Competition inside the house was intense.

The favorite, Adrien — nicknamed “Galak” — was a blond guy with an almost unreal look. Lean, muscular, perfectly defined.

Sometimes Toufik would call him from his room:
— GALAK, COME HERE

The door would close… and minutes later, sounds would fill the space.

No one really reacted anymore. Some guys played cards, others talked casually, like it was all normal.

One day I asked Sébastien:
— How does Toufik live like this?

He laughed:
— He’s the son of a Saudi diplomat. This place? It’s his. And he owns others across Paris.

I was surprised.

— And this whole setup?
— No money involved. Just pleasure.

He looked at me:
— Saturday. Everyone will be there.

That night… I understood.

The tension. The hierarchy. The competition.

Guys getting closer, trying to stand out.

And then… Toufik entered.

Tall. Dominant. Instantly commanding attention.

Everyone stopped.

— You good?

A collective response.

From that moment, everything changed.

Every move mattered.

Every glance.

Galak stayed close, focused.

The atmosphere turned intense, almost primal.

After an hour, one thing was clear:

Galak was still the favorite.

But for me… it was just the beginning.