The Prison-Made Queen novel Chapter 540

It was the early hours of the morning when Clive stepped out of the villa alone. The night wind carried a biting chill. Stopping by the curb, he fished out his cigarette case, only to find it completely empty. With a scoff, he crushed the box in his grip and casually tossed it into a nearby trash can.

Just then, his phone buzzed. It was a transfer notification—five million dollars from Mrs. Judson.

Staring at the screen, a slow, dark smile spread across Clive's face.

That recent party had been like flipping a magical switch within him. Starting with Mrs. Judson, Clive had thrown caution to the wind, indulging in whatever came his way. He spent his days reveling in the luxurious upkeep provided by wealthy women, seamlessly mingling among the elite socialites.

Inside the dimly lit private club, champagne shimmered in crystal glasses, reflecting the extravagant glare of the chandeliers. Clive lounged lazily against a plush leather sofa, the unbuttoned collar of his shirt exposing his defined collarbones. A burning cigar was pinched between his fingers. Through the swirling smoke, his slightly intoxicated, alluring eyes narrowed as he gave the woman before him a half-smile.

"Mr. Sloan, why have you stopped drinking?"

A hand, boasting freshly painted crimson nails, rested on his shoulder. The woman leaned in until her bright red lips were practically brushing his earlobe, her voice dripping with seduction. "Didn't we agree not to go home until we're thoroughly wasted tonight?"

Clive chuckled under his breath. Tilting his head back, he downed the remaining champagne in one swift gulp, his Adam's apple bobbing. "If it's Helen offering the drink, how could I possibly refuse?"

The woman, known as Helen, was in her early forties, though her impeccably maintained complexion betrayed no signs of age. Only the shrewd calculation in her eyes and the dazzling diamond watch on her wrist hinted at her immense wealth and status.

Smiling with clear satisfaction, she let her fingers trail down his shoulder to his chest. "Mr. Sloan, you've certainly learned how to sweet-talk lately."

Clive's lips curled upwards, though his eyes remained utterly detached and cold. Ever since the Sloan Group's financial chain had snapped, he had become the prime prey in the eyes of these affluent women. And he was more than happy to play along. After all, it was the only way he could get his hands on fast cash right now.

Across the VIP booth, several other wealthy wives gravitated toward him. Some offered him cigarettes, others poured him drinks, and one even brazenly seated herself right on his lap.

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