Love for One Night

Ch 1: The Night I Can't Forget (6)

"Hey, Arden, any plans tonight?"

Ryo's arm slung casually over Arden's shoulder. Arden flicked him off like dust, maintaining his arrogant stance, surveying the college girls passing by through his sunglasses.

Arden recalled something a buddy back in Asia had said: " College is a great place—fresh girls delivered every year, and you don't have to worry about hooking up with underage girls." Though in colleges here, there could still be underage ones, so you had to be cautious. But fresh? Definitely fresh. Girls who hadn't stepped into the real world always had a naïve charm that made him want to spoil them.

Ryo seemed eager to prove the point and said excitedly, "There are some newly arrived international students over at CSSA. They're hosting a Mid-Autumn Festival gathering tonight. Want to go?"

Arden tilted his head slightly, not even glancing at his friend beside him, and replied indifferently, "What's the point? To hear those aunties from the Institute of Advanced Studies sing the Chinese propaganda songs."

Ryo, who hadn't been to such events, felt a bit deflated. He couldn't imagine himself participating in something akin to an old-school Chinese cultural performance from decades ago.

Arden stood up, reached out, and ruffled Ryo's hair. "What are we supposed to do with someone who grows taller but not smarter?"

The best male-to-female ratio for throwing a party is at least one to two. Arms around two girls, the more the better—a man's dream. Of course, whoever said that was definitely a guy.

Arden lounged on the sofa in the KTV private room, watching four girls crowding in front of the computer, chattering as they fought to pick songs. The corner of the sofa was practically a mini luxury handbag showcase, with brand logos filling his vision. Glamorous, but seemingly missing something.

Suddenly, he felt bored.

Ryo, on the other hand, was thoroughly enjoying himself, his eyes darting madly over the girls' ultra-short skirts. It was unclear if the girls were truly oblivious, but as they bent over or crossed their legs, fleeting glimpses of beauty left one dazzled.

The new international students left Arden in awe—turns out girls barely out of puberty could smoke even more fiercely than him. One girl had a pink heart-shaped "520" cigarette and scrawled Arden's name on it. She took a few quick breaths, inhaling it into her lungs like a man-eating demon. Demon or angel—he didn't care. He wasn't one to show them any mercy. Words like "cherish" or "mercy" didn't exist in his dictionary.

The revelry stretched past midnight. Arden couldn't recall the songs they sang, or the words exchanged. What lingered in his mind was the sight of the girls all eyeing his SVJ. Too bad his supercar only had two seats.

Lucky Ryo.

As they were leaving, Arden slipped a small vacuum-sealed bag with blue pills into Ryo's pocket, patted him on the shoulder, and said, "Good luck, bro."

Ryo's face lit up, " I'm not gonna thank you, bro. You owed me this from last time."

The girl Arden took with him had long, black hair that partially concealed her face, which was covered with heavy makeup, so detailed that he couldn't tell what she really looked like. Compared to her friends, she was quiet. While the other girls scrambled to get into his car earlier, she stood silently aside, looking at him with soulful, expressive eyes.

At a red light, Arden glanced at his "late-night snack" for the evening. Dressed as a lady, she carried a white classic Chanel Lamb Leather bag, its gold chain entwined around her delicate fingers with acrylic nails. Her slim, short dress revealed bare legs glowing with an enticing sheen, presumably from some kind of lotion. On her feet were black-and-white high heels, slender but not too tall. Not his usual type. After a party, he usually preferred wild, sexy "little wildcats"—uninhibited, fun, and willing to let loose. When did his taste change? Just one sip of "pure water", and his preferences seemed to have become bland.

A freshman, 18 years old—fresh, indeed. Yet her body carried the marks of many unwelcome touches. From their conversation that evening, she appeared to be the daughter of a nouveau riche. However, Arden sensed she might be involved in a 'special' industry. He knew there were no aristocrats in the country she came from, but he couldn't understand why young girls like her lived such a prodigal life. Oblivious to his own double standards, he couldn't help but think this way, even though he was no better himself. Wasn't this like slapping his own face?

Not the same—he is a man. The world has always been unfairly hard on women.

Arden wasn't in the mood tonight. His first time with her was rushed and perfunctory. When the girl glanced at him while walking into the bathroom, her gaze carried a hint of disdain, clear and straightforward. If there was one thing Arden couldn't stand, it was being despised, especially by a woman. So he grabbed her by her long black hair, pressed her against the wall, and took her from behind again. This time, he watched as her legs gave way, and she slid down to the floor. Without even sparing her another glance, he went to shower, got dressed, paid the hotel bill, and left.

Wandering through the deserted midnight streets in his SVJ, the night breeze cooled his feverish head. Suddenly, Arden realized he was a little thirsty. He wanted "water".