The estate had never been this quiet.
For three full days after Jia’s ultimatum, every hallway echoed with Daniel’s restless pacing. He couldn’t concentrate on stocks, strategy meetings, or even his morning espresso ritual. It felt like sitting inside a pressure cooker—no whistle, just steam building behind polished silence.
He replayed Jia’s words on a loop:
> “Beat me in every field.”
Every field. No specifics. No timeline. Just a promise hanging over him like a thundercloud.
That morning, a liveried footman delivered a linen envelope to Daniel’s study. The black wax seal bore Madam Han’s phoenix crest.
> XXX Plaza Rooftop — 7 p.m. tonight.
Black tie. Bring your best pitch.
—H.H.
Daniel nearly crumpled the card. A networking soirée? Tonight? With no hint of what he was pitching? Brilliant. Absolutely brilliant.
By late afternoon, Daniel’s bedroom looked like a luxury clothing explosion. Silk ties fanned across the bedspread, white shirts and dinner jackets everywhere—none conveying the calm, collected image he needed.
He tugged on a dark bow tie, hated it, switched to a silver tie pin—hated that, too. Somewhere between cufflink options he looked in the mirror and muttered, “This is pathetic.” He was acting like a teenager before prom, not the heir to Han Corporation.
A small knock sounded.
Lucas poked his head in, wearing a lime-green dinosaur hoodie. “Danny, can I go to the party?”
“Not tonight, bud. Adults only.”
Lucas’s shoulders drooped. “But Jia said parties have cake.”
Daniel knelt, smoothing his brother’s hair. “I’ll bring you a slice.”
A voice drifted from the door. “Why not bring him with us?”
Jia leaned on the doorframe, arms folded. She wore a tailored white tuxedo jacket with satin lapels, black trousers, and a slender black cravat. Minimalist, yet arresting. Under the chandelier, she looked carved from moonlight and onyx.
Daniel blinked. Somehow, he’d expected a gown. Of course she subverted that, too.
Lucas gasped. “Jia! You look like a prince from my storybook!”
She winked. “We still have thirty minutes. Think we can transform Lucas into a miniature prince?”
Lucas bounced. “Yes! With a wolf pin!”
Daniel sighed. “Grandmother said black tie—”
“Lucas isn’t on the invite list,” Jia interrupted softly. “But Madam Han just approved him as my ‘honorary escort.’” She produced a tiny invitation with Lucas’s name scribbled in elegant calligraphy. Daniel’s grandmother had truly lost her mind.
Jia turned to Lucas. “Let’s find your little tux.” She was already ushering him down the hall.
Daniel stared, one part impressed, nine parts rattled.
Sunset painted the skyline rose-gold. The Plaza’s rooftop ballroom shimmered under hanging crystal orbs. A live quartet played soft jazz; waiters circulated with fancy drinks. Visit g.com for the full chapter.
Daniel arrived first, accompanied by his personal assistant and forced composure. He scanned VIP clusters—venture capitalists, foundation heads, art patrons—any of whom might factor into Jia’s mysterious competition.
At 7:10 p.m. the doors opened again.
Silence rippled across the room like a dropped stone.
Jia stepped through—white tuxedo pristine, posture straight as a blade. Beside her walked Lucas, in a miniature black dinner jacket, sporting a silver wolf-head pin on his lapel. Their clasped hands looked more regal than any red-carpet tableau.
Phones rose. Conversations froze. Even the quartet stumbled.
Daniel felt a ridiculous sting of pride…and something else he wasn’t ready to name.
Near the dessert station lurked two “unknown” guests: a woman in a platinum wig (Rachel) and a man in horn-rim glasses (Alex). They nearly choked on their drinks.
Rachel hissed, “She’s…gorgeous.”
Alex shrugged. “Stay on task. We need dirt.”
Rachel straightened her blonde wig and strut-stumbled toward Jia—five-inch stilettos clicking. Halfway there, her heel caught a decorative floor grate. Crack. Champagne sloshed, quick wobble, and down she pitched—right into Alex, who tried to steady her and only succeeded in dunking them both into a pineapple center-piece.
Gasps broke around them.
Jia didn’t even look their way. She guided Lucas deeper into the crowd, accepting compliments with a modest nod.
Daniel smothered a laugh. They deserve it, he thought.
Within minutes Jia held court among a circle of CEOs. A venture capitalist quizzed her on emerging-market indexes; she parried with crisp insight about micro-financing for rural artisans. An art dealer tried to stump her on 20th-century calligraphy—she recited a forgotten poet’s verse flawlessly.
Daniel hovered nearby. Every sharp answer from Jia made his tie feel tighter.
Lucas, meanwhile, charmed guests with wide-eyed curiosity—and was rewarded with a small silver macaron tower by a pastry chef. He offered Jia the first bite; she broke one in half, gave Daniel a piece. He caught her eye, startled by the unexpected gesture.
Buttercream dissolving on his tongue, Daniel realized he’d spent fifteen minutes not resenting her.
Troubling.
Jia circulated gracefully. A venture capitalist tossed a tricky emerging-market question. She countered with lean figures and a quiet smile. Guests whispered:
> “The Li heiress is… formidable.”
“And she’s not even showing off.”
Daniel’s collar felt tighter.
Lucas meanwhile charmed passers-by with stories of “guardian wolves” and volcano monsters. A pastry chef presented him a silver macaron tower; Lucas, proud, offered Jia the first bite—then insisted Daniel take the second. Sugar dissolved on Daniel’s tongue along with a fragment of hostility. the room. Madam Han smiled beneath chandeliers.
“Friends, thank you for supporting tonight’s charity forum. Partnerships thrive on vision—and sometimes a touch of mystery.”
She said nothing more incriminating. But as applause rose, she turned—just for an instant—toward Jia and Daniel, her palm hovering over a small velvet pouch on a side table before sliding it out of sight. The source of this chapter is novelping.com.
Only the two of them noticed.
Moonlight glinted off city glass. Daniel stepped onto a quiet terrace to catch his breath. Moments later Jia joined him, shutting the door against ballroom noise.
Without preamble she handed him a single ivory envelope—Madam Han’s phoenix seal unbroken.
“For you,” she said.
“What is it?” he whispered.
“The first task.” Her voice barely louder than the wind.
Daniel stared. “Why me first?”
“Because,” Jia replied, “it’s your move.”
He rotated the envelope but didn’t break the seal. “You aren’t opening yours?”
A hint of mischief lit her eyes. “I already have. We each received a different instruction.”
“What—”
She laid two fingers against his lips—a bold, feather-light hush. From the ballroom Lucas’s giggle floated faintly.
“You have three days, Daniel,” she murmured. “Spend them wisely.”
She withdrew, leaving the faint scent of white tea and a sudden chill on his skin. Before he could recover, she was inside again, guiding Lucas toward the exit, untouchable.
Daniel looked at the envelope. The seal seemed to pulse with hidden stakes.
Three days. Not a soul but Jia need ever know what was written inside.
He slipped the envelope into his pocket and exhaled into the cool night.
> First blood hasn’t been drawn, he thought. But the blade’s already at my throat.
Outside, rain clouds gathered over dark city towers. Somewhere above them, thunder rolled—soft, distant, promising.
Three days.
Daniel clenched his fists.
He had no idea what the first task would ask of him.
But he knew one thing:
Failing was not an option.