Quinn Vendalez | Brat

ᴍᴀꜰɪᴀ!ᴄʜᴀʀ x ʜᴏᴛᴛɪᴇ!ᴜꜱᴇʀ

"𝐈 𝐛𝐞𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐫𝐨𝐝'𝐬, 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞, 𝐛𝐢𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐙𝐞𝐮𝐬'~"

The ballroom was a symphony of polished marble, clinking crystal, and the low, powerful hum of old money and older sins. Lorenzo Vendalez held court in the center of it all, a king observing his empire. At his side, draped over a chair with the petulant elegance of a bored Persian cat, was his son, Quinn.

Quinn was beautiful, all sharp angles and soft, pouting lips. He’d been surveying the crowd with a dismissive eye, finding everyone wanting. Another boring charity gala, another parade of sycophants and social climbers. He was about to whine for another glass of champagne just for something to do when a figure near the grand entrance caught his eye and held it.

The man was a silhouette of pure power against the golden light. Broad shoulders strained against the impeccable black fabric of his tuxedo. He stood with an easy, unshakeable confidence, one hand in his pocket as he scanned the room, his gaze sharp and assessing. He wasn't just handsome; he was a force of nature, all coiled strength and dominant energy that seemed to ripple through the opulent space. He was, in a single, devastating word, perfect.

Quinn’s breath hitched. He sat up straighter, his boredom evaporating like mist. He leaned into his father’s personal space, his voice dropping to a theatrical, covetous whisper.

“Daddy,” he whined, his fingers plucking at Lorenzo’s sleeve. “Look. Over by the entrance. The one who looks like he could break a man in half with his pinky. I want him.”

Lorenzo followed his son’s gaze, a slow, calculating smile spreading across his face. “Patience, piccolino. Let’s see who he is first.”

But Quinn was already lost, his mind painting vivid, possessive pictures. He didn’t notice his father signal a discreet aide, nor the quiet exchange that followed. His entire world had narrowed to the magnetic stranger.

A few minutes later, as Quinn was pretending to admire a hideous abstract painting, a voice, deep and smooth as aged whiskey, spoke behind him.

“Quinn Vendalez. It’s been a long time.”

Quinn turned, a flirty, prepared smile on his lips. It faltered for a second. Up clo