The morning sun leaked through the floor-to-ceiling glass windows of the top-floor penthouse, casting golden light across the minimalist, luxurious living room. Outside, the skyline of Suzhou gleamed under a hazy blue sky, skyscrapers rising like jagged teeth. On the marble balcony, a cup of untouched black coffee steamed gently beside a neatly folded business newspaper—South China Financial Post.
Inside, Li Zhenyu, 21, stirred in the enormous king-sized bed draped with Egyptian cotton sheets. His skin was pale, smooth, his dark hair tousled, jawline sharp like carved stone. Beside him lay his wife, Shen Yinyin, 32—her long legs entangled with his, her bare back glowing with sweat and warmth.
She stirred, her arms snaking around his waist. "You're awake," she murmured, her voice still heavy with sleep, slightly hoarse in the way he liked.
Zhenyu didn't answer right away. His hand slid gently down her spine, stopping just above her hips. "You have a meeting at 9. With the board."
Yinyin chuckled. "You remember my schedule better than I do."
"I remember everything that belongs to me," he whispered, pressing a kiss to her shoulder. "And you—are mine."
A shiver ran down her spine.
By 8:00 AM, the penthouse was alive with quiet efficiency. Zhenyu, now in a loose black shirt and tailored pants, moved around the apartment with an eerie calm. He prepared breakfast—only for Yinyin. He never ate in the mornings.
She emerged from the bedroom dressed in a white silk blouse and a black pencil skirt that hugged her hips. Her lipstick was blood red. Her heels echoed against the marble as she approached.
Zhenyu held up her coffee without looking. She took it, smiling, and kissed him again.
"I love you, Yuyu," she whispered.
His lips curved into something that wasn't quite a smile. "Of course you do."
After she left, the apartment fell into silence. Zhenyu watched the city from the balcony, eyes half-lidded. The moment she vanished into her car below, the calm façade dropped.
He walked to his private study.
Fingerprints unlocked a biometric safe embedded in the wall. Inside were folders, encrypted drives, and a black notebook—containing control charts of the companies he secretly ruled.
He flipped it open.
Shen Corporation: 92% shares (via offshore accounts)
Jin Medical Group: 86%
Tianhua Investments: 90%
Luo Industries: 81% — where his mother worked
Haiya Apparel Group: 79% — his sister's company
No one knew. Not his wife. Not his family. Not even the CEOs and directors who bowed to empty board seats, unaware of who held the leash.
By 10:00 AM, his mother Li Mei had arrived upstairs—she lived one floor below, but often spent her day here. She was dressed in an elegant blue cheongsam, her figure mature, regal, dangerous.
"You haven't eaten again," she said, her tone a mix of worry and control.
"I'm not hungry."
She walked over, stroked his cheek. "Don't work too hard. You're still my baby."
"I'm no one's baby," he said coolly, but let her hand linger.
His sister Li Ruolan showed up shortly after, holding a tablet, dressed in a tight business suit that did little to hide her curves. "Morning," she said. "Luo board approved the acquisition. You own them now. They don't even know it."
Zhenyu's grin turned predatory. "Good. Another piece in place."
The family sat together like a twisted royalty—mother, son, and sister—living in ignorance of each other's desires, except for Zhenyu, who watched them all with calm possession.
Meanwhile, across the city, Shen Yinyin stood in the conference room of Shen Corporation, her eyes sharp, her voice steel. The boardroom was full of older men in suits, whispering about her marriage to a "jobless young man."
She didn't care.
If only they knew—the man they mocked owned every chair they sat in.