Prologue- Junjie

JUNJIE

"Smile, grumpy pants. It doesn't cost any tax."

I turn the car towards the edge of the city, heading for the exclusive club. "I'll keep reminding myself why I haven't murdered my best friend yet. Prison food isn't worth it."

It's freezing in New York, colder than I expected. Coming from Imperial City, where it's still fairly warm, this cold feels like a personal attack. And to make things worse, my night was supposed to be simple: an XL pizza, my bed, and blissful, uninterrupted sleep. But Zian, being the asshole he is, broke into my house, ripped the blanket off me, and dragged me out by the ankle.

(First thing tomorrow: change the passcode.)

(And never sleep naked again.)

"Pffft—" He's laughing like a maniac, slapping his thigh. "I'll never forget the sight of your glorious bum on full display!"

I groan, rubbing a hand down my face. "Why am I friends with you? Why?"

He shrugs, grinning. "Because I'm awesome."

Zian, a former prince of some obscure kingdom, gave up his royal title to become a doctor. Our older siblings are married, making us the unlucky uncles of three hyperactive kids.

"I'm bailing early tonight," I tell him.

"Why? You used to be the life of the party."

"I hated those parties." I grimace. Sure, I was the face of Feng Enterprises, which meant I had to be social. But that doesn't mean I enjoyed it.

"Plenty of hot—"

"Not interested."

Zian rolls his eyes. "You're hopeless."

I glance down at the small fluff ball curled around Zian's feet. Bear, my baby chow-chow, wags his tail, sleepy eyes looking up at me.

"He doesn't like loud places," I say, shifting the conversation.

Zian snickers. "You could've left him home."

"He has separation anxiety. He cries if I leave him alone."

Bear blinks up at Zian, and Zian raises his hands in surrender. "Alright, alright, your highness. Forgive me."

As we pull up to the club, I step on the gas, enjoying the heads that turn at the sound of my engine. One of the perks of driving a mean machine.

"You never know," Zian says, picking up Bear. "Who you'll meet one day."

I roll my eyes. "What romance novel have you been reading? Should I buy you some medical books to keep you grounded?"

Zian chuckles, looking past me. "Go for it, champ," he whispers to Bear.

I follow his gaze and notice a group of women approaching, their eyes already on Bear. Of course. The little guy's got more game than I ever will.

Well Fuck.

********

I settle down at the bar, positioned opposite the stage. Sam, the bartender, slides my usual drink—Gimlet with a slice of cucumber—across the counter. I give him a nod of thanks.

The show hasn't started yet, but the place is already packed and buzzing with energy. Zian's band is backstage prepping for their set, and I'm in my own world, savoring the calm before the storm.

"He's so cute!" A woman stands up after petting Bear, her smile wide and genuine. For a split second, I hope she won't ask for my number. Maybe she'll just appreciate Bear for the furball he is and leave it at that.

But no.

"Can I have your number?" She leans in, sliding her phone towards me, her long hair cascading over her shoulder in a way that demands attention. Her top leaves little to the imagination.

I sigh internally but keep the smile polite. "Sure." I type in a number. She gives me a light peck on the cheek, her manicured fingers trailing down my arm.

As she walks back to her table, my eyes follow her. Dark hair, tattoo down the spine, backless dress—hot as hell. But that's where it ends for me. Not interested. Still, I'm a man with two eyes.

The crowd cheers as the drums kick in, pulling me from my thoughts. Zian's smirking at me from the stage, clearly having caught the whole interaction. I roll my eyes—just because I admire doesn't mean I'm interested. He knows better.

The music slowly fills the club, drowning out the chatter. Zian's band is exceptional, and he's a beast on the drums. It's one of those nights where a drink and good music can fix just about anything.

Then, like a cold splash of water, a voice cuts through the moment.

"A French Kiss, please."

I nearly spill my drink. No. No, not her. My night just took a nosedive.

I bet she's staring right at me. And I bet she's wearing something tight enough to make traffic stop. Mu Yiren—my personal nemesis and a walking temptation. She knows she's gorgeous, and men practically trip over themselves to get her attention. What they don't know is she's lethal, like a jellyfish luring you in with its beauty before delivering a deadly sting.

"It's the name of a drink, JUJU," she says, her voice dripping with amusement.

My grip tightens on the napkin in my hand. The name grates on me, but I allow it—for my niece and nephew, that is. No one else. Especially not her.

I glance over, and there she is, all smug smiles. Yiren. The woman who lives to get under my skin. I pull a paper napkin to clean the spill on my hand, keeping my expression neutral.

"Never sure when it's you, little bunny," I say, throwing her nickname back at her. Her smirk falters. Good. That means I hit the mark.

She picks up Bear, cradling him like she's some kind of angel. "Looks like Daddy's losing his charm. Any luck lately?"

"My luck's like a bald man who just found a comb."

"Maybe if you removed the stick stuck up your ass, things would change. Though," she leans in, eyes gleaming, "I hope it punctures one of your balls first."

I lean closer, lowering my voice. "Thinking about my balls, huh? What else keeps you up at night?"

Her cheeks flush, and she jerks back, annoyed.

"Ha. Keep dreaming. I'd rather overdose on sleeping pills."

Yiren lifts her drink casually, her eyes on me as she takes a sip, all smooth confidence. Everything about her, from her wavy hair to her smokey eyes, screams trouble. She's dressed up, clearly out to make an impression.

"What?" she asks, noticing my gaze.

"Why are you here?" I don't buy the coincidence. We avoid each other like the plague.

"O-of course to get a drink."

"Try again," I say, flashing a grin that I know irritates her.

Before she can throw another fiery comeback, her hand lands on my thigh. The heat from her touch seeps through my jeans, too close—way too close. I try to move her hand, but she's holding on, her fingers digging in.

"What the—Yiren--"

Before I can react, a guy in a sharp suit approaches, holding two beers. His sleeves are rolled up, showing off an expensive watch. He glances at me, his eyes darkening as he notices her hand still on my leg.

"Shit," Yiren mutters. She ignores the beer he's offering, holding up her own drink instead. "Chris, I've been ignoring your calls for months. Take a hint."

Ah, the ex. Great.

"I loved your bite," he says, leaning in like he's got something to prove.

She snorts. "You mean all the times I had to fake it? Sure."

I choke on my drink, sputtering as Bear barks in protest. That was savage, even by Yiren's standards. She casually wipes the spilled drink off Bear's jacket while Chris slinks away, tail between his legs.

"Do I even want to know why I was used as a distraction?" I ask, still wiping the mess off my pants where her hand was.

Yiren flashes me an innocent smile. "Six months ago, I broke up with him. He doesn't take no for an answer."

"Your taste in men is questionable."

"It was a lapse in judgment." She smiles sweetly, "But I'm not making that mistake with you."

"As if I'm trying."

"As if I'm giving you an opening."

We stare at each other, tension crackling between us, neither willing to back down.

She taps the bar. "Thanks for the drinks, Sam, you're the best." She drops a ten-dollar tip before kissing Bear on the head. "Be good, Bear," she says, then makes a beeline for the back door. On her way out, she bumps into Zian.

"Leaving early?" he asks.

"Tired," she replies, waving him off.

Zian slides into her seat, shaking his head. "So, Yiren sat here with you, and neither of you ended up in a body bag?"

"Funny. Did you see that guy?"

Zian orders his drink and checks his phone. "Yeah, that's Chris, owner of Xtreme Auto."

"Why the hell do I have seventeen missed calls from unknown numbers?" Zian mutters, scrolling through his phone.

"They dated?"

"Yeah, but she broke it off. And no one knows why. Chris is loaded, sole heir to his family's fortune. But she dumped him like yesterday's trash."

"Maybe it's because he's a douche?"

Zian looks up, smirking. "You smell that? Something's burning—oh, wait, that's just you." His phone rings again, and he answers it, eyes glaring at me.

I pull on my coat, tucking Bear inside to shield him from the cold. "Be glad I didn't share your address."

******