Shanghai looked almost delicate in the morning light.
Yan Rui hated it.
He didn't belong in cities like this-polished steel and high towers, where politicians smiled too wide and gangsters wore suits pretending to be CEOs. His kind didn't smile. His kind took.
The Rui Syndicate had long ruled the underworld in southern Asia, but lately, Shanghai had grown... loud. Noisy with whispers. The kind of whispers that traveled fast between cocaine-fueled parties and smoky poker tables:
New blood was moving in. Spanish. Bold. Arrogant.
And worse - dealing on his turf.
Yan Rui sat at the head of a long table in a quiet nightclub that hadn't opened for business yet. Low lights. Red velvet booths. A few of his men flanked him, leaning on walls, watching shadows.
Across the table, the informant trembled.
"I told you everything," the man stammered, breath hitching. "They docked in last week-La Familia Cruz. They've been shipping in through the port at Huangpu. Small containers. Disguised as frozen goods. You said you wouldn't hurt me-"
Yan Rui tilted his head, calm. "And I won't."
He poured the man a drink. "But I will hurt them."
-
Later that night...
The air by the docks was thick with fog and gasoline.
Yan Rui stood on the container ship, boots silent against the steel. No need for backup. He didn't need a crowd to make a point. A ghost moved with him-cold and precise.
He kicked open the door of a rusted container.
Inside: crates of cocaine wrapped in wax paper, and two startled men with Spanish tattoos and pistols half-raised.
Too slow.
Two clean gunshots echoed. One dropped instantly. The second tried to run.
Yan Rui shot him in the knee.
The man screamed. Yan Rui crouched beside him, gripping his jaw.
"Tell your boss," he said softly in Spanish, "Shanghai already has an owner."
The man whimpered.
"I didn't ask you to beg," Yan Rui said coldly. "I asked you to deliver a message."
Back at his penthouse...
Yan Rui peeled off his gloves, blood still fresh under his nails.
The skyline shimmered beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, beautiful and untouched. But something gnawed at him in the silence.
Not regret.
Not guilt.
Just... noise.
A face. A mouth. The sharp taste of power wrapped in a kiss he hadn't meant to give.
He poured himself a drink and turned away from the glass. There was still work to do. The Spaniards weren't done.
He hadn't survived this long by chasing ghosts.
Not even ones with perfect skin and frozen eyes.
Hmmmm
The morning after he returned from the flight, Qin Yu stood alone in his penthouse suite overlooking the Shanghai skyline. Floor-to-ceiling glass windows painted the room in soft gold light. The city buzzed beneath him-his city, his empire. Yet for the first time in a long while, he didn't feel in control.
He had woken up early, disturbed by fragments of the flight...of heat, of tension, of unfamiliar eyes watching him come undone and the ache he still feels in that area.
Qin Yu was a man of precision, control, and impeccable timing. Nothing happened in his world without his permission. Except that night. That moment in the private suite of the jet. That moment when he called out for Shen Wenlang, desperate, aching, unraveling-and got someone else instead. That moment still lived beneath his skin, shameful and thrilling all at once.
He shook the thought away, buttoned up his dark navy suit, and adjusted the cuffs. Today was not a day for distraction. The board meeting at QR International headquarters was scheduled for noon, and he had plans to finalize a partnership with a European robotics firm. Work was his sanctuary, and he would bury whatever that moment was beneath schedules and numbers.
"President Qin" Shen Wenlang's voice called softly through the intercom. "Your car is ready."
Qin Yu didn't respond immediately. He ran a hand through his hair, checked his expression in the mirror...cool, polished, unreadable-and then walked out.
Downstairs, Shen Wenlang stood beside the car, holding a tablet. His assistant was sharply dressed as always, all business and precision. Qin Yu gave a brief nod and slid into the back seat.
"Anything urgent before we arrive?" he asked.
"Just the usual press requests. Also, Mr. Zhao from the robotics firm would like a private word before the meeting."
"Fine. Arrange it."
As the car pulled into traffic, Qin Yu stared out the window, not really seeing. He should be thinking about the merger. About the questions the board would ask. About stock fluctuations. But all his brain wanted to do was return to that voice-deep, smug, smoky-and the way those hands felt against his skin.
No. No. He shut it down again. He didn't know Yan Rui. Would likely never see him again. It was a moment of weakness, nothing more. And he had no room for weakness.
The meeting at QR headquarters was brisk. The board was in high spirits-quarterly projections had soared after the last AI product launch. Qin Yu moved through the room like a shadow of his usual self, his voice clipped, his answers precise. No one noticed the slight stiffness in his shoulders, the way his jaw clenched when his phone buzzed.
He ignored it. Then it buzzed again.
Finally, in a rare moment of irritation, he pulled it from his pocket and glanced at the screen. It was a message from an unknown number.
"Did you get the sleep you needed, Mr Qin? Or are you still aching for assistance? - YR"
Qin Yu's blood went cold. Then hot. His face remained blank as he locked the screen and slipped the phone back into his pocket.
How did he get this number? Did he track him? What kind of man was this?
"President Qin?" one of the board members asked.
"Yes," he replied smoothly. "I believe this partnership will ensure our future dominance in the sector."
No one suspected a thing.
Later that night, back in his penthouse, Qin Yu sat at his desk, unable to focus. His phone lay face-down beside him, but he could feel it pulsing with unspoken temptation.
He finally gave in and opened the message thread. Only that one message. Short. Infuriating. Unsettling.
He typed a reply. Then erased it. Then typed another.
Finally, he settled on: **"Delete this number."
But before he could hit send, another message popped up.
**"I don't delete things I like, Qin Yu. And I liked what I saw."
Qin Yu threw the phone across the table, breathing heavily.
He couldn't let this continue. He wouldn't.
But the image of Yan Rui leaning in the doorway of that private plane cabin refused to leave him alone.
And for the first time, Qin Yu feared his own curiosity.