Lust System: Conquering the World Beauties-Chapter 241 Fun, Finance & Fuckery III

The bar was lit up like a neon dream—glowing liquor bottles lined the shelves, fluorescent underlighting pulsed beneath the counter, and the heavy bass from the club floor made the glasses tremble with every beat. Liam leaned against the sleek marble edge of the bar, exhaling slowly as he scanned the horizon of bodies dancing in the haze.

He didn’t bother looking at the menu.

"Something strong," he told the bartender, voice low but commanding.

The man behind the bar gave him a quick nod and turned to his craft, grabbing a tall glass and reaching for an amber bottle that looked expensive. Liam didn’t care what it was. He just wanted the burn—something to push away the noise, the stares, the weight of everything.

But before the drink was even half-poured, she arrived.

A tall woman slid beside him, her wide curls bouncing with every confident step. She didn’t hesitate. No introduction, no shy glances. She leaned into him, her perfume sweet and potent, her voice a sultry hum.

"Hey, handsome," she said, her lips brushing close to his ear as she pressed lightly against his side.

Liam turned slightly, brow arching. Bold.

She smiled up at him, her dark eyes full of heat. One arm snaked around his neck as if they were old lovers reuniting. Her lips grazed his cheek in a slow, deliberate kiss—more for effect than affection. Her hand, perfectly manicured, draped against his chest like she owned it.

Liam didn’t flinch. He didn’t push her away—not immediately. But as the bartender slid his drink across the counter, Liam moved. Calm, fluid.

He reached up, gently peeled her hand off his neck like removing a stray leaf, turned his back to her, and grabbed the glass.

Then, with his drink in hand, he turned just enough to look at her over his shoulder. A harmless smile crossed his lips—cool, casual, not an ounce of interest in his eyes.

And then he walked away.

No drama. No apology. Just a quiet dismissal.

The girl stood there, stunned for a moment, her confidence visibly shaken. She turned with a huff, disappearing back into the crowd, probably looking for another target.

Liam sipped his drink, the liquor burning down his throat like liquid fire. Smooth. Strong. Just what he needed.

He wandered, glass in hand, drifting through clusters of people dancing, laughing, grinding under the strobe lights. Every few seconds, someone would glance at him—some with interest, others with envy. A few tried to catch his attention, but he kept moving. He didn’t care. It had been five minutes of the same thing. Smile here. Nod there. Step away before anyone got the wrong idea.

And then a hand grabbed his arm.

Liam’s brows drew together instantly, and he turned his head slightly, voice dry. "Don’t make my drink spill."

It was Dickson.

The guy looked like he’d just discovered a gold mine and couldn’t wait to share the secret. His sunglasses were still on even in the dark lighting, and his grin was wide enough to split his face.

"Stop bullshitting around," Dickson barked, tugging at Liam’s arm.

Liam sighed and rolled his eyes. "What is it this time?"

"I wanna show you someone."

Liam tilted his head, skeptical. "Who?"

Dickson’s grin deepened. "My untouchable Black queen."

Liam paused, lips twitching. "Untouchable queen?" he repeated under his breath, half amused. "Who the hell is this now?"

But Dickson didn’t answer. He was already dragging him away, pushing through the crowd like a man possessed. Liam barely had time to finish his drink before he found himself setting the glass on a random table. The music got heavier, louder, as they neared a section divided from the main floor.

It was walled off by a divider—just tall enough to separate it from the chaos but not completely hide it. Liam stepped over the threshold, and the vibe instantly shifted.

The lights here were warmer, dimmer. Softer.

A slow, pulsing rhythm filled the space, and the crowd was thinner—more relaxed. Each group had its own section, small booths with curved, semi-circle couches upholstered in plush leather. The booths had low tables littered with bottles, mixers, rolled-up bills, and half-smoked cigars. Some had dancers—topless women straddling laps or bending over the couches. Others were lounging, rich men with dead eyes and expensive watches, watching the show like kings on their thrones.

"There," he said, pointing.

Liam followed his finger.

And there she was.

Seated in a booth like royalty, her posture effortlessly regal, legs crossed, and expression unreadable.

Her skin was a rich, flawless shade of deep mocha, glowing under the gold lighting like polished obsidian. She wore a tight, gleaming gold outfit that hugged her curves like a second skin—shiny, strapless crop top wrapped around her chest, and a high-waisted skirt that clung to her hips and thighs like it was scared to let go. A thigh slit teased just enough to tempt, showing off smooth, sculpted legs. Her long, dark hair was styled in soft waves that framed her face, cascading down her shoulders like silk.

Large hoop earrings caught the light, bouncing with every tiny movement. A stack of gold necklaces rested around her neck, dripping like treasure, and her full lips were glossed to perfection. Her eyes scanned the room lazily—bored, seductive, calculating.

Two other women sat with her—tanned, sexy, and confident—but they were clearly side characters in her scene. She was the one that drew all the gravity.

Liam narrowed his eyes, then let out a slow exhale.

"Of course," he muttered, rolling his eyes.

Dickson turned to him, confused. "What?"

Suddenly, she looked their way.

Her sharp, almond-shaped eyes flicked like a spotlight cutting through fog. The gold glint of her lashes caught the light as her gaze locked in their direction—direct, powerful, and impossible to miss.

Dickson visibly stiffened.

He froze in place, like someone had just hit pause on his entire nervous system. Then—pinch—he jabbed Liam in the arm, hard enough to draw a wince.

"Bro—look. She’s looking at us."

Liam rubbed his bicep and tilted his head, humoring him. He looked back at the booth—at Kelly.

And yeah, she was looking.

But not at them.

Not them.

She wasn’t even blinking. That bored, half-drowsy expression she’d worn moments ago had completely vanished, replaced by something else. Her eyes were wide now, sharper. Intense.

And focused directly on Liam.

Not the room.

Not the area.

Not Dickson.

Just him.

Liam’s jaw flexed.

Dickson, too drunk on his own fantasy, completely missed it. "Oh my God," he breathed. "Do you see that? Her pupils dilated. Her lips parted. That’s desire. That’s interest."

Liam raised an eyebrow. "Yeah," he said flatly. "Sure it is."

Before Dickson could get another word out, Kelly stood.

She rose in one fluid motion—commanding, graceful, like a queen deciding it was time to walk the battlefield herself. Her hips swayed as she moved, and the golden fabric of her outfit caught the light with every step. The two girls beside her blinked, confused. One leaned in, whispering something, while the other just followed Kelly with her eyes.

They watched her head toward the edge of the booth, then pause.

She turned slightly and spoke to a man nearby—one of the club’s security team. Tall, bulky, headset in his ear, arms crossed like a statue. He leaned in close to hear her. She said something quickly, confidently, and the man gave a sharp nod.

Then he began walking.

Right toward Liam and Dickson.

Dickson’s face scrunched. "Wait—what the hell is this? Is she sending security at us?" he muttered, suddenly tense. "What is she doing? Is she trying to chase us away?"

Liam didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to. He knew better.

The security guard reached the edge of the divider wall where they stood, but because of the height and layout, he couldn’t just step through. So he leaned forward, cupping a hand to his mouth, and shouted over the beat of the music.

"You two—yeah, you. Come to the entrance. You’ve got a pass."

Dickson froze.

He didn’t speak. He didn’t blink. He didn’t even breathe.

"What?" he finally whispered.

Liam’s expression was deadpan, unimpressed. "Let’s go."

Dickson turned toward him, eyes wide and full of pure disbelief. "Kelly told the security to let us in?! Me and you?! Bro—what the hell is happening?! Is she—wait, is she falling for my charms?! This is crazy!"

Liam rolled his eyes and muttered, "Bullshit."

But that didn’t stop Dickson from grabbing his arm and dragging him forward like an excited child who just found out Santa was real and throwing cash.

They pushed through the crowd again, heading toward the side entrance to the VIP section. The music blared louder as they approached the small black gate, guarded by two more security staff in matching suits. One of them stepped aside and unlocked the latch with a mechanical click, pulling it open.

And there she was.

Kelly.

Standing just inside the booth’s entrance, arms crossed loosely beneath her chest, gold bracelets jingling softly. She wasn’t leaning. She wasn’t slouching. She stood there—confident, radiant, like the spotlight belonged to her. Her lips curled into a slow smile, one that didn’t try too hard. It was the kind of smile that said she knew she looked good... and she knew the effect it had.

Dickson gasped.

"Oh my God," he whispered, barely able to speak. "She’s smiling at me, bro. Bro. Bro. Look at the expression in her eyes."

Liam didn’t even look. He just walked.

Dickson followed beside him like a man walking into heaven itself. "Bro, I’m telling you—this is it. She’s totally into me. Look at her face. Look at her posture. She looks like a princess falling in love."

Liam closed his eyes briefly, trying not to groan out loud. He couldn’t take it.

This was next-level delusion.

He had to cover his face with one hand as they approached—because Dickson was about to get disappointed.

Again.

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