The door to the executive conference room whispered shut behind him. Vivian Park stood at the far end, back to him, gazing out over the Seoul skyline. Her silhouette was clean, crisp, polished—as always.
"You're late," she said, still not turning.
"You're the one who summoned me," Tian replied, loosening his collar. "I figured lateness added charm."
She finally turned, face unreadable. "What it adds is weakness. Optics matter. Especially for someone who just survived a media crucifixion."
Tian stepped closer, eyes narrowing. "Is that what this is? Sympathy from the woman who told the board I was a liability?"
A flicker. Barely there. Then gone.
Vivian tilted her head, voice cool. "I didn't lie, Tian. You were reckless. Monaco nearly cost you this company."
"Funny. Because now everyone's pretending I might be the only one who can save it."
She didn't answer right away. Instead, she walked toward the table and slid a thin folder across the glossy surface. "These are early drafts for the next investor statement. We reposition you as a bold reformer. Young. Visionary. The comeback narrative."
Tian flipped through the pages, then looked up. "So I'm a redemption story now?"
"You're a story we can sell," she said simply.
He let the words settle, then leaned forward, voice low. "Tell me, Vivian. Are you doing this because you believe in me? Or because the winds shifted and you don't want to be the last one standing with Li Wei?"
Her eyes hardened. "Don't flatter yourself. Belief isn't part of my job."
"And what is your job now?" he asked. "Cleaning up messes you helped create?"
A pause.
Vivian reached into a drawer and pulled out a flash drive. She held it between two fingers, eyes glittering. "There's a leak coming. Financial, not tabloid. Quiet but deadly. A foreign shell group has been buying up Marvel shares through intermediaries. If they hit 11%, they can trigger a vote of no confidence."
Tian stilled. "And you're telling me this… why?"
Vivian stepped closer—too close for comfort, close enough that he caught the faint scent of orchids and steel.
"Because I'm betting on the future," she said softly. "And I haven't decided who owns it yet."
Tian's gaze dropped to the flash drive. "What do you want in return?"
"A seat," she said. "Not at your table. Beside it. I don't need to be queen, Tian. But I do plan to survive the war."
He laughed quietly. "You always were the most dangerous player in the room."
Vivian smiled, just slightly. "And you're starting to understand the rules."
A beat.
"You didn't answer my question," he said.
"Which one?"
"Are you with me—or just next to me until someone stronger shows up?"
For the first time, her mask faltered. Just for a second. Her voice dropped.
"You have potential, Tian. But you're not your father. And you're still learning where the knives are kept."
"I know where they are," he said. "I just haven't decided who to stab first."
Vivian's smile widened. "That's more like it."
She turned to leave, then paused at the doorway. "One last thing. The press loves a good downfall, but they love a sharper rise. Don't waste the narrative I just handed you."
And then she was gone.
Tian stared at the flash drive in his hand.
Somewhere behind the cold, the calculation… she had just handed him a weapon. But whether it was loaded—or poisoned—was anyone's guess.
*
Tian stepped onto the studio set with a calm that belied the firestorm of the past few days. The lights were hot, the cameras humming, and the anchors were already rehearsing the questions that would either sink him or resurrect his name. Vivian Park gave him a final once-over, her nod subtle but approving. His tailored charcoal suit was sharp, the open collar made him look relaxed but not dismissive, and his expression—measured, with just enough vulnerability to humanize him—was exactly what the optics demanded.
He took his seat and waited for the segment to begin.
Across the country, millions were watching.
"I appreciate you joining us, Mr. Li," the host said smoothly. "In light of recent scandals tied to your time in Monaco, the public deserves clarity. Some are calling for your removal. Do you think you're still fit to lead Marvel Industries?"
Tian didn't flinch. He leaned forward slightly, hands steepled.
"I won't pretend Monaco was my proudest chapter," he said. "I made mistakes. I was younger, careless. But mistakes can be teachers. What matters is who you are when the spotlight burns hottest—and I'm still standing. Not because I'm flawless, but because I've built something real since then. Under my leadership, Marvel expanded its clean tech division, outperformed quarterly forecasts, and entered two new markets. That's not just growth—that's resilience."
The host blinked, caught off guard. Tian had taken control of the narrative.
By the end of the segment, hashtags like #TianComeback and #MarvelFuture were trending. One of the country's most respected financial journalists tweeted: "Maybe we judged him too soon. There's steel under the scandal."
But the battlefield wasn't just in the media.
Behind closed doors, Tian moved like a silent storm. That afternoon, he walked into board member Jun Tae-hwan's office unannounced. The man stiffened behind his desk, his assistant scrambling to cover her screen.
"You leaked it," Tian said.
Tae-hwan scoffed. "What are you talking about?"
"The footage. The tax allegations. The staged party clip in Monaco with the Russian developer. That video had a unique watermark. One used internally by our security division—on a feed only three people had access to. You were one of them."
Silence.
Tian leaned in. "I'm not here to make threats. I'm just letting you know I'm not the same idiot from Monaco. I see you now. And if I go down, I'm not going quietly."
Jun's face twitched. "You're bluffing."
"I don't bluff," Tian replied, turning to leave. "But I do keep receipts."
By the end of the day, two more confrontations—discreet but effective—left certain board members rethinking their allegiances. One even sent a confidential email agreeing to back Tian's future restructuring proposal.
In the meantime, Jin Mei had gone quiet.
Too quiet.
He found her in the records room, lit only by a single desk lamp. Dozens of files lay open across the floor in a semi-circle, like the aftermath of a financial storm.
"You sleep here now?" he asked.
She didn't look up. "I found the trail. It wasn't easy—they used multiple shell companies, cross-border dummy transfers, and offshore entities registered under names with no real digital footprint."
"And?"
She picked up a sheet and handed it to him. "Project Eclipse. The leak about Monaco? The anonymous source that tipped off the foreign press? It was all funded by capital routed through a Hong Kong firm."
He scanned the paper. A familiar name jumped out. "Orien Holdings."
"They're the ones quietly buying Marvel shares," she said. "The ones Vivian warned you about."
"They're coordinating an internal coup."
"And destabilizing your reputation was phase one."
Tian exhaled, folding the sheet. "They wanted to make me radioactive—then sweep in and 'rescue' the company."
"Classic takeover playbook," she said. "Only you didn't fold."
He looked at her. Hair a little messy from hours buried in paperwork, eyes shadowed with fatigue, but sharp. Determined. Dangerous.
He didn't realize how long he was staring until she raised an eyebrow.
"What?"
"I'm starting to think you're the only person in this building who's not pretending."
She smirked faintly. "Give it time."
That night, news broke that respected media tycoon Yoo Seon-gi had voiced support for Tian, calling the smear campaign "a calculated distraction from Marvel's real enemies."
A day later, Marvel's shares rebounded slightly. Investors began to hesitate before abandoning ship. The tide was shifting—slowly, but unmistakably.
Tian stood on the upper balcony of Marvel Tower, looking out over the city.
The wind was crisp. Clean. Like a page turning.
He heard footsteps behind him. Jin Mei.
She joined him at the railing, arms crossed.
"People are scared of you again," she said. "That's good."
"They should be."
"But not me."
He looked at her. "You've always been different."
A pause stretched between them, heavy and full.
"You know, the first time I saw you back in the boardroom, I thought you hated me," he said.
"I did."
"What changed?"
She didn't answer immediately.
"You stopped pretending. You stopped being the charming failure. And I saw the fire underneath."
He swallowed. "I'm not like my father."
"No," she said. "You're something else."
The wind shifted again, colder now.
"I'm tired," he admitted. "Not of the fight. Of not knowing who I can trust."
There was a beat of silence.
Then she stepped closer, barely touching.
"You can trust me," she said softly. "But not forever. Only as long as we're fighting the same enemy."
"That's fair."
He turned to her, their eyes meeting in the half-light.
There were no more words.
He leaned his head gently onto her shoulder, a quiet exhale escaping his lips.
She didn't move. Didn't push him away.
In the distance, the city glowed like something alive and waiting.