Leon Feng didn't tolerate failure.
"Get out."
The word cut through the air like a blade. It was cold.
It was clean.
It was final.
Three executives stood frozen in his private boardroom, stiff in thousand-dollar suits that now looked pathetic on their trembling frames. One tried to stammer a defense, but Leon raised a single finger.
"Speak again," he said without looking up from the quarterly reports in front of him, "and I'll personally blacklist you from every boardroom in Asia and North America."
Silence.
He didn't yell. Leon never needed to raise his voice. Power hung on his every word, heavy and sharp like the weight of a gun. The dismissed men stumbled out, their pride crushed and their futures hanging by a thread.
Only then did Leon lean back in his chair, pressing a knuckle against his temple. He stared at the wall-to-ceiling glass that overlooked the skyline of Meiran city, the pulse of his empire glowing below.
Feng International.
The trillion-dollar conglomerate with roots in tech, logistics, oil, pharmaceuticals. It was everywhere.
His.
Built on precision, control, and ruthless efficiency.
And yet, his thoughts wandered to her again.
That girl.
From the club in Korran District. Club Nébton, a cesspool dressed in neon.
He hadn't planned on going. He never did clubs. But a supplier meeting had dragged him across town, and the traffic had been unbearable. He had stopped there, alone, simply to wait it out. Observe. Kill time.
That's when he saw the scene unfold. A woman barely standing, swaying under the weight of cheap vodka and bad choices. A drunk man grabbing her. Her slap. The moment the guy lunged.
And Leon moved.
He didn't care about her. Not really. She could have been anyone.
But the moment he punched the man in the jaw and saw her face clearly, the heat in her eyes, the fear curdling under the fury, something about her had stayed.
Now, twelve hours later, her image remained.
She was either a reckless fool…
Or something else entirely.
He pressed a button on his sleek black intercom.
"Yuyan," he said.
Within seconds, his assistant entered. Calm, poised, dressed in all-black like the rest of his team. She was efficient, quiet, and, most importantly, unfazed by him.
"Sir."
"I need you to find someone for me."
Yuyan's pen was already in hand. "Yes sir. Name?"
"I don't have it."
A pause. It was not a protest, because Yuyan knew better than to complain. Instead, there was a flicker of curiosity in her eyes.
Leon continued. "She was at Club Nébton last night, somewhere around eleven. Short, maybe five-five. Wore a denim jacket. Looked like hell. Dark eyes. Brown skin. Spiraled hair." He gestured vaguely. "Late twenties. Slim."
"Did you speak with her?"
"I did."
"What's her relation to this… task?"
Leon's eyes flicked up, flat. "That doesn't concern you."
Yuyan inclined her head. "And when do you want her found?"
"Before the end of the day."
Yuyan blinked, barely. "Understood sir."
"Let me make one thing clear, Yuyan. I don't care how you do it. Bribe the club owner. Pull security footage. Check facial recognition from CCTV. Call our cybersecurity division if you have to. Just make sure she is here before the end of today."
"Understood sir. I'll begin immediately."
Leon didn't thank her. He never did. And without waiting any further, she left silently.
He stood, walking toward the floor-to-ceiling windows again. Below, the world continued in its order, cars, people, lights, all playing their parts like a machine.
And he?
He was the one who never broke.
Until his grandfather decided to ruin everything.
The will had been read three days ago. In a pristine gold-trimmed office at the Feng estate.
"Leon will inherit full control of Feng International…"
His grandfather's voice still rang in his ears, calm and calculating even from the grave.
"...only if he is legally married for a minimum period of one year."
A pause had followed.
Leon hadn't reacted. Not on the outside because he knew he couldn't.
But his inside had twisted and he was filled with rage.
He didn't believe in marriage. Not anymore.
His mother had left when he was seven, vanished without a note. The last time he'd seen her, she had kissed his cheek and promised she'd come back. And like the fool he was, he believed her. He had believed she would come back for him.
She didn't.
And then there was Wenna.
His first love. The one he had given everything to. The one who had betrayed him in the cruelest way, selling company secrets and walking away with his rival's ring on her finger.
He had learned then that love was just currency.
And he had no interest in being bankrupt again.
So the idea of marriage, even for business, felt like swallowing glass.
But he would do it.
Because no one, not even death, would take Feng International from him.
Which brought him back to the girl.
She didn't know it yet.
But if she passed the vetting, if she wasn't completely pathetic, she'd be exactly what he needed.
Temporary. Disposable.
And unlikely to catch feelings. A drunk, beaten-down girl with fire in her eyes? She wouldn't ask for love.
Just a number on a check.
Exactly his type.
Leon opened the drawer beside his desk, pulling out a sleek silver lighter. He clicked it on and off, staring at the flame with quiet calculation.
He wasn't looking for a wife.
He was buying a shield. A contract. A pawn.
But as her face flickered back into his mind, defiant and wild even in her fear, a question rose uninvited.
Would she survive him?
His jaw tightened.
That wasn't the point.
The real question was: Would she be useful long enough before he discarded her?