Arnault accepted the scrutinizing gaze with perfect, unbothered grace. He spread his hands, adopting an expression of profound, helpless resignation. "It's undeniably true. I feel incredibly pathetic and completely insignificant right now. The official Guest of Honor explicitly rejected my extremely formal invitation. I was left with absolutely zero alternatives. I had to personally chase him down and attempt to violently salvage the situation."
Standing off to the side, Lebasque felt the muscles in his arms twitch. He was utilizing every ounce of his willpower to maintain control, but the tension was unavoidable.
Kai, however, remained completely unruffled. "You're overcomplicating things. We're simply old friends catching up privately. Since we're already so incredibly familiar with each other, there's absolutely no need for all these exhausting, superficial formalities. Friends can meet up anytime, anywhere."
It was an incredibly simple, casual sentence. Yet, a genuine smile instantly bloomed deep within Arnault's eyes.
Lebasque dramatically tilted his head toward the ceiling, intentionally striking a pose of profound, tragic melancholy—
The suffocating tension instantly evaporated.
Kai was truly, undeniably brilliant. Even in a hyper-exclusive, highly volatile social setting like this, he operated exactly like a fish in water. He effortlessly commanded the rhythm and gravity of the entire conversation.
Kai turned back to Arnault. "I only just found out from Lucien a few minutes ago. Apparently, that massive superyacht docked in the harbor is the venue for your party tonight. By all accounts, it's slated to be the absolute biggest, most spectacular event in Monaco this entire year. Yet, the official host is currently standing right here. Are you absolutely certain this isn't a catastrophic problem?"
Arnault dropped the joking facade. He waved his hand dismissively. "Please don't waste time worrying about them. They are entirely insignificant."
With a single, devastatingly casual sentence, he completely closed the topic.
Arnault turned his attention to Lebasque. "I've been hearing the rumors. The custom Richard Mille timepiece specifically designed for Kai is officially launching soon?"
Lebasque nodded. "We have poured everything we possess into this project. We are absolutely determined to turn this watch into a global cultural icon."
"I am eagerly anticipating the reveal," Arnault stated. "If it truly captures Kai's unique style, I'll undoubtedly want to commission one for myself. After all, it's universally acknowledged that Kai possesses an incredibly distinct, flawless sense of taste."
Kai chimed in at the exact perfect microsecond. "A certain someone's ears must be burning violently right now."
Hamilton: Achoo!
For years, Hamilton had been the undisputed, absolute fashion icon of the entire Formula 1 paddock.
Within the paddock, due to massive, highly lucrative sponsorship obligations, wearing the official team apparel was an absolute, non-negotiable requirement. The T-shirts, hoodies, windbreakers... every single piece was meticulously tailored. Every driver's contract contained explicitly clear, legally binding clauses dictating that they must wear the team uniform at all times while operating within the paddock, not just when they were in their fireproof racing suits.
The sole, undisputed exception to this ironclad rule was Lewis Hamilton.
Mercedes-Benz had explicitly granted Hamilton a massive, unprecedented level of freedom. He was officially permitted to completely ignore the team kit and curate his own highly aggressive, high-fashion wardrobe. Consequently, every single time Hamilton strolled into the paddock, it felt like a runway show.
Furthermore, several of the massive luxury brands operating under the LVMH umbrella already maintained incredibly close, highly lucrative relationships with Hamilton. The fusion of elite fashion and global sports consistently generated massive, explosive viral traffic.
Arnault tilted his head, carefully analyzing Kai's comment. "Fashion is entirely subjective. I refuse to criticize or judge; everyone is entitled to their own personal aesthetic. However, I firmly believe the paddock is more than capable of supporting an alternative aesthetic."
The underlying meaning of the sentence was massively, profoundly significant—
Was LVMH finally preparing to launch their highly anticipated, full-scale invasion of the Formula 1 ecosystem? Were they officially utilizing Kai as the primary spearhead to violently establish themselves as a dominant force within the world's most astronomically expensive sport?
Obviously, Lebasque hadn't forgotten Arnault's current corporate title. He was the CEO of TAG Heuer. They had been aggressively, relentlessly attempting to poach Kai from Richard Mille for over a year.
It was undeniably the primary reason for Lebasque's lingering anxiety.
However, Lebasque had successfully regained his usual icy composure. If a massive, terrifying conglomerate like LVMH had officially made up its mind, absolutely no one on Earth possessed the power to stop them. Time and location were entirely irrelevant. But tonight, Kai's incredibly public decision to prioritize Richard Mille over LVMH delivered an incredibly clear, undeniable message. Rather than agonizing over paranoid hypotheticals, it was vastly more beneficial to act with confident grace.
And so, he did.
Lebasque smoothly interjected. "My deepest apologies. I am severely neglecting my duties as a host. Frédéric, can I get you something to drink? A whiskey? Or perhaps some champagne?"
In reality, there was absolutely no need for him to personally fetch drinks. Highly trained waitstaff were constantly circulating through the party carrying silver trays. It was glaringly obvious: Lebasque was intentionally manufacturing an excuse to gracefully exit the conversation, granting the two men absolute privacy.
Arnault offered a polite, gentlemanly nod. "Champagne would be wonderful. Thank you."
He waited until Lebasque had turned and walked away before locking eyes with Kai. The two men simultaneously burst into laughter. Kai could visibly see the lingering tension drain from Arnault's shoulders. The sarcastic banter immediately returned. "By tomorrow morning, every single person in Monaco will know that Kai officially, publicly rejected a VIP invitation from LVMH."
"Be careful. This will only make the luxury brands exponentially more obsessed with you. You know how it works: the prize you cannot possess is always the most desirable."
Kai easily decoded the underlying teasing. He shook his head helplessly. "So, you intentionally abandoned your own massive party and specifically came here tonight just to violently pour gasoline on the fire?"
It was a brilliantly petty, highly calculated form of 'revenge.'
Arnault's expression remained perfectly innocent. "Exactly. The rumor mill has officially been primed. Now, I am eagerly anticipating a spectacular show. Please, do not disappoint me."
"Haha!" Kai let out a sharp, bright laugh. "I'll definitely do my absolute best."
Arnault seamlessly followed up. "How about right now?"
Kai looked at him, genuine confusion bleeding into his eyes. "You do realize we are currently standing in the middle of a massive party hosted exclusively by Richard Mille, right?"
"So what?" Arnault was completely unbothered. "Brazenly attempting to poach talent while standing directly inside enemy territory... isn't that an incredibly common, widely accepted practice within the Formula 1 paddock?"
"Furthermore, my presence here tonight has absolutely nothing to do with TAG Heuer."
This time, Kai was genuinely, profoundly surprised.
For an entire year, without a single exception, every time Kai won a Grand Prix, Arnault had personally gifted him a custom TAG Heuer watch.
Although Arnault had never explicitly stated his intentions, the underlying strategy was glaringly obvious. The crucial difference was that LVMH possessed astronomically deep pockets. They weren't desperate to secure a hasty, short-term endorsement deal within three days. They possessed the terrifying patience and massive resources required to invest years cultivating a profound, highly integrated relationship.
Or, to be vastly more accurate: they were meticulously engineering a massive, world-shaking cultural event.
And now, Arnault was finally officially initiating business negotiations... but it wasn't regarding TAG Heuer?
Kai paused. "Excellent. You have successfully captured my undivided attention."
Arnault froze, nearly choking on his own saliva. He broke into a violent fit of coughing. Seeing the brilliant, unadulterated mischief dancing in Kai's eyes, he couldn't help but shake his head.
He fell for it! He actually fell for the trap again!
Arnault completely lost his battle for composure, his smile blooming completely. "Kai, you still haven't commissioned a custom-painted helmet design yet, have you?"
Kai blinked. "I have helmets. Maranello constantly supplies me with fresh ones."
Arnault's smile grew even wider. "No, I am absolutely not talking about standard team equipment. I'm talking about genuine design. Graphics, intricate patterns, highly specific color palettes. A helmet explicitly, exclusively designed for you. Something crafted exactly like a piece of fine art."
"For an elite racing driver, every single piece of your equipment must be flawlessly professional. You absolutely cannot compromise. When you are strapped into the cockpit, driving at 300 km/h, the only visual identifier distinguishing you from your teammate—aside from the car number—is your helmet. Therefore, every single elite driver on the grid meticulously designs their own unique helmets. And every single special edition helmet carries profound, historic significance."
"For example, the specific helmet you wore when you secured your very first Grand Prix victory."
"Or, the specific helmet you wore when you were crowned World Champion for the first time."
Arnault paused slightly, a teasing glint in his eye. "In the future, these specific helmets can be curated for massive global exhibitions, or they can be auctioned off for astronomical sums. Each one possesses unique, terrifying value."
"You are familiar with the 2008 Wimbledon Final, correct? Every single piece of equipment Federer and Nadal used during that match—from their custom shirts to their shoes and their actual rackets—is currently housed inside the museum at the Rafa Nadal Academy in Mallorca. Federer was incredibly generous; he donated his entire kit directly to Nadal's museum."
"Their mere physical existence is a tangible piece of global history."
Kai tilted his chin up slightly. The picture finally snapped into sharp focus. "Ah, I understand now. So, this is basically a playground for the obscenely wealthy? My apologies, I'm not particularly well-versed in how this specific game operates."
"A highly exclusive, custom helmet to commemorate my birthday. Another exclusive design specifically for my home race. Another one to celebrate my 50th Grand Prix start... If you push the logic far enough, literally every single race becomes a 'historic anniversary,' and every single day requires a 'special event.' It's exactly how consumer culture operates. Valentine's Day, White Day, Singles' Day, the one-week anniversary of dating, the one-month anniversary, the 100-day anniversary, blah, blah, blah. Capitalism is terrifyingly brilliant at inventing infinite new methods to aggressively extract cash directly from your wallet. If they could figure out a way to monetize it, they'd declare all 365 days of the year 'Special Anniversaries.'"
"I honestly can't tell if we're discussing Formula 1 racing, or planning a massive Haute Couture runway show."
Haha—
Arnault completely lost control. He broke his refined posture, roaring with loud, explosive laughter.
The sarcastic takedown was delivered effortlessly. The most devastating aspect was that Kai maintained an expression of profound, absolute seriousness. There was zero anger or agitation. He delivered the brutal critique with the exact same casual tone he would use to discuss a dinner menu. The massive contrast massively amplified the lethal impact of his words.
Arnault eventually managed to rein in his laughter, but his eyes were still dancing with amusement. "Entertainment to the death. This is all just a massive, elaborate show. Monaco is a show. Motorsport is a show. The helmets and the fashion styling are simply props for the show. Some shows are hosted on elevated runways in Paris; others are hosted on the asphalt of the Formula 1 paddock. The fundamental, underlying essence is exactly the same."
"If our ultimate objective is to meticulously construct a towering, global brand identity, then these microscopic details are absolutely critical components. We need to subliminally program the global public to form a deep-rooted, unbreakable psychological association."
"When they see the Number 22, they immediately think of Kai. When they see a specific, custom helmet design, they instantly recall the terrifying brilliance of that specific Grand Prix."
"Decades from now, when we discuss the miracles of Monza, or Interlagos, or Abu Dhabi... that specific helmet will serve as the ultimate, definitive symbol of that history."
"Kai, we desperately want to collaborate with you. We want to commission elite, world-renowned designers to craft your helmets."
The massive, terrifying truth was finally laid bare on the table—
It wasn't a watch endorsement. It was a helmet collaboration.
Arnault stared intently at Kai, waiting for his reaction. But Kai merely let out a long, slow sigh. "I explicitly warned Mr. Lebasque earlier tonight. This is a terrifying, ruthless game played exclusively by corporate capital. It is absolutely not suitable for ordinary people like us."
Arnault froze. Once again, he completely failed to maintain his composure, bursting into loud laughter. "Please, do not worry. The massive weight of corporate capital is currently standing right here in front of you. You can clearly see it, can't you?"
The raw, unshakeable confidence bleeding through the statement was blinding.
"Our core conceptual vision is this: every single custom helmet will embody a highly specific, unique theme. The designs will organically, seamlessly integrate your unique personality and aesthetic, eventually evolving into a core, fundamental pillar of the 'Kai' global brand identity."
"Primarily, we will design your standard, day-to-day racing helmet. However, every single time you secure a Grand Prix victory, we will immediately cycle in a brand-new, entirely unique design for the next race."
Kai let out a soft exclamation of surprise. "Wait. What happens if I win several races in a row?"
Arnault didn't hesitate for a microsecond. "Then we continuously, relentlessly update the design. How many races are on the F1 calendar? Twenty? Twenty-five? We will have twenty-five completely unique designs fully prepared and waiting."
Arnault didn't even know the exact number of races on the Formula 1 calendar, yet he casually committed to the massive logistical nightmare. Obscene wealth!
"Our entire global conglomerate will fully mobilize to support this project. We will launch a massive wave of ultra-exclusive collaborations. A Louis Vuitton collaboration. A TAG Heuer collaboration. Dior, Bvlgari, Givenchy... the list is endless. We will seamlessly integrate high jewelry, elite fashion, luxury timepieces, premium leather goods, fine wines, and bespoke fragrances. The creative inspiration will be absolutely, terrifyingly infinite."
It was a staggering display of raw power, completely worthy of LVMH, the undisputed tyrannical king of global luxury goods.
This wasn't merely a standard endorsement deal with a single subsidiary brand. This was LVMH utilizing Kai as the primary spearhead for a massive, full-scale invasion of the Formula 1 market.
Several microscopic details clearly telegraphed that LVMH was aggressively preparing to detonate a massive cultural bomb. They weren't offering Kai a standard, restrictive endorsement contract. They were proposing a completely unprecedented sponsorship model. Furthermore, it wasn't limited to a single brand; it was a comprehensive, conglomerate-wide partnership. This level of terrifying corporate integration was vastly superior to the treatment received by any other driver in the history of the paddock.
Clearly, Frédéric Arnault—or vastly more likely, the terrifying patriarch Bernard Arnault pulling the strings from the shadows—wanted to aggressively test the waters. They wanted to see exactly what kind of explosive chemical reaction this partnership could generate. They wanted to analyze how this massive viral traffic could dictate the next phase of their overarching global strategy, and precisely what role Kai would play in their ultimate master plan.
Honestly, Kai was actually becoming genuinely curious. What exactly was LVMH plotting?
A brilliant light flashed in Kai's eyes. He asked, his tone laced with eager anticipation, "But what about the exact opposite scenario? What happens if I go on a massive losing streak and fail to win a single race for months? What happens then?"
The corners of Arnault's mouth tightened slightly. "I honestly had no idea you suffered from such a profound lack of self-confidence. Ah, I must admit, I'm slightly disappointed. I'm beginning to worry my initial talent assessment was catastrophically flawed."
"Haha!" Kai laughed out loud. He didn't bother offering a defensive explanation. He simply looked back at Arnault with absolute, open confidence. "So, what's the verdict? Do you require an extended observation period to re-evaluate?"
He didn't defend himself, not because he lacked the words, but because his absolute confidence rendered any defense entirely unnecessary.
Arnault's smile instantly returned. "Please, relax. Exactly as you brilliantly deduced earlier: the absolute greatest strength of capitalism is its terrifying ability to manufacture infinite, highly seductive traps designed explicitly to convince consumers to open their wallets. If a genuine anniversary doesn't exist, we will simply fabricate one out of thin air."
"Your 22nd Grand Prix start. A special Mother's Day tribute helmet. A design commemorating your parents' wedding anniversary. The three-year anniversary of the very first time you sat in a go-kart, or the anniversary of you officially joining the Ferrari Driver Academy."
"If absolutely all else fails, we simply launch a 'Special Edition Brand Collaboration Helmet.'"
"If the strategic requirement arises, we will ruthlessly manufacture every conceivable excuse and exploit every possible opportunity. We will wrap it in brilliant, highly persuasive marketing, and we will continuously, relentlessly launch new helmet designs until it becomes your defining, inescapable global trademark."
The inspiration would absolutely never run dry.
From Arnault's perspective, they possessed a terrifying, infinite arsenal of creative concepts. The F1 calendar only contained roughly twenty races a year. They absolutely wouldn't need to worry about exhausting their creative reserves for at least three to five years.
"Assuming the execution is flawless, once we accumulate a sufficient inventory of historic helmets, we will establish a massive, dedicated exhibition hall in the heart of Paris. It will exist exclusively to showcase your custom-designed helmets to the global public."
"Exactly like priceless pieces of fine art."
A soft, involuntary murmur of profound awe escaped Kai's chest. "Wow." Kai stared at Arnault. "It appears you genuinely haven't left me a single, logical reason to decline."
Arnault didn't respond immediately. He carefully, meticulously studied Kai for a moment. "Naturally, this collaboration is vastly more than just a creative partnership. It includes a massive, annual sponsorship fee. Give me a number right now, and we will provide you with an immediate, definitive response."
Kai smiled. "Nicolas Todt. Do you already possess his private contact information? Or do you need me to hand you his business card right now?"
Ha!
Arnault completely lost control. His smile bloomed to its absolute maximum. He slid both hands into the pockets of his tailored trousers and leaned in, dropping his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "Please, I beg you, do not extort me. This is the very first massive project my father explicitly approved and is actively, closely monitoring since I officially returned to the conglomerate. To be brutally honest, I desperately need this to be a massive success."
This time, it was Kai who couldn't control his smile. With an expression of profound seriousness, he extended his right hand.
Arnault extended his right hand as well. They exchanged a firm, formal handshake. It felt exactly like finalizing a highly classified, world-altering secret treaty.
However, the secret didn't remain hidden for long.
By early the next morning, the news that Kai had completely boycotted the LVMH superyacht party, and that Frédéric Arnault had personally crashed the Richard Mille event to secure a meeting, had already leaked. It instantly became the single most feverishly discussed, highly debated topic of gossip across the entire principality of Monaco.
Long before the Grand Prix weekend officially commenced, the news had saturated every single corner of the paddock—
Despite the fact that the opening phase of the 2019 season had significantly deviated from pre-season projections... despite the fact that Mercedes-Benz was currently projecting an aura of terrifying, unassailable dominance while the rest of the grid desperately scrambled to catch up... and especially considering Kai and Ferrari had just suffered the humiliation of being locked out of the podium in Barcelona, significantly compounding the crushing pressure on their shoulders.
None of it mattered. It hadn't damaged Kai's absolute, terrifying commercial value in the slightest.
LVMH had officially signed Kai to a massive, global partnership valued at a staggering five million US dollars annually. But the truly shocking, unprecedented detail was that Kai wasn't simply endorsing a single brand under the corporate umbrella. LVMH was violently breaking precedent. They were collaborating directly with Kai to custom-design his racing helmets.
Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.
On the surface, it appeared to be a relatively minor, stylistic collaboration. But the elite, hardcore industry professionals instantly, ruthlessly decoded the lethal underlying message. The LVMH conglomerate. The entire, massive conglomerate, not a single subsidiary brand. It was glaringly obvious: LVMH was meticulously engineering a massive, world-shaking cultural bomb. This was merely the opening salvo.
Ever since Shanghai, the paddock had subtly, nervously sensed the shifting winds. The definitive face of Formula 1 was on the verge of a violent transition.
This wasn't merely a symbolic passing of the torch. This was a massive, highly coordinated regime change actively being orchestrated by F1 management. Based on the current evidence, LVMH possessed terrifyingly sharp instincts. They had accurately diagnosed the shifting cultural pulse and proactively executed the absolutely critical first move.
"Hamilton vs. Kai." "Mercedes-Benz vs. Ferrari." The fundamental meaning and the ultimate, global value of this specific rivalry had just violently mutated.
Mercedes-Benz: Are you all treating us as if we are already dead?! Mercedes-Benz is still the reigning Constructors' Champion! Mercedes-Benz remains the absolute, tyrannical overlord of the paddock! Okay?! And now F1 management is actively taking the lead to prematurely 'declare' the end of the Mercedes-Benz dynasty?! This is absolutely, fundamentally intolerable!
...
There are no small secrets in the paddock, and there are absolutely no idle spectators in Monaco—
That was the brutal, undeniable reality. Every single massive maneuver designed to violently shatter the equilibrium of the paddock and overturn the established hierarchy almost always occurred in Monaco. This was the absolute, blinding center of the global spotlight.
Arnault understood this reality perfectly. That was precisely why, upon discovering Kai was attending the Richard Mille party, he deliberately abandoned his own massive event to execute the ambush.
He didn't need to issue a formal press release. The gossip would naturally, aggressively spread like a virus. The hushed, frantic whispers and wildly speculative rumors were the absolute perfect catalysts for viral fermentation. This covert strategy generated a vastly more terrifying, explosive impact than if LVMH had simply issued a sterile, corporate announcement.
Furthermore, the more they actively maintained an aura of secretive mystery, the more aggressively and enthusiastically the rumors would be debated. The frantic speculation naturally propelled the rapid, unstoppable dissemination of the narrative.
Everything was proceeding flawlessly, exactly according to plan.
However, elite marketing and PR require absolute, flawless calibration. Overplaying your hand is just as catastrophic as underplaying it. If the performance appeared too heavily orchestrated, the ultimate impact would be severely compromised.
Therefore, Arnault knew precisely when to execute a tactical retreat. He politely created some physical distance, casually scanning the room, preparing to manufacture a polite excuse to exit. But just as he was formulating his exit strategy, a figure noticed the lull in the conversation. Taking a deep, fortifying breath, the figure launched forward, charging aggressively toward them exactly like a runaway freight train.
Arnault quickly analyzed the incoming threat. It was an incredibly cute young woman. She had a round, expressive face, her hair pulled back into a high, elegant ponytail. She was wearing a stunning, champagne-colored sequined cocktail dress. Her bouncing, highly energetic footsteps radiated absolute vitality as she made a beeline directly for Arnault.
For Arnault, this specific scenario was incredibly, agonizingly common. It happened at literally every single party he attended. On a particularly aggressive night, he might be ambushed a dozen times. It was precisely why he never traveled without his elite, private security detail. Their sole purpose was to aggressively intercept these desperate, aspiring social climbers.
When he decided to crash the Richard Mille party tonight, Arnault had naively assumed the guest list would be highly curated and aggressively filtered. But clearly—
Arnault immediately deployed his standard, highly polished, politely distant smile. It didn't require a single spoken word. The icy, perfectly calibrated look in his eyes was usually more than sufficient to force the approaching threat to instinctively retreat.
Unfortunately for him, she wasn't actually interested in him.
The round-faced girl walked straight past him. She literally just... walked right past him.
The polite smile completely froze on Arnault's face. It took his brain a full half-second to process the reality. Wait. Had he just been completely, utterly ignored? Because of... Kai?
"Hey, Kai. Good evening." The round-faced girl stopped directly in front of Kai, projecting an aura of total, unbothered confidence. She flashed a warm, incredibly friendly smile and proactively extended her right hand.
Kai had already experienced this exact scenario multiple times tonight. He remained perfectly calm, smoothly extending his own right hand to offer a polite greeting. "Good evening."
They shook hands. They released.
Kai immediately realized a small piece of paper had been seamlessly deposited into his palm. When he looked back up at the round-faced girl, she spoke in a clear, carrying voice. "The woman standing over there is my friend—"
Kai turned his head. The room was packed with people moving constantly, and the moody, atmospheric lighting made it incredibly difficult to see clearly.
The round-faced girl paused, looking slightly flustered. "Uh... she's standing right over there near the windows. Can you see her? The girl wearing the plunging black V-neck dress?"
To be brutally honest... he couldn't see a damn thing.
Kai genuinely had no idea where he was supposed to be looking. But that was entirely irrelevant. He looked back at the round-faced girl. "Does she require some assistance?"
An autograph? A quick photo? A handshake?
But if that was the case, why didn't she just walk over here herself? Those requests were incredibly simple and required zero effort to fulfill.
The round-faced girl didn't answer immediately. Instead, she stood on her tiptoes and leaned in, whispering directly into Kai's ear. "Her name is Charlotte Siné. She very much wants to spend a wonderful evening with you."
Kai tilted his head slightly. His expression became incredibly bizarre. He was a millimeter away from completely breaking character and laughing out loud. The round-faced girl dropped back down to her heels, preparing to quickly retreat. But Kai leaned forward slightly, whispering directly back into her ear. "I'm fully aware. A terrifying amount of people currently want that."
Having delivered the brutal counter, Kai straightened his spine. He had already turned his attention back to Arnault, completely dismissing her.
The round-faced girl was left standing completely frozen. She stared blankly at Kai, blinking in profound shock. A second later, she broke into a massive, brilliantly bright laugh. "You are undeniably a highly entertaining guy."
Throwing the sentence over her shoulder, she turned and started walking away. After taking two steps, she abruptly stopped, turned back, and confidently shouted across the room. "The invitation remains completely open!"
This time, she didn't wait for Kai to respond. She turned and strutted away, never looking back.
Arnault had witnessed the entire exchange. After a brief moment of profound shock and confusion, he completely lost the battle to suppress his smile. It bloomed massively across his face. He leaned in slightly closer to Kai.
"Charlotte Siné. She is the daughter of the current CEO of the Monte-Carlo Société des Bains de Mer. She's nineteen years old. If my memory serves me correctly, she's the exact same age as you."
"The SBM Group. You are familiar with them, correct? They own and operate four of the absolute most elite, hyper-luxury hotels in Monaco, including the very first luxury hotel ever built in the principality."
Kai had been living in Monaco for a full year. He was already completely desensitized to this reality. If you casually threw a brick out your window in Monaco, you were mathematically guaranteed to hit someone who was either obscenely wealthy, massively powerful, or both. 'Ordinary people' fundamentally did not exist here.
Despite his desensitization, the information still triggered a microscopic flicker of surprise. Kai looked at Arnault. He could clearly see the bright, highly entertained gleam dancing in the LVMH heir's eyes. "How exactly do you possess such highly specific, encyclopedic knowledge regarding their corporate structure? Did LVMH arrange a corporate blind date in preparation for a massive merger?"
Arnault scoffed. "No... LVMH actually owns a highly significant minority stake in the SBM Group. Another massive portion of the shares is held directly by the Monégasque government."
Ah. So they possessed obscene wealth, massive corporate power, and terrifying political influence.
That was more than enough context. Arnault straightened his posture and let out a sharp, highly exaggerated whistle. Adopting the posture of a man deeply committed to instigating maximum chaos, he made a grand, sweeping gesture around the room. "It appears Lucien has taken an entire century to procure a single glass of champagne. I am beginning to strongly suspect he is a deeply incompetent host. If you are currently experiencing profound regret over declining my party invitation, it is absolutely not too late to rectify that error. Furthermore, as it so happens—"
He paused dramatically, the silence heavy with lethal implication.
Arnault executed a flawless, tactical emergency brake, deliberately refusing to finish the sentence. "I am currently in desperate need of champagne to soothe my throat. Do you require a glass?"
Kai easily decoded the manic, hyper-excited energy radiating from Arnault. He chuckled helplessly. "Young Master Frédéric, considering we are currently entering a Grand Prix weekend, I firmly believe that making the front page of the Monaco tabloids for a DUI would be a catastrophically bad career move."
Arnault vigorously shook his head. "That is entirely debatable. Who knows? Perhaps you won't even need to drive home tonight?"
The laughter practically bled directly out of his eyes. Without a moment's hesitation, Arnault turned and walked away.
After taking barely two steps, he apparently found his own joke increasingly hilarious. His smile grew even brighter. Even from behind, it was glaringly obvious that he was radiating absolute, unadulterated joy.
He waited until Arnault had completely vanished into the crowd before Leclerc finally cautiously approached. "Kai, is everything alright?"
Kai looked genuinely confused. "Everything is perfectly fine. When exactly did you materialize?"
"Just now," Leclerc explained. "I saw you engaged in a deep conversation with a massive VIP, and the atmosphere looked incredibly intense."
Kai let out a slightly exasperated sigh. "Since you saw us, why didn't you just walk over and introduce yourself? Elite opportunities are manufactured by exploiting exactly those types of microscopic openings."
"Yes, I understand the theory," Leclerc replied. "But..." He cast another glance in the direction Arnault had vanished. "They are constantly on high alert. Their paranoia is terrifying. They've seen every single manipulative trick in the book. Engaging in conversation with them is incredibly stressful. If you don't possess a calculated agenda, they deem you completely worthless. But if you do possess an agenda, they immediately assume you're a greedy parasite."
"To summarize—"
"Haha." Kai laughed, effortlessly cutting him off. "They're incredibly difficult to please, right? So, why don't you try adopting a completely different paradigm? I have absolutely zero intention of trying to please them. If you stop treating them as terrifying, god-like entities, they instantly cease to be terrifying."
Leclerc's face twisted into an expression of profound discomfort—
After all, he had been born and raised in Monaco. He had grown up completely immersed in this highly specific, hyper-elite ecosystem. His fundamental psychological baseline was entirely different from Kai's.
Seeing that Kai was preparing to launch into another lecture, Leclerc frantically pivoted the conversation. "What's that?"
Following Leclerc's gaze downward, Kai casually displayed the small piece of paper currently resting in his hand. "Oh, this. A girl just handed it to me."
A sequence of numbers was scribbled across the paper, accompanied by a bright red lipstick kiss mark. Unless Kai was catastrophically stupid, it was undeniably a phone number.
Leclerc shot Kai a highly scrutinizing look. "Are you planning on responding?"
However, Kai was currently staring intently into the distance, completely lost in thought. He didn't answer.
"Kai?" Getting no response, Leclerc followed Kai's line of sight, but he saw absolutely nothing out of the ordinary. He called out again, slightly louder.
Kai snapped back to reality, a soft smile playing on his lips. "I thought I just saw a highly familiar silhouette." But clearly, the moody, atmospheric lighting was terrible, the visibility was severely compromised, and the figure had vanished in a microsecond. When he tried to scan the crowd again, the dense mass of people had already shifted. He must have been hallucinating. "No, I have absolutely zero interest."
Leclerc wasn't particularly surprised, and he didn't make a massive scene. "So, are you planning on formally rejecting her?"
A flash of genuine bewilderment crossed Kai's eyes. The corners of his mouth twitched, completely failing to hide his amusement. "Charles, we are currently standing in the middle of a massive party. Exchanging phone numbers is an incredibly trivial event. Is a formal, diplomatic rejection truly necessary?"
Leclerc froze. "But... what if she spends the entire night agonizingly waiting for your call?"
Kai looked at Leclerc with an expression of profound, highly entertained fascination. "If I used my actual, private cell phone to call her and officially reject her... wouldn't she instantly possess my highly classified phone number?"
Leclerc blinked rapidly. "Wait. Are you saying you two didn't actually exchange numbers?"
Kai snapped his fingers sharply. "Congratulations. You have finally caught up to the rhythm of the conversation." Therefore, absolute silence was the most devastatingly effective response. Kai wasn't worried in the slightest.
"However, if your conscience is genuinely torturing you, you have my official blessing to go find her. Uh, unfortunately, I have completely forgotten her name. But you can inform her that Kai is an absolute, irredeemable bastard, and she needs to exercise extreme caution to ensure she doesn't accidentally fall in love with a monster."
Leclerc easily decoded the heavy layer of sarcasm dripping from Kai's words. He looked completely speechless. He deliberately manufactured a highly exaggerated, incredibly fake smile and glared at Kai.
Kai's laughter grew even louder. "To be brutally honest, during the massive championship celebration party in Abu Dhabi, you completely vanished for the entire night. Which dark, secluded corner did you slink off to? Antoine swore he scoured every single inch of the venue and couldn't find a single trace of you. We all universally concluded you had discovered an ultra-exclusive VIP room and were partying vastly harder than Pierre ever could."
But looking at him tonight... why was he acting so incredibly... innocent?
Kai mentally searched for the precise vocabulary word. The contrast was so massive he couldn't help but laugh out loud. He completely failed to stop.
Leclerc looked utterly baffled. "I explicitly explained this. I drank a massively oversized glass of pure vodka. The second the freezing ocean breeze hit my face, my brain completely shut down. I have absolutely no idea which dark corner I crawled into, but I just passed out."
That was the absolute truth—or at least, a highly sanitized fraction of the truth. What Leclerc conveniently omitted was that he had been engaged in a phenomenal, incredibly deep conversation with a girl. They hadn't stopped laughing for hours. Seeking privacy, they had wandered far away from the chaotic crowd to talk undisturbed. Because he was so completely engrossed in the conversation, he hadn't realized he had finished his whiskey. He blindly grabbed another glass off a passing tray and downed it without thinking.
By the time his brain finally registered that the second glass was pure vodka, the ocean breeze hit him, and his stomach violently rebelled.
Using every ounce of his willpower to maintain control, Leclerc had frantically searched for a secluded bathroom. After violently emptying the contents of his stomach, he had simply collapsed, hugging the porcelain toilet bowl, and immediately passed out. When he finally regained consciousness, the sun was already rising.
The entire night felt exactly like a chaotic, hallucinatory fever dream. Even he couldn't accurately distinguish reality from illusion. He genuinely had no idea how to explain the humiliating ordeal to his friends.
Therefore, he had carefully edited the narrative into a highly condensed, sanitized summary—
Regardless, he hadn't technically lied!
Kai pressed his lips together. "Right." But one look at his face made it glaringly obvious: he didn't believe a single word of it.
Leclerc glared at him. "Heh."
"Haha!" Kai's smile grew even more brilliant. He decisively shoved the slip of paper directly into Leclerc's hand. "Whoever is currently stressing out over this gets to take absolute responsibility for it. It is glaringly obvious that I am not the one currently stressing."
Leclerc reacted exactly as if he had just been handed a live hand grenade. "Kai! Do you honestly think I am Pierre?!" Driven entirely by reflex, Leclerc frantically attempted to shove the paper back.
But Kai had already thrown his hands into the air, adopting a posture of absolute surrender, and rapidly backpedaled. "If you truly despise the mission, then just throw it away. There is a trash can conveniently located directly to your right. The trajectory is flawless. It will be an incredibly simple, effortless shot."
As he delivered the instructions, he turned and began rapidly walking away.
Leclerc stood completely frozen, staring helplessly at the ceiling. Wait a second. What was the exact, urgent reason he had approached Kai in the first place?
Right! Anya! He had just spotted Anya Taylor-Joy!
Leclerc was preparing to sprint after Kai to deliver the critical intel, but the massive, surging crowd instantly swallowed him whole. In the blink of an eye, Kai's silhouette completely vanished.
Leclerc looked out at the massive sea of elegantly dressed people clinking champagne glasses. Then he looked down at the tiny piece of paper resting in his palm. A massive wave of helpless exhaustion washed over him. Seriously, what the hell was he supposed to do now?
Kai seamlessly executed a sharp turn, expertly navigating the dense crowd. He was constantly bombarded with greetings and polite inquiries. Kai flawlessly returned every single interaction with a warm, diplomatic smile, but this time, he absolutely refused to stop walking.
He navigated his way out of the suffocating interior, pushing open the heavy glass doors leading out onto the massive balcony. The crisp, freezing ocean breeze immediately slammed into his face. The stagnant, suffocatingly hot air of the party instantly dissipated. His brain snapped back to absolute clarity. Although it was already May, and the midday sun was hot enough to leave you drenched in sweat, the temperatures still plummeted significantly once night fell.
The polite greetings, the diplomatic small talk, the forced laughter. It all appeared incredibly simple on the surface; you were merely standing around talking. But the sheer volume of mental and physical energy required to navigate these elite social minefields was astronomically terrifying. From the exact second he entered the party, he hadn't been able to relax his vigilance for a microsecond. Ninety minutes? A hundred and twenty minutes? He had been forced to maintain a state of absolute, hyper-focused tension the entire time. And now—
"Oh, it appears we are dealing with a seasoned repeat offender. This is glaringly obviously not your first time."
Kai didn't even have a second to process the relief. A voice drifted from the shadows to his diagonal right. Kai instantly slapped his diplomatic mask back into place. He braced himself for another exhausting encounter and turned toward the voice.
The brilliant, pristine moonlight cascaded downward, illuminating a stunning silver silk evening gown. The fabric seemed to literally ripple and flow under the light, exactly like a river of stars. It was breathtakingly beautiful. It forced him to momentarily hold his breath.
She was currently exhibiting absolutely zero ladylike decorum. Both of her legs were propped up on the wooden bench, pressed tightly together. She was leaning back heavily against the armrest in a state of absolute, unbothered relaxation, soaking up the moonlight exactly as if she were sunbathing. When she slowly turned her head to look at him, her long hair cascaded downward like a dark waterfall. Despite her lazy, completely unbothered posture, she radiated a terrifying, magnetic sex appeal.
It was, undeniably, Anya.
Kai momentarily froze. A genuine smile slowly crept onto his face. "Hey, Bonnie. We meet again."
"The Barrow Gang." Bonnie and Clyde. It was the title of a legendary film, but it also referenced a very real, incredibly infamous criminal couple from history.
Clearly, Kai was playfully returning fire regarding Anya's accusation of being a 'repeat offender.' He wasn't the only one currently executing a jailbreak from the suffocating party inside.
Anya maintained her highly relaxed, reclined posture. She carefully, meticulously looked Kai up and down. "Hey, Clyde. You're late."
The back-and-forth banter was instantaneous. They were perfectly synchronized.
Kai threw his hands into the air. "I am absolutely not late. You were simply far too impatient. A few minutes ago, inside the meat grinder, you absolutely should have executed a daring rescue mission to save me."
Anya replied smoothly. "From my vantage point, you were handling the situation with flawless, terrifying expertise. You looked exactly like a seasoned professional. There was absolutely zero need for a rescue."
Kai raised an eyebrow. "So, you did see me?"
Anya nodded. "Of course. You were the undisputed focal point of the entire room. I didn't even need to ask anyone where you were. If I simply stopped walking and followed the collective gaze of the crowd, it pointed directly to you every single time. It was a 100% success rate. Impossible to miss."
Kai replied, "I actually spotted your silhouette a few minutes ago as well. But it was only for a microsecond. I honestly assumed my eyes were malfunctioning. I spent a full, agonizing second genuinely stressing over my prospects for the upcoming Grand Prix weekend. If my vision is already starting to fail me, what exactly am I supposed to do?"
As he spoke, he stepped up to the edge of the balcony, resting both hands on the railing and staring out over the dark expanse of the ocean.
Anya finally sat up straight. She moved over to stand next to Kai. With her back to the moonlight, she planted her hands on the railing and effortlessly hoisted herself up, sitting on the edge and casually swinging her legs. "So, do you actually experience anxiety?"
Kai turned to look at her.
Anya offered a light shrug. "Watching you operate tonight, you didn't project a single ounce of tension. Forget about appearing depressed or overwhelmed; you didn't expose a single crack in your armor. Flawless execution. Absolute composure. You looked entirely capable of maintaining absolute control over any conceivable situation or crisis."
Wait a second. Hearing that specific phrasing out loud... why did it feel slightly strange?
Kai carefully studied Anya. "Have you actually been secretly observing me this entire night? The whole time? Furthermore, you clearly had absolutely zero intention of making your presence known. You even snuck out onto this secluded balcony all by yourself. If I hadn't accidentally stumbled out here, were you planning to quietly ghost the party without saying hello?"
He paused for a beat. The smile deep within his eyes gently surfaced and then quietly vanished. Kai looked at her with an expression of profound seriousness. "Anya. Are you actually... worried about me?"