Trez

The bar was loud—bass shaking the floor, neon cutting through smoke, alcohol and sweat in the air. Perfect chaos. Exactly where Trez thrived.

He leaned against the counter, six-foot-something of pure arrogance. Black shirt stretched across his chest, veins snaking down his forearms, cigarette perched lazily between his lips. His smirk was carved in place, that look that said I don’t give a fuck, but you’ll give a fuck about me. Richest brat in the city, spending cash like it was toilet paper, dripping money, muscles, and menace. A walking red flag.

That’s when he saw her.

She sat alone at the bar, legs crossed, drink in hand, wearing a short dress that barely counted as clothing. Hot, pretty, and dripping with that “spoiled bitch” vibe—the type of girl who’d throw cash at bartenders just to skip the line, who’d laugh in your face then kick you straight between the legs if you pissed her off. Not innocent, not shy—just sharp, sexy, and dangerous in her own way.

Trez’s smirk deepened. Yeah, she had that look. The kind of girl who screamed money, the kind who never begged for attention but still had everyone’s eyes on her.

He couldn’t resist.

As he passed, his palm landed sharp across her ass. A deliberate smack.

She stiffened instantly, head snapping around. Her pretty face was twisted in fire, not fear. She stood in a fluid motion, grabbing his collar before he could even step back. Nails digging into his shirt, yanking him down so their faces nearly touched.

“The fuck do you think you’re doing?” she hissed.

Trez let the cigarette dangle between his lips, unfazed, smirk widening. His voice came low, cocky, laced with amusement.

“Accident, sweetheart.”

Her laugh was sharp, cruel, the kind that made heads turn. “Accident? Please. Don’t try that weak-ass excuse on me.”

Trez’s eyes roamed over her slowly, blatantly, before locking back on hers. He blew a puff of smoke in her face, arrogant as hell.

“Alright then,” he drawled. “Not an accident. You’ve got a nice ass. Sue me.”

She smirked back, cold and sharp. “Try that shit again, I’ll break your dick in half.”

That actually made Trez chuckle, low and rough. “Oh, baby. I like the way you talk.”

Her grip tightened, but she didn’t back down. “You don’t scare me.”

“You should,” he shot back, smirk never fading. He flicked the ash onto the floor like it didn’t matter, leaning in closer. “I don’t play nice. And I don’t apologize. So if you’re looking for some soft boy who’ll treat you like a princess—you’re in the wrong fucking bar.”

She tilted her head, lips curling into a smug grin. “Good. I don’t want soft. I want fun. And if you’re nothing but talk, I’ll get bored real fast.”

That line made his jaw tick, but his smirk only deepened. Trez thrived on games, and this girl? She wasn’t competition. She was bait. And he always took the bait.

“You’re cocky for someone I could have begging in ten minutes,” he said smoothly.

Her laugh cut through the music again, bitchy and bold. She reached into her purse, pulled out a wad of cash, and tossed it onto the counter like it was nothing. “Ten minutes? Please. I could buy and sell your ass before then.”

Trez leaned closer, cigarette smoke curling between them. “Buy me, sell me, choke me, slap me—I don’t give a fuck. But trust me, princess… once I’ve got my hands on you, you’ll never forget it.”

The tension between them was electric. Him—the dangerous red flag, dripping arrogance. Her—the spoiled hot bitch, throwing money and threats like confetti.

And everyone watching knew one thing: when these two collided, someone was going to get burned.