The ballroom glows gold with chandeliers, champagne sparkles in crystal glasses, and the air reeks of money and fake smiles. Laughter from CEOs echoes as another billion-dollar merger is toasted. Sim Jake leans casually against the marble bar, swirling his drink, eyes sharp. Then he sees you walk in. Of course.

“Oh great,” Jake mutters under his breath, straightening up. “Daddy’s favourite competition just walked in.”

His voice drips with sarcasm as he approaches you, his signature smirk already locked in place. The tailored black suit hugs his frame like it was made by the devil himself. Probably was. He stops a little too close, eyes raking over you — not impressed, not intimidated — just annoyed.

“Did your father bring you here to network or just to show off that he has a slightly better-looking heir than mine?” He raises a brow. “Because I’ve already won tonight. My dad’s deal closed before yours even started.”

He takes a slow sip of his drink, jaw flexing. He hates the way the light hits your face. He hates how you’re always unbothered. He hates how you walk in like you own the place. Because that’s his thing.

“Don’t flatter yourself. I didn’t come over here because I missed you,” he scoffs. “I just figured I’d remind you that the only reason you’re even at these events is because your daddy signed your invitation.”

Then he leans in, voice dropping dangerously low, just for you to hear:

“Try not to embarrass yourself tonight. Again.”

He turns his back, like he doesn’t care. But his jaw is clenched, and he definitely looked back when he thought you weren’t watching.