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Jing City. The heart of modern China. Neon lights danced across glass towers, and rain traced silver rivers down the windows of the Raizhen Group's skyscraper like tears from the sky.
Aira Ke, senior investigative reporter at *The People's Eye*, sat still in the conference room's corner seat. The AC buzzed faintly overhead, her fingers poised over a sleek black notebook. Her pen didn't move. Her eyes didn't blink.
Because standing at the head of the table was a man who reeked of danger—not the loud kind, but the kind that lingered in shadows and smiled like he knew your secrets.
**Kian Lei Raizhen.**
CEO of Raizhen Group. Son of the steel king. Graduate of Oxford. Holder of too many secrets to count.
Aira's gaze narrowed behind her thin-rimmed glasses.
*This man…* she thought. *His reputation is too clean. No tycoon ascends that fast without blood on his hands.*
He wore black like a sword sheath—immaculate mandarin-collared suit, no tie, sleeves perfectly tailored. His ink-dark hair swept back in casual elegance. His expression? Polished. Neutral. Like a mask painted in silence.
When he finally spoke, his voice rolled through the room like distant thunder—low, controlled, impossibly calm.
> "This collaboration isn't up for debate. What we are here to do… is align."
Some nodded. Some scribbled notes. Aira?
She raised her hand with a flick sharp enough to cut glass.
"Forgive me," she said, her voice cool like winter tea. "But I didn't come here to be dictated to by a spoiled heir playing at journalism."
Silence.
Even the rain seemed to pause.
Kian's eyes slowly turned toward her—pale grey like storm clouds over Kunlun Mountains. He observed her like one might a poem written in ink that won't fade.
> "A bold way to introduce yourself, Ms. Ke."
Her lips curled. "I don't play nice with men who think power equals truth."
Kian stepped forward, his shoes whispering against polished bamboo floors.
> "And yet, here you are. At my table."
Aira's pen clicked shut. "Because your PR team has the only whistleblower willing to go on record. And because exposing corruption doesn't wait for comfort."
He nodded once, as if accepting an unspoken challenge. But there was a flicker—something like amusement? No. Something darker.
> "I respect your fire, Ms. Ke. But you'd be wise not to let it burn you alive."
That voice again. Smooth like velvet. Edged like obsidian.
The meeting dissolved. Rain whispered louder. People filed out with rustling suits and bowed heads. Aira packed her things fast, eager to disappear.
But Kian's voice stopped her.
> "A word. In private."
She turned. "Make it fast."
Everyone else vanished. The door clicked shut. For a moment, silence pressed in, thick and breathless.
Kian moved to the window, hands folded behind his back like some war general in repose.
> "You don't trust me."
"Do you need a quote for your memoir?"
He ignored the jab.
> "Then why agree to this investigation?"
"I didn't agree to you. I agreed to the *truth*."
He turned then—slowly, deliberately. And when his eyes met hers, something inside Aira pulled taut.
> "Then you deserve to see it."
He slid a red silk envelope across the conference table. It was delicate—stitched with golden thread. Her brows furrowed.
"What's this?"
> "A gift," he said. "Or a warning."
She opened it.
Inside: photos. Grainy, candid, too close for comfort. Herself walking down Nancheng Market. Her scooter parked outside her home. A note:
*"Eliminate before the 18th. The journalist knows too much."*
Her breath caught.
"What... what is this?!"
Kian's voice dropped.
> "Someone's watching you. Every step. Every word."
"Who?"
> "Someone with ties deeper than you know. And they've already paid for your silence."
Aira gripped the table. Her heart beat too fast. Her voice came out smaller than she liked. "Why do *you* have this?"
> "Because I intercepted the hit."
Her head snapped up.
He looked at her, unblinking.
> "You think I'm the villain. Maybe I am. But right now, I'm the only one standing between you and an unmarked grave."
Her blood ran cold.
"You're manipulating me."
> "No," he said simply. "I'm protecting my investment."
She closed the folder. Her hands trembled just slightly.
"I won't be used like a pawn."
> "Then don't be. Be the queen."
The words landed heavy.
Aira turned to leave, gripping her bag. "I don't trust you, Mr. Raizhen."
Kian smiled—slow, enigmatic, like a prince who knew the end of the story but wouldn't tell.
> "Then we're off to a good start."
---
That night, the lights of Jing City flickered outside her hotel window. She hadn't gone home. Couldn't. Not after those photos. Not after the way Kian had looked at her—not with lust, but with intent. Like she was part of a game she hadn't realized she was playing.
She checked into a guesthouse under a false name. Wore a scarf. Turned off her phone. Even her shadow felt heavy.
At midnight, a burner phone vibrated on the nightstand. It displayed a single message:
**"Warehouse 7. South Harbor. Tomorrow. 9:00 a.m. Come alone. No mistakes."**
No name.
But she knew.
*Kian Lei Raizhen.*
The man with smoke in his eyes.
She stared out into the jade-lit city, rain kissing the glass. And for the first time in years, she didn't know if she was chasing the truth… or being led to it.