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MidReal Story
The Billionaire's Secret Affair
Scenario:Sorado is the son of a powerful man. Sorado is late twenties, tall, handsome, fit, strong, rich, smart, hardworking, but likes to enjoy his life. The most thing he likes in life is beautiful women. The story is about his affections and sex life. He has two best friends, one is a man called Mark, the other is a woman called Sandra. Mark is his bodyguard, while Sandra is his secretary. They both help with his affairs and introducing him to new women. However, Mark and Sandra are opposite. As Mark help Sorado in his quick affairs, while Sandra tries to match him with a suitable long term partner.
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Sorado
He is the son of a powerful man and lives a life of luxury and pleasure. He is charming,hedonistic,but careless. Sorado enjoys his life fully,indulging in both physical relationships and emotional connections. He has two close friends,Mark and Sandra,who support him in different ways. While Mark often helps him find temporary companions,Sandra tries to steer him towards more stable relationships. Sorado struggles with commitment but values their friendship deeply.
Mark
He is Sorado's bodyguard and confidant. He is loyal,discreet,and straightforward. Mark helps Sorado navigate his social life by providing him with women without the complications of longterm relationships. He often accompanies Sorado on his nights out and ensures his safety. Mark also shares Sorado's enjoyment of the finer things in life but seems more grounded than Sorado. Despite being opposed to relationships himself,he supports Sorado's adventures with integrity.
Sandra
She is Sorado's secretary and friend. She is diligent,caring,and patient. Sandra tries to balance out Sorado's reckless lifestyle by introducing him to women she believes are suitable for longterm relationships. She often clashes with Mark but values her role in helping Sorado see other options beyond casual flings. Sandra also manages Sorado's schedule and office affairs,ensuring his business runs smoothly despite his chaotic personal life.
My name is Sorado, the son of a very powerful man.
I am in my late twenties.
I am tall, handsome, fit, strong, rich, smart, hardworking... and I know how to enjoy my life fully.
I have two best friends: one is a man called Mark, and the other is a woman called Sandra.
Mark is my bodyguard and also the person who gets me women whenever I need them.
Sandra is my secretary and also the person who tries to match me with a good woman so that I can settle down.
They are both opposites.
Whenever Mark brings me a woman, he does it in a way that there will be no complications—just for fucking and nothing more.
On the other hand, Sandra always tries to introduce me to a woman so that I can fall in love and be in a committed relationship.
I have had many women in the past, and I always return to Mark for his services because he knows what I want exactly: beautiful women with big tits and a nice ass—women who can satisfy me both sexually and emotionally.
Mark never fails me, and that's why I like his services so much.
Sandra, on the other hand, always brings me girls who are not my type at all.
I am in my office, sitting behind my mahogany desk and drumming my fingers on it.
Sandra is standing before me, holding out a dinner reservation card.
She is wearing that determined expression I know too well.
The restaurant is Le Blanc, one of the most exclusive restaurants in the city.
It's a Thursday evening, and I always spend my Thursday evenings with Mark at a club where we meet beautiful women and have fun.
"Who is she?"
I ask Sandra as I take the card from her hand.
"Her name is Emily," she replies with a practiced smile.
"She's a corporate lawyer. She's smart, funny, and beautiful. She comes from a good family and has a good job."
I try to wave her off, but she doesn't give up.
"You owe me this," she reminds me.
"I covered up for you last week when you didn't show up at the board meeting. Remember?"
I sigh and check my phone for messages.
Then I text Mark to tell him that I won't be able to make it tonight.
"Sorado, you won't regret this," Sandra insists, her eyes gleaming with determination.
"Yeah, but if she's not my type, you owe me a night out with Mark," I reply, half-jokingly.
"Deal," Sandra nods, her confidence unwavering.
I stand before my full-length mirror, adjusting the burgundy tie that Sandra insisted would make the right impression.
My Armani suit fits perfectly, and I look sharp, but I can't shake off the feeling that I've been manipulated into this setup.
My phone buzzes with a text from Mark.
I open it to find photos of the models he'd lined up for our canceled night out.
I delete the message without replying, knowing it will only make me regret my decision more.
The clock reads 7:30 PM.
My driver is waiting downstairs with the Bentley.
I grab my wallet and phone, taking one last look in the mirror before heading down.
Sandra's words echo in my mind: "Emily graduated top of her class at Harvard Law."
Through the tinted windows of my Bentley, I watch the city lights blur past.
Chen, my driver, takes the coastal route to Le Blanc, giving me extra time to brood.
I pull out my phone and scroll through Emily's LinkedIn profile that Sandra sent earlier.
Degrees, accolades, and a small professional headshot showing a woman in thick-rimmed glasses.
The image confirms my fears.
Another message from Mark pops up with a photo of tonight's club scene.
I ignore it and tuck my phone away, trying to focus on the evening ahead.
"Chen, do you think Sandra's right about this one?" I ask, breaking the silence.
Chen glances at me through the rearview mirror and says, "Sir, sometimes the best surprises come when you least expect them."
Chen pulls up to Le Blanc's valet entrance, where staff in crisp uniforms stand ready.
I check my reflection one last time in the car window, straightening my burgundy tie.
My phone buzzes - another message from Mark showing the models at his club tonight.
Irritation rises as I delete it, knowing I could be there instead.
The maître d' greets me by name, leading me through the dimly lit restaurant filled with crystal chandeliers and white tablecloths.
I scan the dining room for a woman in glasses, my steps slowing as I approach the reserved table.
Emily is already seated, her eyes meeting mine with a curious intensity.
"You're Sorado, right?" she asks, a hint of amusement in her voice.
"That's me," I reply, pulling out the chair opposite her, "and you're Emily, the Harvard prodigy."
Emily's laugh rings through the restaurant, catching me off guard.
"You're not exactly thrilled to be here, are you?" she asks, her eyes sparkling with mischief behind those glasses.
"I saw you checking your phone before you came over. I'm guessing Sandra twisted your arm into this."
Her directness surprises me.
This isn't the stuffy lawyer I expected.
I lean back in my chair, loosening my tie slightly.
"Thursday nights are usually reserved for other activities," I admit.
"Clubbing?"
Emily asks, raising an eyebrow.
I nod, and she leans forward, her voice taking on a conspiratorial tone.
"I'd rather be dancing too. Corporate small talk isn't really my thing."
The way she says it makes me forget about Mark's club photos for a moment.
I lean back in my chair, studying her face as she adjusts her glasses.
The question hangs between us while the waiter pours our wine.
Emily traces the rim of her glass with her finger, a small smile playing at the corners of her lips.
The soft lighting catches the subtle highlights in her hair as she explains how Sandra cornered her after a corporate meeting last week.
Her story mirrors mine - Sandra's persistent matchmaking and guilt-tripping tactics.
When Emily mentions canceling her own plans at a jazz club tonight, I can't help but chuckle at Sandra's efficiency.
I take a sip of wine while studying her reaction to my words.
Her cheeks flush slightly as she adjusts her glasses again, a gesture I'm starting to find endearing.
The candlelight catches the rim of her wine glass as she traces its edge with her finger, considering her response.
When she finally speaks, her voice carries a mix of professional poise and genuine warmth that intrigues me.
"I don't regret coming either," she admits, "even if Sandra was a bit... persistent."
I reach across the table to refill her glass, letting my hand brush against hers deliberately.
Her eyes meet mine, and in that brief touch, a silent agreement forms between us.
I set my wine glass down and lean forward, studying her face as I ask the question that's been on my mind since the moment she walked in.
"So, what are your expectations for tonight?"
The question hangs between us, deliberately provocative.
Emily pauses, her fingers tracing the stem of her wine glass as she considers her response.
The soft lighting of the restaurant catches on her glasses, casting a subtle shadow on her cheeks.
She removes them slowly, folding them with a deliberate slowness and setting them beside her plate.
The gesture feels intimate, calculated.
Without the barrier of lenses, her eyes meet mine directly, more intense than before.
"I'm not looking for anything serious," she says, her voice steady but with a hint of vulnerability.
"Just someone who understands the need to escape every now and then."
I nod, feeling a strange sense of relief as I reply, "That suits me."
I watch the waiter approach with a silver tray, his timing almost comically perfect.
Emily quickly reaches for her glasses, fumbling slightly as she puts them back on.
The waiter presents an elaborate chocolate soufflé, complete with a delicate raspberry sauce design.
As he carefully places the dessert between us, Emily and I exchange a knowing glance, both of us trying to suppress our amusement at the sudden shift in atmosphere.
When the waiter accidentally drops a spoon, making a sharp clinking sound against the table, we both burst into genuine laughter.
The tension dissolves into something lighter, more playful.
I pick up my dessert spoon, still chuckling as I gesture towards the soufflé.
"Shall we?"
Emily smiles, her shoulders relaxing as she picks up her own spoon.
We begin to take turns scooping small bites, sharing the dessert in a way that feels surprisingly natural.
Each time our spoons meet in the middle of the soufflé, our eyes meet, and the glances grow warmer with each passing moment.
The formal restaurant setting fades into the background, leaving only the two of us, lost in a shared moment of indulgence and connection.
As we finish the last bite of the soufflé, Emily leans forward slightly, her enthusiasm genuine as she begins to tell me a story about her first court case.
She gestures animatedly with her spoon, completely unaware of how captivating she is in that moment.
"I was so nervous, I actually tripped over my own briefcase in front of the jury," she laughs, her eyes sparkling with the memory.
I chuckle, picturing the scene, and ask, "And did that help or hurt your case?"
"Surprisingly, it broke the ice," she replies with a grin, "and I ended up winning them over with sheer clumsiness."
I lean back in my chair, setting down my dessert spoon as memories of my own first major business deal come flooding back.
"I can relate," I admit, a wry smile tugging at the corner of my mouth.
"My first big deal, I walked in wearing my most expensive suit, refused to shake hands with the potential partners, and lost a million-dollar contract because of it."
Emily's eyes widen in surprise, her eyebrows arching.
"What happened?"
I take another sip of wine, feeling the warmth spread through me as I recount the story.
"I was so full of myself, so sure I was going to land that deal. But I made a mistake. I didn't do my research on the company, and I ended up offending their CEO."
I shake my head, remembering the aftermath.
"My father was furious with me. He had put his trust in me, and I let him down."
Emily listens intently, her fingers tracing the rim of her wine glass as she asks softly, "What did he do?"
I sigh, feeling the weight of that lesson even now.
"He gave me a second chance," I reply, "but he also made sure I understood the consequences of failure. He took away all the luxuries I had taken for granted and forced me to work from the bottom up again."
Emily's expression turns sympathetic as she reaches across the table to touch my hand gently.
I lean back in my chair, watching her expression shift as I continue the story.
"It took me three years to rebuild my reputation," I explain, my voice steady.
"I worked every aspect of that company, from the factory floor up. And when I finally made an offer to buy them out last year, the same CEO who had once refused to shake my hand couldn't sign the papers fast enough."
I pause, letting the weight of my words sink in.
"The deal was worth millions," I add, watching Emily's eyes widen behind her glasses.
"Twenty million, to be exact."
I feel a sense of satisfaction wash over me as I see the realization dawn on her face.
She slowly withdraws her hand from mine, but I catch it mid-retreat, holding it firmly in my own.
I lean closer across the table, my voice dropping to a whisper as I study her face.
The candlelight catches the lenses of her glasses, and she mirrors my movement, drawn in by my conspiratorial tone.
The waiter passes by our table, and I pause, waiting for him to be out of earshot before continuing.
Emily's fingers remain intertwined with mine, her thumb unconsciously tracing circles on my palm.
"My next acquisition is going to be even bigger," I say, watching her reaction closely.
Her back straightens, and she adjusts her position in her chair, leaning in to hear me better.
"I'm planning to acquire the firm you're working for," I reveal, gauging her response.
Emily's eyes widen, a mix of surprise and concern flickering across her face.
"Are you serious?" she asks, her voice barely above a whisper, as if afraid of the answer.