The Yun family name held weight. It carried legacy, power, and reputation—sometimes a weapon, sometimes a target. Tonight, Jason carried it alone.
He pulled his Porsche into the reserved lot beneath the grand ballroom estate, parking it himself despite the dozen valets stationed out front. He didn't toss anyone keys. Didn't wait for a door to be opened. He stepped out on his own, adjusted his cuff, and walked straight through the golden entrance like it was a boardroom he already owned.
The air inside was warm, fragrant with white orchids and aged wine. Chandeliers hung like constellations overhead, casting delicate light across polished marble floors. The walls glittered with gold trim and noble family crests. The kind of place meant to intimidate.
Jason didn't blink.
A Few Minutes Earlier
The Porsche came to a smooth stop just beyond the grand estate's main entrance. Jason stepped out first, handing the keys to the valet without a word. A second later, the passenger door opened.
Son Liying emerged, draped in a thick fur coat that masked her figure completely, her face calm and unreadable. From the outside, she looked simply like another well-dressed guest.
Together, they approached the side of the estate, avoiding the main carpeted entrance. A narrow lane led toward a smaller, quieter doorway, one rarely monitored by staff.
She turned to him, signing with a flicker of amusement, "By five a.m., we'll be the headline everywhere."
Jason smirked, adjusting the cuff of his sleeve. "Can't wait to see the look on their faces."
Her eyes gleamed faintly beneath the shadow of her fur collar.
"Let them write their theories," she signed, fingers steady. "None of them will guess right."
Jason stepped forward and brushed a loose strand of hair from her cheek, then adjusted the fur over her shoulder—casual, but precise.
"Five minutes," she signed again.
He nodded. "That's all it'll take to turn the room upside down."
They held each other's gaze for a beat longer—no nerves, no doubt. Just two architects, satisfied with the fuse they'd lit.
Then they parted without another word.
Jason entered alone, his footsteps swallowed by velvet carpeting and whispers.
Guests turned—curious, cautious, some eager. His tailored suit shimmered just faintly beneath the chandeliers, a hint of crimson at the lining as he moved. His red eyes, as always, gave no emotion. Just precision.
He accepted a glass of champagne from a passing server and began his slow walk through the space. Not mingling. Just marking territory.
The orchestra played softly in the distance. Waiters glided like ghosts. Conversations flitted from investments to marriages, from political appointments to whispered speculation about the Son family's sudden reemergence.
And always—about him.
He passed a few minor family heads—nodding once, politely, but without slowing his pace. Power didn't chase greetings.
Then, a familiar figure stepped into his path near the central chandelier.
Director Han.
Older than most in the room, his presence was deliberate. Sharp eyes, politician's smile. Calculated warmth in every gesture.
"Jason," Han greeted, tone light. "You've been difficult to reach."
Jason took a slow sip from his glass, offering a cool nod. "Busy men make powerful friends. I've been securing results."
Han chuckled, but it didn't touch his eyes. "Too busy to return calls from a family you're helping?"
Jason's smile didn't waver. "Too busy ensuring your entry into the steel sector isn't just symbolic."
A flicker of interest passed through Han's expression. He remained quiet, so Jason continued, his tone just on the edge of polite.
"I secured manufacturing rights in the northeast using dormant Yun property. Redirected logistics through Tianji rail to reduce your transport costs. Even seeded a quiet leak in the finance press about our potential steel alignment—your investor interest spiked by eighteen percent last week."
Han's fingers tightened slightly around his wineglass. "Impressive," he admitted. "But one might say… aggressive."
Jason tilted his head slightly. "You said you wanted the Yun name attached to your family's growth. I attached it. Efficiently."
There was a pause between them—measured, full of unspoken memories. The broken engagement, the power shift, the roles reversed.
"You're thorough," Han said finally.
Jason gave a thin smile. "You wanted the Yun name. You got it. Just not through marriage."
Han exhaled slowly, clearly restraining a comment.
Jason glanced around the room, then back. "We should set a proper meeting. Sometime this week."
Han nodded, slow and wary. "Yes. That… would be wise."
He stepped aside, letting Jason pass.
A few feet away, Han's son stood stiffly by the refreshments table, eyes tracking the entire exchange. His jaw was tense, knuckles slightly white around the stem of his glass.
Beside him, Alice said nothing.
Then, quietly, she turned and walked away.
She crossed the room toward a small crowd by the floral display, where her friend Lisa was already waving her over. As she walked, she didn't glance back—but her thoughts lingered.
He looks… different, she thought. Not just the suit. The way he moved. Like someone who doesn't need to prove anything anymore.
She blinked and forced a faint smile as Lisa hugged her. The feeling passed. Mostly.
Ashley, however, stayed behind.
She stood silently next to her brother, sipping from a delicate glass of white wine, her eyes trained on Jason.
When he turned to glance across the room—briefly, almost without thinking—their eyes met.
Only for a second.
But in that second, Jason paused.
There was no warmth there. No resentment, either.
Just knowledge.
Then the moment passed, and he moved on.
Ashley turned back to her glass and said nothing.
Jason found himself on the second-tier terrace overlooking the ballroom, his second drink in hand. The polished railing was cool under his fingers.
Below him, society danced. Analysts, heirs, daughters of foreign investors. Some exchanged cards. Others clung to champagne and petty secrets.
He ignored them all.
He wasn't here to network. He was here to shift gravity.
Five minutes had passed.
Movement stirred near the main hall doors.
The Son family staff entered first, clad in crisp uniforms. They moved with ceremonial grace, forming two neat lines.
Then, flanked by quiet murmurs, Son Liying stepped through the entrance.
She was still wrapped in the thick fur coat. Her posture regal. Her expression untouched.
Her grandfather walked beside her, dignified as ever.
The room shifted.
Guests turned. Conversations fell quiet. Eyes followed her steps—each one measured, each one exact.
There was no sign of what lay beneath the coat. No indication of who she had arrived with. She was a question mark, a contradiction, a spark walking into a room soaked in dry silence.
Jason watched from above, unmoving.
She reached the stairs, and as if sensing him, looked up.
Their eyes locked.
No gesture. No smile. No secret signal.
Only understanding.
Jason raised his glass slightly, and she looked away.
Jason watched the room react—first surprise, then curiosity, then that subtle ripple of tension moving outward from her like heat.
Let them whisper.
Let them guess.
Let them wonder.
That was always the fun part.