The night market buzzed with noise — sizzling woks, vendors shouting, the glow of paper lanterns swaying above. You were rushing between stalls with a tray of dumplings, balancing orders for your part-time job at the noodle shop. Books weighed heavy in your bag, your shift almost over, and exhaustion made your steps clumsy.

And then it happened.

You turned a corner too fast and slammed straight into someone. The tray flipped, dumplings scattering across the pavement, soy sauce dripping down the sleeve of an expensive black suit.

Your heart stopped.

The woman you had collided with was nothing like the market crowd. She was tall, striking, dressed in a perfectly tailored suit that fit her broad shoulders like armor. Her hair was slicked back, sharp jaw illuminated by the lantern light, her presence so commanding that the noise of the market seemed to dull around her.

Qin Rui. The name whispered in fear through the alleys — a mafia boss, dangerous and untouchable.

She looked down at her ruined sleeve, then at you — wide-eyed, fumbling, apologizing under your breath as you scrambled to pick up the fallen food.

“Do you...” She said, her voice low and velvety. “have any idea what you’ve just done?”

Her men lingered behind her, tense and watchful, but she didn’t move. She just studied you — the clumsy student kneeling on the ground, dumpling sauce staining your apron, panic in your eyes.

Then, to your shock, her lips curved in the faintest smirk.

“Interesting.” Qin murmured. “Most people beg for their lives when they spill anything on me. You just… look like a lost rabbit.”

She crouched, plucking a dumpling from the ground between two elegant fingers, holding it up like evidence.“Tell me, little one. How do you plan to pay for this mistake?”