Love for One Night

Ch 1: The Night I Can't Forget (2)

"Women are like houses.

The average man can only afford to move at a snail's pace.

Those less fortunate may find themselves without shelter, sleeping on the streets.

As the standard of living improves, many people find themselves in modest two-room or three-room homes.

Meanwhile, some are born destined to reside in grand mansions."

In his world, some women are like expansive gardens, adorned with vibrant flowers and lush grass, perhaps even featuring elegant pavilions. People from all walks of life, both familiar and unfamiliar, wander through these spaces, sometimes stepping inside to explore their beauty and tranquility.

Other women are like living rooms. The quality of the sofa or the painting on the wall is less important than the impression she leaves for others to see. Her presence is an invitation to admire, not necessarily to judge.

Some women resemble a fine wine and meal, inviting guests to sit and savor. The menu might change frequently, ensuring a balanced experience that reflects the adaptability and the varied tastes of those she entertains.

Friends with benefits represent the practical side, akin to a restroom, serving basic physiological needs and providing a solution for urgent matters—open to anyone in need.

Wives and lovers are categorized differently, with the guest room reserved for special individuals. Only those who are close friends or significant figures are invited to stay, as it is a matter of reputation and comfort. Some guest rooms, however, never host visitors, existing solely to fill space.

The master bedroom is a private sanctuary. Guests may admire it from a distance, but if one truly wishes to enter, they must think twice. Divorce and the complexities that accompany it are not trivial matters. Altering the dynamics of such an intimate space can be a significant upheaval, and some beds are not easily replaced without considerable effort.

At the time, he had not known her yet. He didn't realize there was anything wrong with his objectification of women. In the circle he grew up in, the elders, his father, and his friends—all men of the same generation—had instilled in him the belief that this was simply how the world operated.

Back then, he didn't "live" in a mansion. At best, his situation could be described as having "no fixed abode," frequently moving from one rental house to another. "If a young person does not indulge in romance or adventure, it is a waste of their youth." Among the many lessons his father imparted, this was the one he embraced most thoroughly.

Fortunately, his father sent him to college in North America, a place known for its liberal atmosphere compared to Asia. It felt as though there were no limits to what he could do, as long as he stayed within the boundaries of the law.

He parked his orange SVJ Roadster in the parking space and glanced at his reflection, smoothing down his hair. 

There wasn't much to fix; he'd impulsively shaved his head some time ago and was now sporting a short layer of coarse stubble. His hairdresser had etched wavy patterns into the sides, which his friends jokingly said resembled a crop circle. 

Despite the teasing, he still dreamed of meeting an alien. A passionate encounter with an extraterrestrial woman would be a remarkable chapter in his already colorful love life.

The SVJ's door rose slowly like a bird's wing. He extended his long legs first, then glanced out, drawing sighs from the onlookers around him. His large black sunglasses concealed his mesmerizing gaze, yet they couldn't hide the subtle upward curve of his lips. That mischievous smile alone was enough to set the hearts of the young girls passing by aflutter. 

With his hands casually tucked into his pockets, he strode into KSF with an air of a supremely imperturbable demeanor.

KSF was important to Arden. It wasn't just him; his friends came there all the time. Despite his family's wealth in Asia, he knew he had to earn a diploma abroad and make some connections before returning to his parents, and there was no way around it.

"Adeon Lam"—he didn't particularly like his Chinese name and preferred to be called "Arden"—was not just a simple, idle playboy. He was certainly not a simple playboy. When others were having fun, he joined in. When others were scratching their heads before exams, he was still having fun. Yet, the reports he submitted always left his professors nod their head in praise.

He was acutely aware that his freedom would last only for these few short years. The day he returned home would be when he truly had to "enter the battlefield." Reality is harsh; the higher you stand, the farther you see, but the riskier the path, the harder the fall.

With limited energy, he wasn't interested in the rigid material taught in textbooks. He was only interested in tangible, real-world matters. The market is a human market, and he was only interested in people. At this stage, his interest was women. Conquering women meant conquering half the world.

"Hey, Arden, what took you so long? The sun's about to go home and sleep," said his friend, Ryo, who was sitting at the lounge bar. 

Ryo had just arrived last month—a delicate-looking young man with fine eyebrows and features. During the welcome party, Arden had insisted on dressing him in a ballet outfit and pushed him onto the bar to perform Swan Lake. It was a fraternity tradition, and Arden had gone through it himself. But Ryo didn't see it the same way and held a grudge.

"I went home to change clothes," Arden said as he headed straight to the fridge and grabbed a bottle of mineral water.

"Out all night again?" Ryo squinted at him with a mischievous expression. "Was it with that girl from The Roxy last night?"

Arden drank his water and gestured with his fingers to indicate "yes."

"Lucky you, she seemed like a real catch," Ryo probed.

Arden, with the last mouthful of water, gave a meaningful nod with a thumbs-up.

"Damn, you're not being a bro. You snagged my prey while I was in the bathroom. I saw her first," Ryo said, hooking his arm around Arden's neck and pulling him back. Arden spat out half his water, coughing violently, and grabbed Ryo's arm, flipping him over his shoulder.

"If you want to choke me, just say so. With your small frame, you wouldn't even need to be castrated to be a eunuch."

Ryo got up from the floor, dusted himself off, and swung his fist, "Who are you calling that? Say it again."

At that moment, Moya pushed the door open and saw the two handsome guys "intimately" rolling around on the lounge sofa.

"Amitabha," she said, stepping back and crossing herself. "World peace, amen."