The deal

YIREN

"How long are you going to ignore me?" Ning's interrogation hasn't stopped since the second I mentioned Jun's offer.

"Can you not add to my stress?"

"What?" She bumps her shoulder into me. "Not be curious about the golden match between you and the world's most desirable bachelor?"

My nose wrinkles. "He is not the world's most desirable bachelor."

"He is." Kai slaps a magazine on my head before dropping it onto the table in front of me. I don't even have to open it to know what's on page fifty-seven.

But my sister? She's a devil. She flips it open and sighs dramatically, making heart eyes at the picture.

Kai snatches the magazine and smacks it on her head. "Behave yourself, wifey."

Ning grins wickedly, throwing a wink at me. "I do that on purpose. There's just something about pissing him off and getting 'punished'—" she mouths, "—in bed."

I stare at her wide-eyed. No matter how many times she shocks me, it never gets easier. I'm still recovering from the day she gave me explicit details about her first night with Kai. They're grossly in love, even though he's five years younger and somehow the more mature one in the relationship.

They found each other in their lowest moments and turned into each other's saviors.

Sometimes, I envy them. What they have? I'll never have that. My faulty genes will see to that.

Ning pokes my cheek. "Stop being so uptight, babe."

"I can't."

Her eyes drift to the bag of clothes I brought with me to the café. "If you don't want to do it—"

"Of course, I want to." I walk over to the fridge, pretending to look for something. The truth is I thought about Jun's offer all night, and while it's probably my best chance to fix my life, my stomach is still doing backflips.

I feel like the universe is playing some twisted game and I'm just the pawn.

I arrive fifteen minutes early at Feng Enterprises—enough time to avoid one of Jun's trademark sassy remarks. Security gives me a quick nod when I mention my name. I guess they were expecting me.

The elevator opens on the 26th floor, and I'm met by a woman in her sixties, dressed in a sharp grey pantsuit. Tattoos snake around her neck in delicate lines. That's his assistant. I've seen her featured in business magazines about the right hands of power players.

She offers me a firm handshake. "Ireine," she introduces herself, laughing when she feels how cold my hand is. "Let's get you a coffee first."

Her warm tone surprises me. I follow her onto the massive office floor, and my jaw nearly drops. The space is a masterpiece—architecturally stimulating, with bold pops of color that invite exploration.

That's the magic we architects aim for.

It's a world apart from the soulless cubicles most companies use. This space screams creativity and success.

Suddenly, I feel small. Am I even qualified to take on a project of this scale?

A flash of fur darts toward me. Bear, Jun's chubby chow chow, barrels across the room and flops at my feet, demanding belly rubs. I oblige, a smile tugging at my lips despite the nerves.

Ireine leads me to the conference room, where Jun is already waiting. He's lounging casually, one leg crossed over the other, staring down at his phone while sipping coffee. His tie is off, his jacket discarded. He's rolled up his sleeves, revealing strong forearms, and left the top two buttons of his shirt undone.

The look is infuriatingly relaxed, but commanding. Sexy, even.

"On time. Impressive." His voice pulls me out of my thoughts. He gives me a slow, deliberate once-over, lingering just a second too long on my red dress. His brow quirks, amused. "Red? Should I be scared?"

"Depends on the outcome." I smirk, sinking into the seat across from him, channeling my inner Anastasia Steele from Fifty Shades of Grey.

He lifts one corner of his mouth, almost a smile, and I wink in response. It's a game now, and we both know it.

"How long?" I ask, cutting straight to business, my voice steady despite the hammering in my chest. It's the first question on the list I spent all night preparing.

Jun leans back, his eyes locked on mine, and takes his time before answering.

"Long enough to keep you wanting more."

*****

JUNJIE

"Does it come with a warranty, or are we taking your word for it?" Now that's how you jolt some life into a dead battery—just a small exchange with the queen of wits.

"You want a test drive?"

"Test drive?" Her eyes lock onto mine, brimming with confidence. "I prefer something with more horsepower."

"Approx six months," I respond, coming back to the topic, keeping my voice calm.

Her brow furrows. "Didn't you say a few days?"

"A few days means until my family arrives. But we need to stay 'together' a bit longer to execute the breakup story."

She crosses her arms. "That's a long time."

"Just in name, Yiren." I emphasize, trying to cut through her skepticism.

Her eyes flicker with mischief as she taps a finger against her lips. "So I can do whatever I want during this time?"

"Define whatever."

"Dating and sex?" She asks it so casually that it throws me off for a beat.

"NO." My voice is firm as I step closer, closing the pointless distance between us. It's just us in this conversation, no room for games. My hand finds its place behind her chair, bringing us almost face-to-face. "Until this ends, we're exclusive. That's the respect we owe each other, and we need to be responsible for our actions."

She doesn't flinch, her gaze fierce, challenging. "I can do that. But can you?"

Her words slice deeper than they should, igniting something inside me. I know my reputation, the whispers that follow me, the rumors. This isn't the first time a woman has questioned me, and it won't be the last.

"The past doesn't define a person. It's what they do after that counts." I lean in just a little more, my eyes never leaving hers. "But people like you only believe the worst, don't you?"

Her expression doesn't waver, but there's a flicker of something behind those sharp eyes—maybe curiosity, maybe doubt.

But for now, we're locked in this game, and neither of us is backing down.

*****

YIREN

I still.

That was intense. My gaze never left him as he took the seat next to me. That simple action carried so much weight. A sentence with more meaning than it conveys. Emotions. A story. A story I'm desperate to listen to. A story he'll never tell me.

"Next."

"Will we kiss?"

"I don't think so. Just light touches."

Okay. I jot down the two points we've discussed so far.

"Do I have to move into your house?"

"Yes."

"I want a separate room."

"Already getting ready as we speak." He checks his watch, always so precise. "Same time Sunday, movers and packers will be at your home to handle everything."

"Wow. That's fast." I write it down, trying to keep up. "Do I have to attend social gatherings or parties with you?"

He rubs his thumb across his lips, a simple act, but it sends my brain into a frenzy.

"You have a problem being photographed with me?"

"Nope. I just don't want the paparazzi hounding me."

"That can be managed. Your safety will always be my priority."

My heart skips a beat. That sincerity, that tone of his, always gets under my skin. One moment we're sparring, the next, he says something like this that makes me stop in my tracks.

"All done." I finish writing, but suddenly he snatches my Mickey Mouse notepad and pink pen right out of my hand.

"You think you're the only one setting the terms? This is a deal between two people. A bargain, remember?"

He draws a line where I stopped and, right in the middle of the page, writes his name.

"This will stay a forever secret. You don't speak of it even after our staged breakup."

"Deal."

"And you won't do anything that hurts my family. If you have a problem, you come to me."

"I'm not an asshole, Jun. Deal."

"Now, tell me which project you want. I'll have my lawyers draft the contract."

I glance down at the projects he sent last night, each worth billions. Every word on those pages screams power, control, and endless expectations. But not one of them speaks to me. Not one project feels like my dream.

The tapping of his pen tells me he's waiting for my answer.

"I don't want any of those." I finally blurt it out. "I… I want you to invest in my startup."

The pen stops tapping. The silence that follows is suffocating. I know he's looking at me, but I can't bring myself to meet his eyes. Not when I'm basically begging.

"I-I'll give you a 30% share." My voice wavers, the confidence I usually have with investors crumbling under his gaze.

"Thirty percent?"

"F-fifty? I can make it fifty."

"Look at me."

His voice is low, commanding, sending a chill down my spine. Asking him for money was a mistake. I feel like one of those women who latch onto a rich man for financial gain, and I hate it.

Suddenly, his hand slides between my legs—not in a way that's inappropriate, but to pull my chair closer to him. The movement is deliberate, dominating. It steals my breath, but I'm fully focused on him now.

"Rule 1. You'll never be a good businesswoman if you don't look people in the eye when making a deal." I blink, caught off guard. "Rule 2. Be confident. Investors don't just invest in the business, they invest in the person running it." Another blink. "Rule 3. Never negotiate without hearing the counteroffer. And Rule 4." His voice softens, but it's still powerful. "There's no shame in asking for money for investment. Every big company started that way."

His words hit me like a tidal wave, and suddenly, I realize this isn't just Jun—the playful, sarcastic man I've been dealing with. This is Feng Junjie, the man who commands the business world. The man whose dominance makes others buckle under pressure. And right now, I'm standing in the eye of the storm.

But damn, I find it sexy.

Before I can react, he grips the back of my neck, not hard, but firm enough to snap me out of my daze.

"You have two choices for investment. One: I'll invest privately, and it'll be done anonymously. You'll never hear from me again. Or two: You pitch to the company, professionally. Earn it. Which one do you want?"

"The second." The words leave my mouth without hesitation.

His smile is lethal, a slow curve that makes my pulse race.

"Good girl."

*******