"What the hell happened in here?"
Marcus's voice cut through the chaos as he burst through the splintered door, tactical team flooding behind him like a SWAT invasion. Emergency lights strobed red across the devastation—overturned furniture, shredded silk sheets, and what looked like the aftermath of a very violent, very intimate war.
Vivian didn't run.
Instead, she grabbed Lucien's discarded white dress shirt and slipped it on with deliberate slowness, letting it fall just low enough to reveal the constellation of bite marks decorating her collarbone. The fabric still carried his scent—expensive cologne mixed with sweat and something darker that made her pulse spike.
*Control the narrative or become the victim of it.*
Marcus's eyes swept the carnage, taking in his unconscious boss sprawled naked across black silk, claw marks raking down his chest like abstract art painted in blood. Lucien's breathing was shallow but steady, his fever broken but his body bearing unmistakable signs of thorough... medical attention.
"Ma'am, step away from Mr. Pei. Now."
Three guards raised weapons, red laser dots dancing across Vivian's chest like deadly fireflies.
She raised her hands in mock surrender, the oversized shirt sliding off one shoulder to reveal more incriminating evidence. "Relax, boys. The patient is stable."
"Patient?" Marcus's voice cracked. "What did you do to him?"
"Saved his life." She gestured to Lucien's prone form with clinical detachment. "He was burning up with fever. Someone had to bring his temperature down fast."
Marcus's face cycled through confusion, horror, and dawning realization. "You used... physical contact?"
"Skin-to-skin contact is the most efficient heat transfer method. Basic thermodynamics." Her voice carried professional authority that made impossible things sound reasonable. "I'm sure they taught you that in whatever military academy produced you."
The guards exchanged glances that spoke volumes about what they thought had really happened.
"How long was he... conscious during the procedure?"
Vivian pretended to consider this seriously. "About two minutes. Maybe less."
The silence that followed had its own gravitational pull.
She shrugged with devastating casualness. "Poor thing couldn't handle the intensity. I've seen men with more stamina at senior centers."
The words detonated like a tactical nuke. Every man present seemed to shrink, as if her assessment of their boss's performance reflected on their own masculinity.
That's when Lucien's eyes fluttered open.
His gaze found hers immediately, storm-gray irises focusing with dangerous clarity. Confusion flickered across his features as he processed the scene—armed guards, destroyed room, Vivian wearing his shirt like a trophy.
"What—"
"Oh good, you're awake." Her smile could have powered a small city. "I was just telling your staff about your performance during the medical emergency."
Lucien's eyes narrowed, and she watched understanding dawn. His face went through several color changes—pale to red to a shade of purple suggesting imminent cardiac arrest.
"You told them what?"
"That you lasted approximately two minutes before the excitement became too much." Her voice carried across the room with perfect clarity. "I assured them it's perfectly normal for men your age to have stamina issues during high-stress situations."
Lucien tried to sit up, probably to strangle her, but the movement sent him swaying. The combination of poison, fever, and whatever she'd put him through had left him weak as a newborn.
"You lying—"
"Careful now." She moved to his side with mock concern, pressing him back down. "Doctor's orders. You need rest to recover your strength. What little of it you have."
The casual dismissal proved to be the final straw. Lucien's eyes rolled back, and he collapsed against the pillows—unconscious again from pure, unadulterated rage.
*Two for two. I'm getting dangerously good at this.*
Marcus stared at his boss, then at Vivian, gears grinding so loudly she could hear them.
"Ma'am, I think there's been a misunderstanding—"
"The only misunderstanding is your boss thinking he could handle a woman like me." She straightened his shirt around her shoulders like armor. "Now, about my fee."
"Your... fee?"
"Emergency medical services. Artificial respiration. Psychological trauma counseling." She counted on her fingers with businesslike efficiency. "Two million dollars. Cash."
The number hit like a physical blow. Marcus's mouth opened and closed like a drowning fish.
"Two million? For two minutes of—"
"Quality over quantity, Marcus." Her smile was surgical sharp. "Besides, can you put a price on your boss's life? His reputation?"
The threat was subtle but unmistakable. The story of Lucien Pei's two-minute performance would spread through Star Harbor's elite like wildfire unless they paid for silence.
Marcus pulled out his phone with the resigned air of a man signing his execution warrant. "Account information?"
"How efficient."
As money transferred with digital precision, Vivian felt victory's thrill. But her real prize wasn't cash—it was the small black chip she'd palmed from Lucien's nightstand during chaos, now hidden in her bra.
**[CHIP ANALYSIS COMPLETE]**
**[ENCRYPTED FOLDER: "WANWAN_CLASSIFIED"]**
**[SECURITY LEVEL: S-CLASS]**
**[DECRYPTION KEY: BIOMETRIC RETINAL SCAN]**
**[AUTHORIZED USER: LUCIEN PEI]**
*Mom's files. Hidden in his system. Protected by his eyes.*
To access her mother's secrets, she'd need Lucien's retinal scan. Which meant getting close enough to scan his eyes without him knowing.
Marcus finished the transfer, hatred barely concealed. "Money's sent. Now get out."
"Gladly." She headed for the door, pausing to look back at Lucien's unconscious form. "Take care of him, Marcus. Maybe invest in performance enhancement supplements. He'll need them."
She walked out with two million dollars and her head high, leaving behind men who would never look at their boss the same way.
But as the door closed, one thought echoed like a warning: *Getting his retinal scan means getting closer to the devil than I ever planned.*