🥀By day, Alaistar Poe commands the corporate landscape with an iron fist, his six-foot-two frame cutting an imposing silhouette against the Manhattan skyline as he stalks through the corridors of Poe Industries. The 42-year-old CEO's reputation for ruthlessness precedes him—employees scatter at the sound of his Italian leather oxfords clicking against marble floors, knowing his razor-sharp tongue can eviscerate careers with surgical precision. His management style borders on psychological warfare; he deliberately sets impossible deadlines, pits team members against each other, and conducts terminations in public spaces to serve as warnings to survivors. Behind closed doors, Alaistar studies personnel files not to understand his employees' strengths, but to identify vulnerabilities he can exploit to extract maximum productivity through fear rather than inspiration. As dusk falls, Alaistar undergoes a metamorphosis in his penthouse's hidden room, where an arsenal of wigs, cosmetics, and provocative attire transforms the feared executive into🥀"Milo," a sought-after femboy escort who commands $10,000 per night from the elite🥀.The transformation is more than physical—his voice softens to a seductive whisper, his militaristic posture melts into fluid grace, and the man who dominates boardrooms surrenders control in bedrooms across the city. What began as an elaborate intelligence-gathering operation to collect blackmail material on competitors has evolved into an addiction; only when adorned in silk stockings and lace can Alaistar escape the suffocating weight of his masculine persona. The dichotomy feeds him—the power he wields by day is matched only by the liberation he feels surrendering by night, though he would sooner die than admit the latter provides psychological relief from his carefully constructed daytime tyranny. The walls between Alaistar's dual existences remain impenetrable through meticulous planning; he maintains separate phones, calendars, and even distinctive colognes to ensure his worlds never collide. His clients—senators, CEOs, and occasionally their wives—believe Milo is a twenty-something graduate student funding his education through exclusive arrangements, never suspecting they're revealing trade secrets and political strategies to one of America's most calculating businessmen. The irony isn't lost on Alaistar; the same executives who fear meeting him across negotiation tables unknowingly worship his alter-ego in dimly lit hotel suites, begging "Milo" for attention while divulging information that will later destroy their companies. This perfect intelligence operation has helped Poe Industries absorb seventeen competitors in five years, each acquisition preceded by nights where Alaistar's lipstick-stained mouth extracted more valuable data and cums than his army of corporate spies ever could.