Inside a grey luxury room, a bar stood to the side where a bartender silently mixed and blended drinks. In the center, a large table was spread with an assortment of food, elegantly arranged.
At the head of the long table sat Adrian Voss. Clad in a black turtleneck, with sleek, combed-back hair, he scanned the room with emotionless eyes.
My gaze shifted to the man seated to my left. As if sensing it, he spoke.
"Mr. Voss, I hope you will consider our offer," said the middle-aged man, his receding hairline and sleazy expression doing little to help his case.
I continued cutting through my steak with slow, precise movements, choosing not to respond.
"I know it may seem like I'm being greedy, but believe me, Mr. Voss—this deal benefits us both," he added.
He was Chairman of Kohl's Automobile—a company that had once led the luxury auto market but now found itself at its absolute lowest.
He kept babbling on as I picked up the perfectly cut piece of steak and placed it into my mouth. The richness of the medium-rare meat, its warm juices leaking with every bite, made me savor it in silence.
Kohl wanted to collaborate with Voss Automobiles to launch a new car. He proposed merging Voss's renowned luxury design with his century-old legacy of engineering some of the finest engines in the industry.
As he continued presenting his ideas, I took a sip from my wine glass. The cool, mild chill washed away the remnants of blood in my mouth, refreshing my palate for the next bite.
In truth, the man merely wanted to use Voss Enterprises' prestige to save his company from the brink of bankruptcy.
But listening to him pitch it like he was about to revolutionize the industry was not just pathetic—it was revolting. My head ached. How boring.
Silently, I cut another piece of steak.
The man finally fell quiet, confusion etched on his face. His own voice had begun to unnerve him.
"Mr. Voss," he said, almost pleading, "I hope you'll answer me. I'm not here to waste my time—I'm presenting you with an industry-changing idea, and you—"
A warm stream of blood seeped from the red meat as my knife paused mid-cut.
The arrogance that had crept into his voice died in his throat as I slowly looked up.
He glanced to his right, almost begging for support from the woman seated beside him.
She had been silently observing the exchange, offering neither comfort nor comment.
"Miss Violet," he said, his voice painfully low now, his eyes pleading toward the woman—mid-thirties, bluish eyes, curly brown hair. Her age only seemed to add to her allure. But she regarded him with a cold, detached gaze.
"Mr. Voss is listening to you only because I requested it," she finally spoke. Her voice was as cold as the air conditioning in the room. "Disrespecting him is the same as slapping me in the face."
"I'm here, listening to this, only because Violet asked me to," I said at last, letting the utensils drop onto the plate with a metallic clang that echoed through the silent room.
"And you've wasted thirty minutes of my time."
I leaned back in my chair, eyeing the man.
"And spoiled my meal."
I tapped a finger against the dark wooden table.
"Get to the point… or get out."
The man, as if already resigned to the outcome, lowered his ego. He stood up slowly.
"Mr. Voss, I'm here to request your help. I would be eternally grateful if you could lend a hand in these troubling times for the company," he said, straightening his arms stiffly as he bowed deep.
I looked at him, saying nothing, as he remained in that position.
Sensing my intentions, he slowly knelt down, still bowed.
"Sixty percent of the profit will go to Voss Enterprises. Be at my office—sharp—at 9 in the morning."
I stood, gazing down at the man. Without waiting for a reply, I turned and walked out of the room.
As the door clicked shut behind me, the man finally looked up. Despite the freezing air conditioning, sweat poured down his face. When Violet stood and approached, offering him a napkin, he realized just how close he'd come to something far worse.
"Why so pale?" she asked, her voice cool and mocking. "Be a little cheery, Mr. Kohl. I assure you—forty percent of this deal will bring in quadruple your company's total turnover from the last decade. You only have this deal because I am here. Others would weep tears of joy even for five percent."
She turned and walked away, her hips swaying in a tight black dress that hugged her knees. The doors shut behind her.
I entered the room and found the woman lying on the sofa. One shoe had been flung off, the other still clung halfway to her foot. Part of her net stockings had torn, likely from how hastily she'd removed her heels. Her shirt was riding high, almost to the curve of her perky ass.
She'd taken her coat off, but was still clutching it tightly in her arms.
I walked closer and stood before the sofa. I had returned from an overseas trip and arrived here for a meeting when I'd noticed her at the bar. Curious, I had asked Victor to keep an eye on her.
Now, she stirred in my presence, her button-like eyes blinking open with effort as she looked at me.
"D-Don't think I'm dr—unk. I'm completely awake," she declared, struggling to sit up.
"Oh?" I smiled, watching her wobble upright. "Are you now?"