Section 1: Morning Audit
At 7:30 the next morning, Zoe Shen was already sitting in the staff cafeteria of Vénus Noire's headquarters. In front of her were a cup of black coffee and an open stack of financial statements— sent to her inbox by Lysander at 3 AM with a two-word note: "Audit."
The cafeteria was nearly empty. Most French colleagues wouldn't trickle in until after 9 AM, carrying fresh croissants and chatting casually. Zoe cherished this quiet; numbers seemed particularly clear in the morning light.
Until page 87.
It was a transfer record from three years ago: 24 million euros wired from the group's Swiss subsidiary to an account in the Cayman Islands, labeled "artwork procurement" with no accompanying contract number. Even stranger, the approver's signature wasn't the CFO's— it was Catherine Ji's.
Per the company's articles of association, expenditures exceeding 5 million euros required joint signatures from three directors.
Zoe photographed the page and sent it to Lysander via encrypted messaging. A reply came five seconds later: "Print it. Bring to the small conference room at 9 AM. Do not use the company printer."
As she tucked away the documents, a figure slid into the seat across from her.
"Morning, New Yorker." It was Eva, the DJ from the club last night— and Zoe's roommate, per Lysander's arrangement. "You need someone with eyes and ears in Paris," he'd said.
Eva was half-Chinese, half-French— her mother from Shanghai, her father a Parisian jazz musician. Today she wore an oversized leather jacket over a lace camisole, her short blonde hair artfully messy.
"You look like you didn't sleep," Eva took a sip of Zoe's coffee and made a face. "God, this is worse than traditional Chinese medicine."
"I need to stay alert," Zoe gathered her files. "Thanks for bailing me out last night."
"That idiot who dragged you away?" Eva shrugged. "He's Catherine's nephew— total playboy. But I gotta say, your boss's reaction was interesting."
"What do you mean?"
Eva leaned in, lowering her voice. "Lysander rarely rents that room. Even less often does he bring someone there. Word's going around the club— he might've finally found…."
"Found what?"
"Someone who can make him lose control." Eva looked at her meaningfully. "You know his nickname? 'The Ice Sculpture Duke.' Not just because he's cold— but because everyone thinks he'll never melt."
Zoe thought of the fleeting emotion in Lysander's eyes when the collar clicked shut last night. It hadn't been desire— it was something more complex, more painful.
"I have to go," she stood up.
"Wait." Eva pulled a small box from her jacket. "This is for you. Self-defense."
Inside was a stun gun shaped like a lipstick.
"Parisian nights," Eva winked. "Are more dangerous than you think."
Section 2: Confrontation in the Small Conference Room
Promptly at 9 AM, the small conference room.
Lysander stood before a whiteboard covered in merger timeline plans. Today he wore a navy blue suit with a dark red tie— like congealed blood.
Three others were present: Marc, the CFO (a 50-year-old Frenchman whose fingers tapped relentlessly on a calculator); Sophie, the legal advisor (a sharp-eyed graduate of Sciences Po); and an Asian face Zoe didn't recognize.
"Lu Chen," the man offered his hand. "CTO of Dragon Abyss Technology. Lysander's college roommate. You must be Zoe Shen? Lysander says you're good at finding loopholes."
Lu Chen looked in his early thirties, dressed in the programmer uniform of a plaid shirt and jeans— but a Richard Mille watch on his wrist betrayed his true wealth. He spoke with a California accent, his smile too bright for the somber room.
"Now that we're all here," Lysander tapped the whiteboard. "Three items. First: Catherine has convinced Renault. The Ministry of Labor will formally issue a letter next week, demanding we suspend layoffs."
Marc gasped. "Then the restructuring timeline—"
"Void." Lysander's expression was impassive. "Which is why we need a Plan B. Lu Chen."
Lu Chen opened his laptop, projecting a technical patent document. "Dragon Abyss filed a global patent last year for an 'intelligent supply chain management system.' Simply put, it uses AI algorithms to boost logistics efficiency by 40%— no layoffs required."
Sophie adjusted her glasses. "Patent licensing fees?"
"Free." Lu Chen glanced at Lysander. "In exchange for exclusive Asian market rights for Vénus Noire over the next decade, plus 5% dry shares."
Silence fell. Zoe did quick mental math: Asia accounted for 35% of the group's total revenue, with annual growth exceeding 20%. A 5% stake was equivalent to handing over billions in future earnings.
"That's too expensive," Marc shook his head.
"Cheaper than bankruptcy." Lysander walked to the window. "Catherine's next move is to rally other shareholders for a no-confidence vote. If the layoffs are blocked, the stock will drop 15% in three days. And Black Thorne will be the first to pull out."
All eyes turned to Zoe.
"Theoretically, yes." She said calmly. "Our agreement has an exit clause for 'material policy changes.' But Henry might offer one negotiation chance."
"There will be no chance." Lysander turned around. "Last night, Catherine spoke to Henry for 47 minutes. This morning, Black Thorne's legal team started reviewing exit procedures."
Zoe's stomach tightened. She'd known nothing about this.
"So the second item," Lysander approached her, slamming a file down. "I need you to find conclusive evidence of Catherine's asset transfers within 48 hours. Not this." He nodded at the transfer record Zoe had brought. "Evidence that will put her in jail."
Zoe flipped open the file. Inside were summaries of Catherine's travel records, credit card bills, and call logs from the past three years. The last page held a blurry photo: Catherine with a Middle Eastern man on a yacht in Dubai, the man wearing a Patek Philippe custom-made for the Saudi royal family.
"Who is this man?" she asked.
"Abdul Al-Rashid," Lu Chen whistled. "Member of the investment committee at Saudi Sovereign Fund. Funny thing— last month, he voted down a capital injection into Vénus Noire."
"Because Catherine told him to." Lysander said. "In exchange, he'll get exclusive operating rights for the group's Dubai free trade zone— through another shell company."
Zoe flipped through the documents quickly. "This isn't enough to convict her. The yacht photo can be dismissed as business networking; vetoing the investment is a normal commercial decision."
"So you need to find the money." Lysander stared at her. "The real, laundered money. And I know where it is."
"Where?"
Lysander pulled a brass key from his suit pocket. "My mother's old residence, in the 16th Arrondissement. Three years ago, Catherine entered it three times under the pretense of 'sorting through belongings.' It's been locked ever since."
He set the key in front of Zoe.
"At 3 PM today, Catherine will be at a charity luncheon in Versailles. You have four hours. Find anything suspicious— diaries, account books, encrypted hard drives, anything."
Zoe picked up the key. It was heavy, its teeth worn smooth from use.
"Why me?" she asked. "You could send anyone."
"Because Catherine knows all my trusted people." Lysander's voice dropped. "You're new, from New York— theoretically, you should know nothing about the family feud. Even if you're caught, you can claim… you got the wrong door."
Lu Chen chuckled. "Lysander, you're still so good at getting people to do dangerous things."
"Third item." Lysander ignored him, addressing everyone. "No matter what we find today, the discussions in this room stay in this room. If anyone leaks—"
He didn't finish, but everyone understood.
Section 3: The Secret of the 16th Arrondissement
At 2:50 PM, Zoe stood before a Haussmann-style building in the 16th Arrondissement. A traditional affluent neighborhood in Paris, its streets were so quiet she could hear sycamore leaves fall.
She unlocked the heavy oak door with the brass key. The entrance hall smelled of dust, old wood, and a faint whiff of perfume— not modern synthetic fragrance, but vintage face powder, like opening a sealed century.
The rooms were decorated in classic French style: Louis Quinze armchairs, Oriental rugs, crystal chandeliers draped in dust covers. Zoe turned on her phone's flashlight and began a systematic search.
The living room yielded nothing unusual. The study bookshelves were lined with Chinese and French books— all the Chinese authors shared the surname Shen: Shen Congwen, Shen Fu, Shen Kuo. She pulled out a copy of Six Records of a Floating Life; on the title page was an elegant inscription: "To Lanlan, may you never endure the impermanence of floating life."
Lanlan. That name again.
She continued searching. The bedroom wardrobe still held cheongsams and dresses, and the drawers contained old jewelry. In a hidden compartment at the bottom of the vanity, Zoe found an enamel box.
Crafted in traditional Chinese style, it had a lake-blue base painted with lotus flowers and mandarin ducks. She tried to open it— locked. The keyhole was unusual, not a standard one, but designed for something specific—
Her gaze fell on a silver hairpin on the vanity. Its head was carved into a lotus shape, the size matching the keyhole perfectly.
Zoe picked up the hairpin and inserted it. She turned gently.
"Click."
The box opened. Inside were no jewels— only a stack of old letters, and a black-and-white photo on top.
In the photo, a young Chinese woman held a two or three-year-old girl standing in front of the Eiffel Tower. The woman smiled softly, the girl's face blurred by sunlight, but her delicate features were visible.
Zoe flipped the photo over. Faded fountain pen handwriting read:
"Spring 1985, with Lanlan in Paris. I hope she never knows what her mother sacrificed for this French residency permit."
Her hands began to tremble. She recognized the woman in the photo— it was her mother, Shen Qinglan, but at least twenty years younger than Zoe remembered. And the little girl…
Zoe flipped through the letters. Most were passionate yet painful French love letters, signed "L.J.," dated between 1983 and 1985. They told the story of a Chinese student who fell in love with a French nobleman, got pregnant, and was threatened by his family.
The last letter, dated June 15, 1985:
"The Ji family has given me an ultimatum: either take the money and leave France, never seeing the child again; or they'll have immigration revoke my visa, and both of us will be deported. I chose the former. I signed the agreement today— 500,000 francs, to buy out all my rights to Lanlan. They say they'll give her the best life, make her a true Mademoiselle Française. But I know they'll tell her her mother was a whore who abandoned her for money."
Water stains blurred the ink— likely tears.
Zoe struggled to breathe. She kept searching, finding a copy of a legal document at the bottom of the box— an adoption agreement from 1985. Adoptee: Ji Lan. Adoptive parent: The Ji family (specific name blacked out).
The notary's signature at the end belonged to Catherine Ji's late fiancé, the eldest son of the Ji family.
So Ji Lan really existed. She was the daughter her mother had given birth to in France, forced to give up for adoption to the Ji family. And based on her age, if she were still alive, she would be—
Thirty-eight years old.
The same age as Lysander Ji.
Zoe collapsed onto the dusty floor. All the pieces clicked into place: "Lanlan" in her mother's diary, Lysander's mother's name "Shen Qinglan," the photo, the adoption agreement…
Lysander might be Ji Lan. The child abandoned by her mother, adopted by the Ji family.
But if that were true, why did he bear the Ji surname? Why did he become the family heir? Why did he harbor such deep hatred for his mother?
And the more crucial question: If Lysander was her mother's child from France, then he and Zoe were half-siblings.
And what they'd done in the club last night…
Nausea washed over Zoe. She rushed to the bathroom and retched. The woman in the mirror was pale, her eyes bloodshot.
Her phone vibrated. It was a text from Lysander: "Found anything?"
She stared at the screen, her fingers hovering over the keyboard. Should she tell him? Should she reveal this secret that could destroy everything?
"Found an enamel box with old letters and a photo." She replied finally. "Need time to organize. Suggest remote viewing— no access records."
"Bring the box back." Lysander replied instantly. "Now. Catherine's luncheon was canceled. She's on her way back to Paris. You have at most twenty minutes."
Zoe wiped her mouth, quickly photographed the letters and photo for backup, then returned the originals to the box. As she prepared to leave, her gaze flicked to the vanity mirror—
A tiny red light blinked at the edge of the frame.
A surveillance camera.
Catherine had definitely installed surveillance here. Which meant Zoe's every move might have been seen.
She had no time to hesitate. Zoe grabbed the enamel box and rushed out of the apartment. Before closing the door, she glanced one last time at the dim living room.
Hanging on the wall was a Chinese ink wash painting— a woman holding a fan beneath a willow tree.
Identical to the one Lysander had bought at auction.
Section 4: Confession in the Rain
As soon as Zoe ran out of the building, a black Mercedes sedan pulled up silently beside her. The rear window rolled down, revealing Lysander's face.
"Get in."
She opened the door and slid in, clutching the enamel box tightly. The car merged into traffic immediately.
"Catherine's men will be here in fifteen minutes." Lysander stared at surveillance footage on his tablet— he'd rented a room across from the building, monitoring it with binoculars. "You triggered a hidden alarm. But don't worry— my team has erased the access records."
Zoe said nothing. She watched Paris pass by the window, the afternoon sun gilding the Seine, but her world was collapsing.
"What's in the box?" Lysander asked.
Zoe opened the box, pulled out the black-and-white photo, and handed it to him.
Lysander froze the moment he took the photo. Zoe saw his fingers tremble slightly, his knuckles white with tension.
"This is…" His voice was hoarse.
"My mother." Zoe said softly. "The woman with the same name as yours. The little girl she's holding is probably the child she gave birth to in France, around 1983. Her name has a 'Lan' character."
Silence filled the car. The driver raised the partition.
"How much do you know?" Lysander asked after a long pause.
"I know you hate your mother for abandoning you and marrying into the Ji family." Zoe looked him straight in the eyes. "But what you might not know is that she had no choice. The Ji family gave her two options: take the money and leave, never seeing the child again; or be deported, returning to China with the child to live in poverty."
Lysander's lips twitched. "A touching story. Do you believe it?"
"The box has letters, legal documents." Zoe pulled out the copies. "You can read them yourself."
Lysander didn't take them. He still stared at the photo, his expression too complex for Zoe to decipher.
"If I told you," he said slowly, "that the woman in this photo came to see me at school when I was eight. She hid behind a tree, shaking with tears. I walked over and asked who she was. She said…"
He paused, his Adam's apple bobbing.
"She said, 'I'm a friend of your mother's. She asked me to tell you she loves you, but she can't come see you anymore— because it would hurt you.'"
Zoe's heart clenched.
"What happened next?"
"Then my father's car arrived." Lysander's voice was cold as ice. "Two men dragged her into it. I cried and chased after them, fell down, and scraped my knees raw. That night, my father beat me with his belt, saying I'd disgraced the Ji family. He said, 'That Chinese woman is a prostitute who'll sell anything for money. You have her blood, but if you obey me, I can make you a true Ji.'"
He looked up, something shattering in his slate-blue eyes.
"So I obeyed. I learned French, forgot Chinese, embraced everything French. I even…" He gave a bitter laugh. "Even cried no tears when my mother died in that car crash. Because my father said it was what she deserved."
Rain began to fall. Droplets hit the car windows, distorting the city outside.
"Lysander," Zoe said softly. "If… if you're the child in this photo, then you and I…"
"We're not blood-related." He cut her off sharply.
Zoe froze. "What?"
"Three years ago, I took a DNA test." Lysander pulled a folded report from his suit pocket and handed it to her. "The match rate between my sample and my father's is only 0.8%— almost certainly, he's not my biological father."
Zoe unfolded the report. Dated three years ago, from a top laboratory in Zurich.
"So you're not a Ji by blood?" She couldn't believe it. "Then why did they…?"
"Because of the will." Lysander closed his eyes. "My grandfather's will stipulated that the family business must pass to the eldest grandson. And before I was born, the eldest son of the Ji family— legally my father— was diagnosed as infertile. They needed a child to secure the inheritance."
Everything made sense. An elaborate scam: the Ji family needed an heir, and a lonely Chinese student had just given birth to a Frenchman's child. They bought the child with money and threats, then fabricated a story of the mother abandoning her.
And the real father, the "L.J." from the letters, might never have known he had a son.
"Do you know who your biological father is?" Zoe asked.
Lysander shook his head. "The letters only have initials. But I checked— among Chinese male students studying in Paris in the 1980s, twenty-seven had the initials L.J. Fifteen are dead, eight are missing, and the remaining four all deny it."
He took the photo back, his fingertips brushing the woman's face gently.
"Now you understand," he said quietly. "Why I have to destroy the Ji family. Why I have to take control of Vénus Noire, then tear it apart piece by piece."
This wasn't a business merger. It was a revenge twenty years in the making.
The car entered an underground garage. Before stopping, Lysander suddenly grabbed Zoe's wrist.
"This matter," he stared at her. "Stays between us. Not Lu Chen, not your boss Henry. If you breathe a word—"
"I won't." Zoe interrupted him. "But I have one condition."
Lysander raised an eyebrow.
"Let me help you." She said. "Not as an assistant, not as a pawn. As… an ally."
He studied her, his gaze sharp as a knife. "Why?"
"Because I want the truth too." Zoe held his stare. "About my mother, about why she never spoke of having another child in France. About why she kept that French diary until she died, but never explained it."
Lysander released her wrist. He leaned back in his seat, rubbing his brow tiredly.
"Do you know what this means?" He asked. "It means you'll be enemies with Catherine, with the entire Ji family. It means you could lose your job, your reputation, even…"
"Even my life?" Zoe smiled. "Mr. Ji, I'm someone who survived Wall Street. I know how to play dangerous games."
Lysander looked at her. Rain streamed down the garage ramp, forming a curtain of water. In the blurred light beyond, her face was steady and clear.
"Fine." He finally said. "But you'll sign another agreement."
"What kind of agreement?"
"If I fail, if the Ji family crushes me," he opened the car door. "You'll go back to New York immediately. Never return to Paris. Never pursue this matter again."
Zoe got out too. "What about you?"
Lysander didn't answer. He walked toward the elevator, his figure like a lonely monument in the dim garage.
Before the elevator doors closed, he said something, so softly she barely heard it:
"If I fail, Zoe Shen, I should have died in that car crash twenty years ago— with my mother."
The elevator rose. Zoe stood there, the enamel box in her arms suddenly feeling a thousand pounds.
Her phone vibrated. It was a text from Eva: "Emergency. Catherine just brought police and reporters to the club. She's accusing Mr. Ji of… sexual assault of a subordinate. Be careful— she's making her move."
Zoe took a deep breath and replied: "Got it. Do me a favor: check all Paris notary records from June 15, 1985. Look for an adoption agreement notarization involving a Chinese student."
"The time frame is too big," Eva replied. "Need a specific name."
Zoe typed: "The notary was probably Catherine Ji's fiancé at the time— his name might be blacked out. Adoptee: Ji Lan, or… Lysander Ji."
She hit send.
The elevator had reached the top floor. When the doors opened, Lysander's assistant Emma was waiting anxiously.
"Ms. Shen, Mr. Ji wants you in his office immediately." Her voice trembled. "Ms. Catherine brought police and reporters. She's accusing Mr. Ji of… sexual assault of a subordinate."
Zoe's heart stopped.
The game had begun.