Dominance Evolution System: Sweat, Sex, and Streetball-Chapter 212: Victoria’s Secret

Later that night, the room was quiet except for the soft noise of the brothel’s distant music filtering through the walls.

The bed was a wreck, sheets twisted and soaked, pillows scattered.

Dahlia lay sprawled across the mattress, completely spent. Her dark skin glistened with drying sweat, marked everywhere: handprints on her hips, bite marks on her neck and breasts, her thighs sticky with the mess they’d made.

Her platinum bob was a tangled halo around her face, strands stuck to her forehead. Her chest rose and fell slow, heavy breaths, like she’d run a marathon and then some.

It was quite a marathon, since Victoria stayed so long watching them, they kept going at it over and over again, just so she’d never have a chance to question them.

But still, she had loved every second of it.

Her eyes were half-lidded, glassy, lips parted in a dazed, blissful smile.

She looked ravaged, beautifully, thoroughly ravaged.

Nash stood at the edge of the bed, pulling his shirt back on, adjusting his jacket. He looked down at her, a small smile on his mouth.

It wasn’t an easy task to take him in a 1v1, but she managed to last around 2 hours.

She looked like she’d been through a war and won.

As he was ready to leave, she reached out weakly, fingers brushing his thigh.

"Nash..." Her voice was hoarse, cracked from hours of screaming and moaning. "Don’t go yet... come back..." She tried to roll toward him, but her body barely obeyed, legs trembling, arms floppy. "Just... a little longer... please..."

Nash sat on the edge of the mattress, one hand gently brushing damp hair from her forehead.

"You’re wrecked, beautiful," he said, voice low and warm. "We went at it for hours. You need sleep. You’re shaking just trying to move."

She pouted, bottom lip trembling like she might cry from exhaustion.

"But... want... to feel you... close..." She managed to hook one arm around his waist, pulling feebly. "One more cuddle... promise I won’t ask for more... just... stay..."

He chuckled softly, leaning down to kiss her temple, then her cheek, tasting salt.

"You’re cute when you’re wrecked," he teased. "But no. You’re done for tonight. Your body needs to recover. We’ll have more nights, trust me. Call it a day, Dahlia. Sleep."

She whined, a small, broken sound, but her grip loosened.

"Wildest night... ever..." she mumbled, eyes fluttering. "So good... I was right... you’re... so dangerous..." She dragged herself up just enough to kiss him, her lips trembling against his.

"Our little secret... right? Victoria must never know..."

Just the words he needed to hear. With that, Nash was sure she would never report that he was in Victoria’s office. He kissed her back gently, then pulled away with a grin.

"Our little secret," he replied. "Unless you start bragging tomorrow. Then I’ll have to deny everything."

She laughed weakly, more a breath than a sound, then sank back into the pillows, eyes already closing.

"Deal..." she whispered. "Night... Nash..."

He watched her for a second longer, then stood. He gave her one last look before slipping out the door, closing it quietly behind him.

The hallway was cooler, quieter. He took a deep breath, straightened his jacket, and headed for the exit.

Outside, he flagged a taxi, sliding into the back seat. The driver grunted something about the destination, and Nash gave a simple address near his place.

As the car pulled away.

He had survived. After so much effort and manipulation, he had managed to turn Victoria’s plan against herself.

He really owed a big favor to Nia after this, but right now, he had to focus on the most important thing.

His eyes narrowed. He shifted awkwardly in the seat, like something was poking him.

He glanced at the driver; the guy was focused on the road, then slowly reached under his shirt.

He pulled out a few folded papers, crumpled but safe.

He’d hidden a bunch inside his clothes as they left the office.

When they were leaving the office, while Dahlia was rushing out, Nash had picked up a handful of documents and letters.He made sure not to mess up the piles too much, no big gaps, no fallen boxes, to avoid suspicion if Victoria checked soon.

It looked like normal clutter still. Then, as they hurried out, he stuffed them in his clothes.

Now in the taxi, he opened one wide, holding it low so the driver couldn’t see.

It was a company letter about the Midnight Rest business, stuff like buying booze from some supplier called Neon Spirits, paying bills for lights and water, revenue logs from last month’s nights.

Numbers in columns: 5,000 credits from VIP rooms, 2,300 from bar tabs, expenses for cleaning supplies at 400. Looked like the usual papers he’d seen scattered on her desk earlier.

Aka, boring reports, nothing special.

Nash’s brow furrowed.

This can’t be it, he thought, a knot twisting in his gut. I risked everything for this? Hiding in that wall, almost getting caught... for bar bills? Nah, that doesn’t add up. Why hide junk like this in a secret spot?

He turned the page, scanning for anything off. Maybe a code? Hidden words? A freaking something, it couldn’t be nothing.

He read each line carefully, looking for mistakes in the numbers, maybe a fake expense hiding something bigger. The taxi hit a bump, shaking the paper, but he held it steady.

Revenue matched the expenses, no big gaps. Supplier names looked real, Neon Spirits; he’d seen their trucks outside the brothel before. No weird notes in the margins, no underlines. Nothing.

Come on, there’s gotta be more, he thought, his frustration building. Dahlia freaked out about that wall. Victoria acted shady as hell, like she’d kill to protect something. These have to be bigger, important properties or something. They wouldn’t guard junk.

He reread the whole thing twice, eyes hunting for the least mistake, a misspelled word, a date that didn’t match. In vain. It was clean. Too clean.

Ridiculous... What now? I can’t even use it to blackmail her when she’ll find out later. Now, at most, it’s jail for stealing property docs... and all for nothing!

He set it aside with a sigh, pulling out another one, a deed, from the feel of the thicker paper. He scanned the lines slowly, the taxi’s bumps making the words jiggle.

"Property Transfer Agreement" or some crap. Addresses, lot numbers for the Midnight Rest building. Standard stuff.

Paragraph after paragraph: terms of ownership, no liens, standard clauses.

This is nothing, he thought, hope fading. Just more boring shit. Did I grab the wrong ones? Losing hope here...

He kept reading unpurposefully now, eyes skimming lazily as the taxi turned a corner. Then, near the bottom, a line jumped out: "The Director, Mr. Harlan Reiss."

Nash froze. Casual for a second, then, he frowned.

Mr... Harlan Reiss? He raised an eyebrow. Who the hell is that?

He racked his brain hard, trying to remember. Team members? No. Victoria’s talks? Nothing. Brothel gossip? Not a whisper.

Doesn’t ring a bell. Weird.

And since he’d known Victoria, she was always the one signing stuff, handling deals.

She was the Boss.

But this signature next to the name was loopy, fancy, nothing like her sharp, quick style.

He stared at it, something nagging him.

Wait... I saw signatures like this before.

He grabbed the other papers quickly, unfolding them one by one. Same thing: all addressed to Harlan Reiss. And the signatures, loopy and different from Victoria’s every time.

Okay, this is odd. All to this Harlan guy. What’s the connection? Why his name on everything?

More confused, he stopped skimming and started reading the content for real. No more quick looks, he went line by line.

The first letter wasn’t just bar bills; it was to "Director Harlan Reiss" about Midnight Rest ops. The deed was for the property in his name as director. The loan contract? For the location, signed by him as president of Blacklist’s parent company or something. Nash’s eyes darted back and forth, piecing it.

The dates jumped out, all from a few months ago.

It was recent, one doc was even a trimestrial payment plan, meaning quarterly, ongoing, still active.

Stuff showing bills paid by Harlan as executive director. Reports to him as the boss.

Nash rubbed his eyes, sweat starting to pearl on his forehead.

This has to be a mistake. Victoria runs everything. She’s the one in charge.

He reread a section on the loan: "Payable to Harlan Reiss, registered owner." No Victoria. He checked the business license attached, issued to Harlan as director. Dates fresh, and no transfer noted.

He sat back, staring.

The system knew more about the world than him, maybe it knew literally everything. Then, if it said that there was something shady about Victoria, there had to be something.

This wasn’t a coincidence, there were too many evidences.

The horrible truth built slowly: if this was real, then, the executive director of the Midnight Rest, the president of Blacklist... was Harlan Reiss.

But then... who is Victoria?