A/N: Trolling is so much fun. Let's see how kinky I can make this.
Prologue
Sakura Haruno has been the CEO of the biggest banking and securities firm in the country since she was twenty-two, but has practically been trained to inherit the company since day one. This means, she has been brought up in an environment of impenetrable smiles, merciless negotiations, and every single high class social event that will ever involve vin santo and imported biscotti.
It also means her peers, since day one, has been forty to sixty year old men with protruding bellies, phallic cigars, and blinged-up Hughes, each with a private jet bigger than the next, as if the sizes compensated for something else.
Sakura attended the first of many of these parties when she was eight years old, dressed in her Alexander Amosu, hair parted to the side with a bottle of hair gel. And it was there that she noticed a trend, in which the arms of every one of these forty to sixty year old men with protruding bellies was a lassie about half their age, with curled up hair, pin-point heels, and generous curves.
And somewhere down the timeline, when her body much more lanky and frail, just at the beginning of adolescence and the onset of puberty, that she sat at a fountain, staring at a gorgeous boy by the palladio, and was given the most disastrous of ideas:
"You know, Sakura. The great thing about power is, you can get whatever you want."
She placed such a theory into practice, and found out that indeed, she did.
Five years later, Sasuke Uchiha sold his soul to the devil and has regretted it ever since.
... regretted it to the point that when Itachi landed in the JFK airport, Oxford dictionary in hand, his dignity was the only thing keeping him from jumping on his older brother, dramatically weeping into his arms, and screaming, "SAVE ME!"