It wasn't Bai Tower.
It wasn't even an office.
The car stopped outside a nondescript brownstone in the Old Quarter. Wrought-iron gate. Unmarked door. No surveillance cameras in sight but Ava could feel the weight of invisible eyes watching her anyway.
The man didn't escort her. He simply opened the door, nodded once, and waited for her to walk in.
She did.
The interior was cold. Marble floors. Old paintings. A scent like old books and cedar oil.
And at the end of the narrow hall, seated behind a low table carved with phoenixes and flame;
Bai Senior.
His hair was grey now, streaked and sharp. His hands folded precisely. He didn't rise. He didn't smile. He just watched her enter like she was both guest and puzzle.
"You're smaller than I expected," he said, voice smooth.
Ava didn't reply.
He gestured to the seat across from him.
"I prefer conversations without misdirection. Sit."
She did.
He studied her for a long moment.
"I've seen ghosts move with more noise than you," he said. "My son's been circling you. Doesn't even realize how often his decisions have begun to orbit yours."
She raised a brow, but said nothing.
Bai Senior's eyes narrowed faintly.
"You remind me of someone," he murmured. "She ruined a dynasty once. Because she thought knowing secrets made her immune to consequence."
"I don't want a dynasty," Ava said. "I want a conversation."
"Then speak."
Her tone didn't change. "Call your men off."
A pause.
Interesting.
He leaned forward slightly. "You assume they're mine."
"I assume nothing," Ava said. "But if you're not orchestrating surveillance from three angles and a network tap on my device, then you're slipping."
He smiled.
"You're not scared."
"No."
"You should be."
Ava's reply was quiet.
"I came because I wanted you to see me. Not the rumor. Not the report. Me."
He studied her like a hawk.
"Why?"
"Because your son listens to you," she said. "And I needed to know if that was a flaw."
The silence stretched cold, brittle.
Then Bai Senior said, "You're not in love with him."
"No."
"But you're willing to burn for him."
Ava met his gaze directly.
"Not for him," she said.
"For what he could be."
He leaned back, just slightly.
The fire cracked softly in the grate behind Bai Senior, though the room felt no warmer.
He studied Ava in silence, his expression unreadable, as if weighing a file only he could see. She didn't flinch. Didn't fidget. The only movement was the subtle rhythm of her breath.
At last, he spoke.
"Do you know what the Bai name is worth?"
Ava tilted her head slightly. "Depends who's buying."
He laughed once, low, dry. "You're clever."
"No," she said. "I'm right."
Bai Senior steepled his fingers. "My son has many qualities. Logic, vision, cruelty when required. But he's never seen beyond the edge of the chessboard."
"Is that what you think I'm doing?" she asked. "Pushing him beyond it?"
"I think you're the only person he can't calculate," Bai Senior said calmly. "And that makes you a liability."
Ava leaned forward just enough to narrow the distance.
"Then kill me."
He didn't blink.
"You had your chance. You brought me here. Alone. You could've made me disappear halfway down the street. But you didn't."
Bai Senior's eyes sharpened.
"You think this is courage?"
"No," she said. "I think it's efficiency. You don't do waste. Neither do I."
A beat of silence passed between them.
Then he said, "Let me show you something."
He reached beside his chair and slid open a small lacquered drawer. From it, he removed a small black envelope unmarked; and slid it across the table.
Ava didn't reach for it.
"It's an offer," he said. "My version of a handshake."
"I don't shake hands in the dark."
"Then open it in the light."
She picked up the envelope, but didn't look inside. Not yet.
He watched her closely.
"You understand, of course," he added, "that if you accept what's inside, you belong to me. You operate under my rules."
"And if I don't?"
His eyes flicked toward the fire.
"Then I'll let Lucas choose for himself. But I won't stop the world from chewing you apart."
Ava looked down at the envelope.
Still sealed.
Still untouched.
She turned it over once in her fingers, then met Bai Senior's eyes.
"Five percent stake in Bai Logistics Holdings," she said quietly. "Non-voting. Clean. Buried under three shell companies registered to an antique import firm in Macau. Meant to look like a loyalty buy-in, but really it's a collar."
Bai Senior stilled.
Not a flicker of emotion but his silence was enough.
She placed the envelope back on the table.
"I'm not here for chains," she said. "I'm not one of your ghosts, Mr. Bai. And you should stop chasing them."
His brow lifted faintly. "Ghosts?"
"Memories dressed in newer clothes," she said. "Regrets trying to be rewritten."
He watched her. Quiet, now. Listening.
Ava took a step back, her voice softer.
"Whatever you're waiting for, whoever you think you'll outplay next, maybe stop. Just… remember the good things. Let them stay good. You're alive now. The house still breathes. Your son's building something. Be happy for the time you still have."
His gaze narrowed, like he wasn't sure whether to be insulted or unsettled.
"And why," he asked slowly, "are you giving me that advice?"
Ava didn't smile.
Didn't flinch.
Her answer was plain.
"Because I've lived long enough to know what it feels like to run out."
She turned to leave.
Didn't wait to be dismissed.
Didn't look back.
Just stepped into the hallway and vanished into it like a shadow that knew its place.