Zihan leaned back in his chair, eyes never leaving her trembling form. His voice, when it came, was calm...disarmingly so.
"There's no need to be scared," he said softly, almost reassuringly. "As long as you do what I ask, you can walk out of here… without a single scratch."
He set the pistol down on the table with a faint thud, deliberate, precise, then rose to his feet.
The girl's breath hitched.
Zihan's steps were slow, measured, the sound of his polished shoes echoing faintly against the floor. Wu Xiang followed him, crouching gracefully before the girl, his tone a chilling contrast to the warm smile that stretched across his lips.
"Hey," Xiang said lightly, almost playfully, tilting his head as he studied her face. "You're nervous. You shouldn't be. He only gets angry when people lie."
He glanced up briefly, and Zihan's shadow fell over them both. Without a word, one of the guards handed Zihan a blade, long, sleek, its edge glinting under the dim light.
Zihan turned it in his hand, studying the reflection on the steel before lowering his gaze to the girl.
"Who is your boss?" Xiang asked, his tone casual but his smile never quite reaching his eyes.
The girl swallowed hard, her voice caught somewhere between fear and denial.
"I… I don't know what you're talking about..."
Before she could finish, Zihan crouched beside Xiang, the blade gliding gently along her jawline.
His expression remained unreadable, his tone quiet but heavy enough to make the air thicken.
"Let's try again," he murmured, voice low and deliberate. "Who sent you?"
"I… I don't know," she whispered, trembling. "He only pays us and sends the orders. We've never seen his face."
Zihan tilted his head, studying her reaction with that same unreadable calm, a man who didn't need to raise his voice to be terrifying.
"Well then," came Yufan's voice from across the room, smooth yet commanding, the clink of his glass breaking the silence. "What else do you know about him? Anything specific?"
The girl hesitated, her brows furrowing as if reaching through fragments of memory. Then suddenly, her eyes widened.
"His accent," she blurted out. "It sounded… Japanese."
The three men exchanged quickly, glancing.
Wu Xiang leaned back, a smirk curling at his lips. "Japanese, huh? That narrows things down."
Zihan said nothing at first. He simply straightened, sliding the blade onto the table beside her. The sharp metal kissed the surface with a soft ring that sent a shiver through the room.
Then, his gaze lifted cold and calculating.
"Find out everything you can," he said to one of the guards. "If he's Japanese, I want names, locations, and connections."
"Yes, sir."
As the guard nodded and left the room, Zihan's gaze returned to the bound girl. His voice dropped. "You did well," he said evenly. "From now on, you work for me. Stay loyal… or dig your own grave. Your choice."
Without waiting for a response, he turned and walked away, his presence leaving a lingering chill in the room.
At the table, Yufan and Xiang watched him approach. Zihan poured himself a glass of whiskey, the liquid swirling like molten amber under the dim light. He raised it slightly toward Yufan.
"Congratulations on your wedding, Yufan."
Yufan forced a faint smile, lifting his glass halfway. "...Yeah."
"I know you don't love my sister," Xiang said bluntly, the teasing edge in his voice failing to hide his protectiveness. "But you'd better treat her right. She's carrying your child, after all."
Yufan let out a short laugh, the kind that didn't quite reach his eyes. "I'm not ready to face your fury again, Xiang, so I'll behave."
A low round of chuckles filled the room, briefly lightening the heavy air. Zihan's lips curved slightly, but his eyes stayed unreadable as he drained his glass and set it down with quiet precision.
Yufan leaned back, tapping his fingers on the armrest of his chair. "Tomorrow's gathering will be small," he said smoothly. "Just my circle and Lixi's friends. No business, just a quiet celebration."
"Sounds nice." Xiang muttered, smirking.
Yufan's gaze flicked toward him calm, steady, and faintly amused. "It is."
Then the room fell silent again, the quiet thick with unspoken thoughts.
"I'm heading to the office," Zihan said at last, rising to his feet. He slipped on his blazer and walked out, his polished shoes echoing faintly against the marble floor.
The other two lingered for a while, finishing their drinks before eventually parting ways to their respective offices.
---
Zhu Zihan had cleared his schedule for the day and was driving home, the afternoon sun filtering through the tinted windows of his black car. The road ahead stretched quietly and still, until his phone buzzed with a notification that instantly shattered that calm.
He frowned, one hand tightening around the steering wheel as he opened the message. A video began to play.
A pink gift box again. The same ribbon-tied package that had haunted his last investigation. Only this time, the small timer on its side ticked down from seven minutes. Beneath the frame, an address appeared in bold white text ... Serene Hotels, Main Branch. Receiver, Guo Min.
His pulse spiked. Without a second thought, he swerved into the next lane, tires screeching as he made a sharp U-turn toward the hotel.
The world outside blurred... red lights, honking cars, startled faces, everything reduced to motion and noise as his only thought screamed through his mind. Guo Min.
Hurried footsteps echoed through the hotel's marble lobby as Zihan rushed in, his expression sharp, almost feral with urgency. He barely had time to scan the reception when he collided with someone.
Guo Min.
Relief crashed through him like air to drowning lungs, followed by the unmistakable chill of her gaze. She stood there, perfectly composed, one brow arched, lips pursed in quiet disapproval.
"What are you doing here?". Her voice rang out.
Zihan's phone buzzed again.
He glanced down. A new message flashed on the screen. You fell for it.
His jaw clenched. A slow exhale slipped through his lips as he brushed a hand through his hair, a familiar, practiced motion that made the female employees behind the counter swoon before quickly remembering who he was. The married CEO. Their boss's husband.
"You're coming with me," he said flatly, gripping Guo Min's wrist and steering her toward the exit.
"I'm busy. I still have work to do," she protested, yanking her hand free with a sharp pull.
His gaze darkened. "You're coming with me," he repeated.
Before he could take another step, her hand struck his face. The sound was soft yet piercing, a single, clean slap that froze the air between them.
For a moment, Zihan didn't move. Then, slowly, he turned his head back to her. His expression was unreadable, but his presence grew heavier, shadow swallowing her smaller frame.
She didn't flinch. Didn't apologize. Those defiant eyes met his again, steady as a blade.
"Satisfied?" he asked quietly, amusement dancing in his eyes.
"Yes. I am."
His lips curved into something between a smirk and a warning. "Good. Very good."
Before she could react, he bent slightly, hooked an arm around her waist, and hoisted her up effortlessly, like she weighed nothing.
Her gasp echoed through the lobby. "Zhu Zihan! Put me down!"
Ignoring her kicks and protests, he strode toward the reception, dropped his platinum card on the counter, and caught the VIP room key the receptionist handed him in stunned silence. Without another glance, he carried her up the stairs, his expression calm, his pace steady.
Guo Min pounded on his shoulder, voice sharp with fury. "Hey! Let me go!"
But Zihan didn't even blink. His silence was more unnerving than anger and that quiet, controlled rage followed them all the way up to the top floor.