Vivian Wu didn't need to demand attention; it flowed to her like iron filings to a magnet.
She walked into the ballroom as if she owned it, heels clicking against marble, the crimson silk of her dress catching the light. Heads turned. Men straightened their ties. Women watched with thin smiles, measuring her.
Michael, champagne glass in hand, pretended not to stare. So this is Vivian Wu…
He remembered reading about her in business profiles years later. Heiress, investor, philanthropist. The kind of woman who graced magazine covers and dinner galas, who casually wrote checks the size of entire apartment buildings.
But here, in 1994, she was still young—early twenties like him. And if the curious glances from the crowd were any clue, she already knew how to wield power with little more than a smile.
Michael exhaled, steadying himself. Stay focused. I didn't come here for a crush.
Still, when her gaze briefly swept the room and brushed past him, his chest tightened. Her eyes were sharp, amused, like she was constantly in on a joke no one else could see.
Michael drifted back into a circle of older men discussing the stock market. He'd been sprinkling "insights" into their conversation, careful to stay just vague enough not to raise alarms.
"…so you're saying," one businessman asked, stroking his chin, "that this internet thing—what did you call it, the World Wide Web?—will be more than just a toy for academics?"
Michael nodded smoothly. "Gentlemen, it won't just change communications. It'll redefine commerce. Entire companies will be built on it. Think of a bookstore, but online. Or a delivery service that takes orders through a computer instead of a phone."
The men chuckled, half skeptical, half intrigued.
"Sounds like science fiction," one said.
Michael smiled knowingly. "Science fiction has a habit of becoming tomorrow's reality."
He was enjoying their bewilderment when a voice cut through, smooth as silk and edged like a blade.
"Tomorrow's reality, hm? That's a big claim for someone I don't recognize."
The men straightened instantly, parting like the Red Sea. And there she was—Vivian Wu, standing just behind him, one eyebrow arched.
Michael turned slowly, hiding his jolt of surprise behind a polite smile. "And you are…?"
A ripple of laughter spread through the circle. Nobody ever asked that.
Vivian tilted her head, lips curving. "Vivian Wu. But perhaps you don't read the guest list."
Her tone wasn't arrogant—more amused, as if testing him. Her eyes glimmered with challenge.
Michael bowed his head slightly. "Ah. Then I should say it's an honor."
"Flattery," she said lightly, "is the tool of men who lack substance. Which are you?"
The businessmen murmured, enjoying the spectacle.
Michael chuckled, taking a sip of champagne. "Substance, of course. Though a little flattery never hurt anyone."
Vivian smirked, circling him like a cat studying a new toy. "So tell me, Mr…?"
"Chen. Michael Chen."
"Mr. Chen." Her voice rolled his name with effortless elegance. "What exactly makes you so confident about this… internet? You speak as though you've already seen the future."
If only you knew. Michael's mind raced. He couldn't reveal too much. But he also couldn't shrink now—this was his chance to stand out.
"Let's just say," he said smoothly, "that I make it a habit to recognize opportunities before others do."
Vivian's eyes narrowed, sparkling. "Convenient. And where did you study?"
"Columbia," he lied without missing a beat.
A few of the men nodded approvingly. Vivian, however, seemed unconvinced.
"Interesting," she said. "I know most of the Columbia business graduates. But I don't recall a Michael Chen."
The air tightened. Michael felt several gazes sharpen, waiting for him to stumble.
He smiled wider. "That's because I wasn't in business. Economics. Different circle."
A beat of silence. Then one of the men chuckled. Another followed. The tension eased.
Vivian, though, hadn't looked away. Her lips curved, but her eyes stayed sharp. "Quick tongue," she murmured. "But words are cheap."
Michael raised his glass in salute. "Fortunately, cheap words can sometimes point to priceless futures."
That earned another ripple of laughter. The older men clearly enjoyed the sparring, but the air between Michael and Vivian hummed with something sharper than amusement.
For the next half hour, they orbited the same conversations. Michael spoke of logistics, of efficiency, of industries about to blossom. Vivian countered with teasing remarks, poking holes, challenging him to defend his claims.
At one point, she leaned closer, voice low enough for only him to hear. "You're good at this. Almost convincing. But I can't decide—are you a visionary, or just a fraud with a charming smile?"
Michael tilted his head, meeting her gaze evenly. "Can't I be both?"
Her laugh rang like chimes. Not mocking, but delighted. "Dangerous answer, Mr. Chen."
He shrugged, sipping his champagne. "Dangerous times call for bold men."
Her eyes lingered on him a second longer, searching, before she turned away to greet another guest.
Michael exhaled quietly, pulse still racing. He wasn't sure if he'd passed her test or simply intrigued her enough for a second one later. Either way, he'd made an impression.
As the evening wore on, Michael caught snippets of praise from the men he'd spoken with. "Bright young fellow." "Interesting perspective." "Chen, was it? We should talk again."
Every compliment fueled the fire in his chest. This—this was what he'd lacked in his past life. The courage to step into the room and act like he belonged.
And yet, as he watched Vivian glide through the crowd, laughing softly, commanding respect without effort, he knew she wasn't just another guest. She was a storm wrapped in silk, and if he wasn't careful, she could tear through every one of his plans.
Still, as their eyes met across the ballroom once more, Michael smiled.
Let the storm come. I've weathered worse.