The boardroom was silent after the doors closed, the kind of silence that settled like ash. Jia Liang remained seated at the head of the table, her hands folded neatly on her lap, as the final slide of her presentation dimmed to black behind her. Thirty-seven minutes. Eleven charts. Zero errors. She had outlined the proposed acquisition with surgical precision—predictive growth, projected liabilities, post-merger restructuring. Flawless. But her father had neither looked up nor spoken. Not even once.
She knew the expression he wore when he was displeased. This wasn't that. This was worse. This was appraisal, calculated measurement, it is the silence of a man calculating returns on his investment. When he did speak, it was only to ask the room if there were any objections. None were raised. The decision was made. He stood. The others followed. And Jia was left alone, dismissed by omission.
The chill of the air conditioning brushed her collarbone as she sat still, too poised to slump, too proud to let the weight show. She knew what her father thought of her. Brilliant. Methodical. Unshakably competent. But too careful, too measured, and pathetically too soft beneath the steel. Linna was all of that too—but sharper, hungrier, ruthless. Her edges were blades where Jia's were bone. And in their father's world, it wasn't intelligence that secured legacy. It was bloodless execution. It was the willingness to strike first and never apologize. Linna had that in her spine. And more.
Jia, for all her steel-like composure, had empathy. Her father had once called it a luxury. "You're too moved by mercy," he'd said. "Empires aren't built on mercy."
Outside the glass wall, the city shifted into twilight. S City's skyline was a crown of cold light, brilliant and impersonal. Jia watched it for a long moment, her reflection faint in the window—a woman sculpted in elegance, the perfect daughter, the visible heir. The one already being passed over.
Her phone buzzed against the table, the screen lighting up with a familiar message.
"Are you coming tonight? I don't like waiting for ghosts."
—H.
She stared at it without touching it. His name wasn't saved in her phone. His number wasn't labeled. But she would recognize the cadence of his messages anywhere. Arrogant, amused, and laced with possession he never dared express aloud. There was a gala tonight—her mother's charity banquet at the Grand Palace Ballroom. She was expected to attend. Expected to smile, to stand beside her father in a dress chosen to photograph well.
But H was waiting.
She closed her laptop, slipped the phone into her coat, and walked out without informing anyone.
---
The rooftop lounge sat above an art deco hotel near the embassies—a velvet-lined pocket of shadows and privilege. Jia arrived just before ten. No assistant, no security detail, and definitely no name on the reservation. She moved like mist, dressed in a slate grey blouse tucked into tailored black trousers, her heels muffled against the plush carpet. Her face was bare. She wore nothing for them. Only for herself.
He was already there.
H sat slouched in the corner booth, one arm thrown over the backrest, his shirt half unbuttoned, his tie knotted loosely in a way that looked both accidental and calculated. His hair was tousled, his jaw shadowed with stubble. Two women at the bar were watching him—eyes trailing the sharp line of his jaw, the curve of his throat when he drank. He knew it, and by god, he liked it.
But the moment Jia stepped into view, his attention shifted. Not with urgency or even with warmth. Just a slow, tilt of the head, with his devastating handsome face.
"You're late," H murmured, leaning back in the booth with that lazy sprawl of his—shirt open just enough to hint, sleeves rolled to the forearm, like temptation had been dressed down just for her.
Jia slid into the seat opposite without a word, legs crossed, coat slipping off her shoulder. Her eyes flicked to his mouth, then to the glass he'd poured. "You're always watching the clock. Didn't think foreplay started at the reservation time."
His grin curved, slow and maddening. "With you, it starts the second you show up."
She took a slow sip, savoring the wine. "You say that like I didn't leave you speechless the last time."
"You didn't just leave me speechless," he said, voice low and charged. "You left me with bruises too."
Her smirk was unbothered. "Then I did it right."
He leaned forward, elbows on the table now, eyes gleaming. "You always do it right. Right enough that I've been coming back, even with that attitude of yours."
Jia's brows lifted. "You must be starving."
"I'm ravenous."
She tilted her head, slow and deliberate. "And yet you haven't begged."
He laughed, a sound low in his chest. "You like it better when I don't."
"Except we both know," he said, reaching lazily for his glass, "you don't walk out until your legs stop shaking."
Her smile didn't reach her eyes. It was the kind of smile you earned. "You talk too much."
"You breathe harder when I do."
This time, she didn't answer. She just looked at him the way she always did—like she knew exactly where to touch to make him unravel, and exactly when to pull away before he could ask her to stay.
She took the glass he pushed toward her without asking, sipped once, and let the silence stretch.
This wasn't love.
This was need. Hunger. A private edge of her that no one else ever touched. They didn't speak about business. She never mentioned her family or business. That was the rule. In public, they barely glanced at each other. She once stood six feet from him at a press event and offered nothing more than a polite nod to his older brother. But behind closed doors, their chemistry is undeniable.
He was the second son of the Lotus conglomerate, her family's business rival, but still the heir—carried not by bloodline, but by undeniable presence. He was everything she was trained to despise: reckless, arrogant, magnetic, a playboy. But he was also terrifyingly sharp. His deals closed with charm and steel. His words held power. Once he fixed his gaze on a target, people folded.
And Jia?
She hadn't folded. But she hadn't walked away either.
He poured more wine, then leaned back, stretching his long legs. "Bad day?"
She didn't answer.
"Let me guess," he continued. "Boardroom of ghosts. Your father said nothing. Linna smiled too much."
Her eyes flicked up. "You watch more than you admit."
"I was raised to know my enemy," he said with a shrug. "But I prefer knowing their daughters."
"Charming," she said dryly, but her lips twitched.
He leaned in again, voice quieter now. "You can pretend this is only physical, Jia. But the way you look at me—like I'm your only air—that's not just your body talking."
She didn't respond, Instead, she placed her hand over his, deliberate and slow, her eyes steady. Her grip was firm, controlled—but there was a pulse in her wrist that gave her away.
"I'm not looking for softness," she said at last. "Just something that doesn't need explaining."
He nodded. "Then stay."
"I'm tempted, but not tonight." She replied. She quickly down her drink, stood up kissed him lightly on the cheek, and left.
But when she left, he watched her until the elevator doors closed, and she felt it all the way down.
---
Her family's mansion sat in the hills beyond the city, a cold sprawl of white stone, pillars, and manicured symmetry. It wasn't a home. It was a monument—to wealth, to legacy, to the testament of her father's ego. Her father's office was larger than some galleries. The gardens were maintained by artists. Everything is carefully rehearsed.
Jia stepped through the grand entrance like a guest, not a daughter. The house was quiet. Linna was likely still out. Her parents were probably smiling for cameras somewhere downtown.
She walked past the central hall without turning on a single light. The walls gleamed with oil paintings and plaques bearing names of donors and dignitaries.
In her room, she sat by the window, unzipped her boots, and leaned her head back against the chair. It wasn't that she wanted more. It was that she didn't know who she was without wanting it. And she wasn't sure yet if she was ready to find out.