The biting wind of North Hill International Airport sliced through Mo Yan's face like a thousand razor blades. It had been exactly five years since she was drugged by her stepsister, stripped of her inheritance, and cast out in disgrace after "losing" a child whose father she didn't even know.
Everyone thought she had died in a back alley in Paris. Instead, Mo Yan was back.
As she walked through the terminal, her twelve-centimeter stilettos produced a rhythmic, almost military sound. She wore a blood-red coat that made her porcelain-pale skin stand out. Behind her oversized dark sunglasses, her eyes were pools of ice.
"Sister, I hope you're enjoying my fiancé and my career," Mo Yan thought with a bitter smile. "Because I'm back to take everything back. With interest."
Suddenly, a small impact made her stumble.
"Hey!" a thin but imperious voice called her from below.
Mo Yan looked down. Standing before her was a boy about four or five years old. He wore a custom-made smoke-gray suit and a small bowtie. His face was of supernatural beauty, but his expression was one of glacial indifference, unusual for his age.
Behind him, a dozen men in black—looking absolutely terrified—were struggling to keep up with him.
"Little one, you should watch where you're going," Mo Yan said, kneeling to his level. For some strange reason, she felt a pang in her heart she hadn't felt in years.
The boy stared at her intensely. He didn't speak, but his eyes seemed to shimmer. Instead of running away, he suddenly grabbed the hem of Mo Yan's coat and wouldn't let go.
"Young Master! Please, let the lady go!" shouted the head of the bodyguards, breaking into a cold sweat. They all knew that little Lu Chen couldn't stand human contact, not even from his own father.
"He doesn't want to leave me," Mo Yan observed calmly, absentmindedly stroking the boy's hair. Incredibly, the child leaned his head against her hand, narrowing his eyes like a satisfied kitten.
At that moment, the crowd parted like the Red Sea. A man advanced with long, purposeful strides. The air around him seemed to freeze instantly. It was Lu Zhenting, the economic emperor of the city—the man said to have no heart, only a calculator in place of feelings.
Lu Zhenting stopped in front of Mo Yan. His shadow completely enveloped her.
"Leave my son," he ordered in a deep voice that would have made anyone tremble.
Mo Yan looked up, staring straight into his eyes without a shred of fear. "He's the one who won't leave me, Mr. Lu. And if I were you, I'd apologize for your blunt manners. Is this how you educate your heirs?"
The silence that followed was deafening. The bodyguards stopped breathing. No one had ever dared to speak to the "King of the North" like that.
Lu Zhenting narrowed his eyes, studying the woman before him. She was beautiful, but there was something in her gaze that felt strangely familiar... and dangerous.
"What do you want in exchange for his release?" he asked, his tone suggesting he could buy her the entire airport right then and there.
Mo Yan smiled, a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "I want you to take me to dinner. I'm hungry, and your son seems to have excellent taste in company."