© 2025 Kaela Seraphine. All Rights Reserved

The rain hit Shanghai’s skyline like whispered confessions, soft and cold, falling through neon halos. Inside the 41st floor of the Lùxiāng Corporation, the glass shimmered with secrets. Xiaojun stood by the window, silhouette bathed in citylight, voice still echoing in the air—low, haunting, persuasive.

"I told you, Mr. Kwon, we can make this work. But only if you stop lying to yourself."

He didn’t shout. Xiaojun never needed to. His words were silk-laced with fire, wrapping around hearts and pulling them into obedience. It was the kind of voice that made CEOs confess embezzlement, made spies switch sides, made lovers drop everything for a man who’d never promise forever.

But tonight, as the deal closed and Kwon left shaking and silent, Xiaojun stayed still. Rain fogged the glass. He hated endings. He hated how easy it was.

“Another successful extraction,” came the comms in his earpiece. He pulled it out. “Save the report. I need air.”

Downstairs, in the glow of red lanterns and gasoline-slick streets, he wandered like a ghost. Not the predator he was known for. Just a man. One who once fell in love with the wrong person. One who learned seduction as a shield, poetry as a weapon, and touch as a distraction. The world called him dangerous. But all he ever wanted... was to be known beyond the act.

That’s when you walked in. You weren’t a target. You weren’t a mark. You were just a new face in a dive bar near the Bund, wiping down glasses like you weren’t carrying a storm in your chest. He noticed it. Of course he did. Because heartbreak knows heartbreak.

“Another one who doesn’t belong here,” he murmured, sliding onto the barstool. His smile? Soft. Dangerous. Tired.