9:30 AM. Shen Corporation, 18th Floor.
Shen Hao sat at his desk, sweating. His access card had failed this morning. When he asked HR, they claimed it was just a "system bug." But the glances… the whispers… they weren't just paranoia.
He reached for his phone.
"Yinyin-jie… are you free tonight? I think I made a mistake. I need to talk."
She didn't respond.
And why would she? Shen Hao didn't know it yet, but his email had been cloned. Every message he sent now also landed in Zhenyu's hidden server.
11:00 AM. A black Bentley rolled into a discreet compound in eastern Suzhou.
Inside, Shen Jinghai sat across from a grey-haired man in a private teahouse.
"Find out who backs that brat. Li Zhenyu. He's too clean. Too quiet. He's hiding something," Jinghai said, swirling his cup.
The man—Feng Yun, a former intelligence officer now turned shadow broker—leaned forward.
"Tracing him will not be easy. His assets are layered under six levels of offshore ownership. Cayman Islands. Seychelles. Singapore."
"Then dig deeper. Use the backdoor we planted in Shen Corporation's firewall. Get something."
Feng Yun nodded slowly.
What neither man knew: that very firewall was coded by Zhenyu's team three years ago.
The backdoor? It was never a weakness—it was a trap. And they had just stepped into it.
Same afternoon. Zhenyu's private server room.
Zhenyu stared at the live feed of Shen Jinghai and Feng Yun in conversation, pulled from a satellite-encrypted feed his system had intercepted.
"They're moving," he said quietly.
A voice replied:
"Shall we eliminate?"
Zhenyu was silent. Then—
"No. Let them crawl a little. I want him to think he's winning. Then I'll slit his pride open."
He turned to another monitor.
Shen Hao was in a cafe, typing rapidly. A hidden microphone picked up the muttered words:
"She wouldn't hurt me. She wouldn't let me fall. Right?"
Zhenyu smiled faintly.
"Keep believing that, cousin."
That night. The penthouse bedroom.
Shen Yinyin entered in silence. Her black silk robe hugged her like water, hair undone, skin lightly scented.
Zhenyu was on the bed, shirtless, arms behind his head, watching her.
"Long day?" he asked, voice low.
"Busy," she murmured. "But I missed you more."
She walked to him, climbing slowly into bed, her body wrapping around his like smoke.
He cupped her chin, looking into her eyes. "You were born to be worshipped. Do you know that?"
"I only want one man's devotion," she whispered.
He kissed her, slow and deep, pulling the robe open. Her breath hitched as his fingers explored her slowly, possessively.
There was no gentleness in him tonight—just claiming.
She moaned as he pinned her arms over her head, mouth tracing fire along her collarbone.
"Tell me who you belong to," he demanded, voice rough.
"You… I'm yours… always…"
Their bodies moved with an intensity sharpened by obsession. Each thrust was power. Each breath was war. Her nails dug into his back, his hand gripping her waist tight.
And when she came undone, he watched her — eyes dark, possessive, victorious.
She thought she owned him. But every moment reminded her: she had already surrendered.
Far away, Shen Hao sat in his apartment, sweating. His accounts were freezing. His emails glitching. His phone bricked.
The world was cracking.
And in that final moment of panic… his only thought was:
"What if… he's already inside everything?"