into the chair. Gerrard took his time to observe the father of the woman he was about to make use of. As much as he hated to do this to his most loyal worker, he believed it had to be done.

He would show Robert that he wasn't the only one who could entice women. No matter how horrendous it would be, Gerrard knew he would always have something to prove to his father till he stopped Robert's Moonlamp development. Even if it meant adding coaxing a woman to his list of things to prove to his dead father. He surely had to be better than Robert in something. He was Gerrard Finley for Godsakes!

"I'm sure you're aware of the recent developments," He said.

"I am, Sir " Featherington smiled "After all, I'm the one that ordered it."

"Indeed." Gerrard nodded approvingly "You've been nothing but wonderful to me. Which is why I've asked you here to ask for your permission to court your daughter."

A ting of shock sparked in Featherington's black cold eyes. He must've been surprised that the almighty Gerrard Finley was asking for permission from him. Or worse, he must've been shocked that a man of Gerrard's class would want to be associated with a family like his.

"I don't see any need for permissions," His private secretary said, tipping the bridge of his glasses. "You've been kind to me all these years and I see you like family."

"So I do have your blessings?"

Silence flooded the room and soon you could hear nothing but a pin drop. What was going through Featherington's mind? Wasn't Gerrard more than enough for his daughter?

He should even be kneeling on the floor and begging him not to ever let his daughter go. She caught a big fish. And Gerrard didn't care if his intentions with her are impure. She was just a by-product of the great war to come.

"As long as you don't include the sins of our business with my daughter's life, you have my blessings," Featherington said.

"Then it is settled." Gerrard would show Robert how good he is with the ladies and he would cook up a scandal so he could dump her. That would be enough to make Robert feel like shite knowing Gerrard did this because of him.

"Would that be all, Sir?"

Gerrard's green eyes darkened. "No. Find them."

"Consider it done, Sir."

Robert and his employees advanced down the road of the East end, his eyes scouting the environment. Far ahead was the wet kitty and the unholy screams of women were erupting from every corner. He remembered the days he used to come here till he caught a disease. Since then, whenever he heard the word; whorehouse, he ran the other way. Which was quite ironic considering he was walking towards one right now.

"Can you tell me why we're heading to whorehouse?" Ella asked, jogging to catch up with him.

Ah, she caught up quickly. Robert was impressed with her cognitive skills. But he was bothered that she may not like the reason she was here. Surely he wanted her to fight for the key and letter as much as he wanted to. But her mode of fighting may be different.

"We're here for the thief."

Ella looked at him like he had two big elephant ears. "You said we were to go to his home."

"Based on information my spies had gathered on him, I am a hundred per cent sure that he spends all of his earnings on whores in this house. He stole my letter for someone else because someone as insignificant as him, couldn't want to have anything to do with my letter. If we're to say Gerrard ordered this move, he was surely going to pay this man handsomely and ask him to leave town. He knows I'll be coming for him." Robert glanced at Ella with his beautiful blue eyes. "And what does a sex addict who just made a ton of pounds do?"

Ella's warm brown eyes circled in realization. "He spends it here. How did you think of that?"

"Did you think a man who could propose a moon lamp won't be able to think that far?" Robert raised a brow arrogantly.

Ella rolled her eyes, a smile at the corner of her lips. "I don't know. The same man could accuse an innocent woman wrongly."

"That was a mistake that rarely happens." But the way she raised her head high, he assumed she wasn't taking that for an answer. Damn her and her smart mind!

They reached the entrance and climbed the short flight of stairs, a cacophony of feminine screams slipping past the door. Robert turned to his employees.

"Remember, ye speak like dem. Am I clear?"

Both nodded, "Aye."

"Good."

The wet kitty was nothing like its exterior. In fact, it was quite the place Robert remembered it to be; stylish and high maintenance. The first place in view was what most people would assume to be the bar.

Counters lined a side of the room, barstools facing the countless bottles of wine behind the female bartenders in scantily clad dresses that revealed too much legs. The floors were covered with fine red marble and lounge chairs occupied by naked women and excited men filled the room.

Robert worried for Ella, turned to her and noticed her jaw dropped so close to the floor that it could be swept. "Close yer mouth, ye may catch a fly."

The red lights of the dimly lit room danced on her face. "A place like dis exists?"

"My business leads me ta all kinds of places. If ye can't 'andle—"

"Trust me," she held up a hand, "if ye 'ave a friend like Jules, dis is a piece of cake."

Robert narrowed his eyes. "Now I'm more dan curious ta meet dis yer friend."

Three poles were placed strategically in the middle of the room so they would form a triangle. Three women with sharp eyeliner makeup danced on each of the poles, their dark legs gleaming under the moonlight. Robert nodded impressively at the view before him.

"If my wife were ta ever find me in a place like dis—" Howard shuddered.

Robert put a hand reassuringly on his shoulder "Don't ye worry. What would she be looking for in da East end anyway?"

A throng of women in clothes that barely bothered to hide their hips advanced to Robert and he smiled, looking down at Ella who noticed was frowning. Was she jealous? It was too soon to assume.

" 'ey you 'andsome chunk of meat," a brown-skinned woman said, rubbing her well-manicured finger down Robert's sharp jaw.

He hit the inside of his mouth with his tongue, "I've 'eard dat one before. I thought ye'll be more creative."

"Trust me," she jerked her head backwards, revealing her finely smooth neck. "I can be creative in a lot of ways."

He turned to Howard—who had gone pink—and Ella who was fuming for only God knows what. "Yer friends won't mind attendin' ta mine, would they?"

"Not at all," she whispered into Robert's ear.

"Wait, what?" Ella asked, eyes wide. "What da ye—" Robert watched as a horde of women carried away Ella and Howard to a corner and as wicked as it may sound, he felt pity for Howard the most. Condemning a married man to such torture was evil.

"Come 'ere," the eager lady dragged him away and soon, he found himself running down a corridor of moans, each door producing a different tempo. She opened a door and locked the both of them inside a room. It was scented with fine rose perfume, a chaise lounge by the side and a four-poster bed in the middle. A window was slightly open, letting in a streak of light that was enough to light the room.

"Well, what are ye waitin' for?" The lady dropped the silk cloth that was barely wrapping her and it formed waves on her feet. Robert's blue eyes took in her entire form; her grey eyes, her pearl-shaped lower body, perfectly aligned bosoms and a bushy temple. He had promised himself that he would never visit a whorehouse because of the infection he contracted the last time. But this decade was in his favour; condoms were now invented.

Just one more time, he told himself, taking off his shirt, revealing neatly carved porcelain muscles and a hairy chest. The lady gasped, stripping him naked with her intoxicating eyes. Like strings in a guitar, they meshed together, their bodies dancing a tune Robert never knew existed. His lips devoured the prohibited sanctuary of her mouth and he heard her moan resonating down his throat. It was genuine, not like the tempos sounding outside the room.

He lifted her off the floor, hands groping her womanly assets and dumping her on the bed. His hands trailed over her beautiful dark skin, making her feel wanted, making him feel valued, making them feel... desired. She wrapped her thick legs around his hardback, begging him to enter her sacred temple and he denied her request, moving down south. Once his tongue made contact with her torch of flames, she burned with desire, hands grabbing a handful of his blonde hair. He planted her thighs on his powerful shoulders and slurped her drenched cave, making her grab the sheets and arch her back in pleasure.

If he was to get information out of this woman, he had to make her feel like a woman more than ever. His fingers dipped into her stream of pleasure, twisting, turning and spreading. Her moans were getting airy and he knew it was time. He put on his rubber and took control of her body with swift strokes. The sound of flesh meeting flesh rippled through the room as drips of sweat streamed down his face, trickling down her gleaming hips.

He went on for minutes and her thighs became a shivering mess before she spilt a river of satisfaction on his groin. Faking gratification, he fell onto the other side of the bed breathing heavily.

"Shite," she blew out air. "Dat was amazing. I should be payin' ye not da other way around."

"Well, I suppose ye could," Robert glanced at the woman from the corner of his eye.

"Da day a customer finally satisfies me comes and it's not for free," she smiled, twirling to face him. "What do ye want?"

"I'm in search of a certain man."