RRP Chapter 1

For Zong Bolin, the best kind of indulgence was nothing more than a tender, moonlit night with soft whispers and a warm embrace.

 

He watched as the woman in front of him turned slightly to fix her hair. Her jet-black locks contrasted beautifully with the pale curve of her neck, making it seem so delicate, as if a single touch could shatter it. Unable to resist, he reached out to caress it, curious if it was as fragile as it looked.

 

The woman, ticklish, shrank back slightly and turned to face him with a sweet smile. “Bolin,” she called softly.

 

Zong Bolin smiled back at her, his gaze calm and amused.

 

This woman was a rising star in the entertainment industry, a rare gem among the usual gaudy crowd. Her elegance and poise were remarkable, making her seem more like a refined lady from an aristocratic family than a modern-day actress.

 

Or maybe, he thought, it was just her superb acting skills.

 

That, too, was amusing to him. After all, wasn’t acting out a romantic scene with an actress like her, in real life, a bit of a romance in itself?

 

But indulgence was indulgence. Zong Bolin wasn’t the type to lose himself in fleeting pleasures, though he did enjoy the warmth of the game while it lasted.

 

He glanced at his watch and said, “It’s getting late.”

 

Only a fool wouldn’t catch his meaning. Yet, clinging to a sliver of hope, the woman pouted and said, “But it’s raining outside. Can’t we stay here for the night?”

 

Zong Bolin didn’t answer, merely smiled that same faint smile.

 

Even the most self-assured woman would have to give up at this point. She let out a soft sigh and said, “Bolin, you really are heartless.”

 

Zong Bolin patted her cheek lightly and replied, “I’m a man who values punctuality and efficiency.”

 

When he said something would start, it would start. When it was time to end, there could be no delay.

 

Not even the sweetest game could hold him back for a moment longer.

 

Tomorrow morning, Zong Bolin had a board meeting. He had no intention of spending the night at the club. After the meeting, he would be flying to Germany to attend his younger brother’s graduation ceremony.

 

For him, time had to be meticulously planned. He despised anything that disrupted his schedule.

 

His beautiful companion understood this about him. Comforting herself, she said, “Well, I suppose it’s better this way. If you were as sentimental as that Young Master Yan from the south, it’d be a whole different kind of headache.”

 

In the business world, who hadn’t heard of Yan Yixuan, the famously charming heir of the southern port family? With his aristocratic background, striking looks, and infamously romantic nature, Yan Yixuan was known for his boundless affection—men or women, he didn’t care, leaving trails of broken hearts everywhere he went. Though gossip about his countless entanglements ran rampant, the number of people knocking on his door only seemed to grow.

 

Zong Bolin had, of course, met Yan Yixuan before. The man’s reputation as suave and charming wasn’t an exaggeration. But so what? What mattered to Zong Bolin wasn’t charm—it was the financial ties between them.

 

Still, he couldn’t help finding the topic amusing. Turning to the actress beside him, he asked, “Isn’t Yan Yixuan supposed to be every woman’s dream man?”

 

The woman covered her mouth with a soft laugh, exuding a playful elegance. “Someone as devoted to romance as Young Master Yan? No thanks. I prefer someone mature and steady, like you.”

 

Zong Bolin smiled. Then he asked, “And if I had no money, would you still love me?”

 

Men liked asking women this question, just like women enjoyed asking, ‘Would you still love me if I weren’t beautiful?’

 

The woman replied confidently, “Even if you looked like a god, I wouldn’t give you a second glance without money.”

 

What an honest, sharp-tongued woman—exactly the kind Zong Bolin appreciated.

 

As the woman said, Zong Bolin was indeed wealthy.

 

The Zong family’s business empire was one of the earliest to rise to prominence. Step by step, the older generation had built up their fortune over the decades, and now the Zong Group stood as one of the country’s leading conglomerates. With the first generation of private entrepreneurs slowly retreating from the stage, their children were stepping up to inherit the empires. Zong Bolin was a textbook example of this new generation.

 

But Zong Bolin wasn’t the stereotypical second-generation rich kid people imagined. As the eldest son, he had grown up watching his father’s relentless efforts to build the business. From a young age, he carried a deep sense of responsibility and an acute awareness of potential risks. He approached his work with discipline, never allowing himself to slack off.

 

Now, with a vastly different economic landscape, where traditional industries faced mounting challenges, Zong Bolin knew his task was far from easy.

 

Intelligent and composed, he had been groomed as the heir from a young age, even though he had a younger brother.

 

Zong Jiqi, the younger brother, had never shown any interest in competing for the family business. Instead, he poured all his energy into science, leaving the country to pursue further studies long before Zong Bolin took over the Zong Group.

 

Soon, Zong Jiqi would earn his PhD, and as the older brother, Zong Bolin was preparing to travel overseas to congratulate him in person.

 

Under Zong Bolin’s leadership, the Zong Group continued to thrive, while Zong Jiqi excelled academically. On the surface, everything seemed perfect.

 

As Zong Bolin stood to leave, the woman helped adjust his jacket, her reluctance evident in her every movement. She finally bid him farewell, and he called for his secretary to escort him home.

 

This secretary had been by Zong Bolin’s side for many years. While not extraordinarily capable, he had earned Zong Bolin’s trust through his attention to detail. While the office staff managed corporate affairs, this secretary handled the personal tasks that Zong Bolin needed most.

 

“The car is ready, sir,” the secretary said, then added, “It’s pouring outside, and the night is chilly. Would you like to put on another layer?”

 

Zong Bolin nodded.

 

The secretary helped him into a coat, and the two stepped out of the club. However, Zong Bolin didn’t see the car. Frowning, he asked, “Where’s the driver?”

 

“I’ll drive tonight,” the secretary replied.

 

The secretary drove in silence, while Zong Bolin reclined in the back seat with his eyes closed. Outside, rain lashed against the windows. Even though it was late, the storm made the city seem darker than ever, a dense and oppressive blackness.

 

The darkness hung low over the ground like a suffocating shroud, pressing mere feet above the earth. The streetlights, which should have been glowing brightly, seemed nearly extinguished. The sound of rain drumming against the car added to the oppressive mood, a ceaseless rhythm that grated on the nerves.

 

Zong Bolin listened to the rain, but his thoughts drifted far across the ocean.

 

Zong Jiqi had finished his studies, but what came next for him was unclear. If he wished to continue pursuing scientific research, Zong Bolin wouldn’t hesitate to fund him. However, if Jiqi intended to return home, Zong Bolin would need to plan carefully.

 

No matter what, whatever Zong Jiqi decided, Zong Bolin was determined to keep everything under control.

 

He didn’t like people—or situations—escaping his grasp.

 

This applied to his business, as well as to the men and women who came into his life.

 

“Boss,” the secretary called out, breaking his reverie. Zong Bolin gathered his thoughts and opened his eyes.

 

But the secretary didn’t continue right away. As Zong Bolin’s brow began to furrow, the man finally spoke again: “It’s the first time you’re heading to America without setting a return date.”

 

Zong Bolin remained silent. The truth was, he didn’t know how long he’d need to stay in the U.S., given Zong Jiqi’s uncertain plans.

 

“It shows how much you value your brother’s matters,” the secretary continued.

 

“I’ve always taken my brother’s affairs seriously,” Zong Bolin replied, puzzled by the secretary’s sudden focus on this subject.

 

“But no matter what happens, I’m sure you’ve already made the arrangements. Mr. Jiqi won’t escape your grasp, one way or another.”

 

At this, Zong Bolin’s brow furrowed deeply.

 

What the secretary said was true. Though the return date was undecided, Zong Bolin had already charted a path for Zong Jiqi. No matter how his brother chose, there were only two options available to him.

 

Either he would remain in academia and continue as the dutiful younger brother of the Zong family, or he would lose everything.

 

The logic was obvious, and Zong Jiqi, being intelligent, surely understood it as well. Not just Zong Jiqi—anyone involved would grasp this unspoken truth.

 

But some truths, though known to all, were never meant to be voiced.

 

And now, Zong Bolin’s own personal secretary had laid it bare.

 

“This is none of your concern,” Zong Bolin said, his tone now sharp and severe.

 

The secretary, usually perceptive and attuned to his moods, seemed oddly oblivious to Zong Bolin’s displeasure. “Boss, this is just how you are. You can’t stand it when people don’t follow your plans. Do you realize you’re a control freak?”

 

Zong Bolin was well aware of his own domineering tendencies. But to be called a control freak so blatantly—even by someone as familiar as his secretary—was infuriating. Still, every action had a cause, and the secretary’s unusual behavior likely stemmed from something deeper.

 

“Have I mistreated you somehow, to make you harbor such grievances?” Zong Bolin asked.

 

At last, the secretary responded: “Not at all. It’s just… tonight, seeing how you could pull yourself out of such a tender moment despite the pouring rain, I couldn’t help but feel—”

 

“It makes me wonder,” the secretary continued, his tone tinged with a strange melancholy, “what kind of person it would take to actually keep you.”

 

“You’re wealthy, good-looking, successful, decisive, and charming in a way that makes people gravitate toward you. It’s hard not to fall for you. But having worked as your secretary for so many years, I’ve seen it all. When you’re enamored with someone, you treat them like a treasure, but when you’re tired of them, you cast them aside without hesitation. To you, love is just a game, but you don’t realize you’re playing with other people’s hearts.”

 

Zong Bolin listened to the accusations and, after a moment, understood.

 

There it was—that familiar bitterness. A capable work partner who now wanted something more. Someone foolish enough to think climbing into his bed would change things.

 

“You really don’t have to do this,” Zong Bolin said coolly. “If you want to change your role, I doubt the new one will come with better treatment.”

 

The secretary responded, his voice sharp with irony: “I know you’re someone who keeps business and personal matters separate. You’d never allow anyone you’ve had a physical relationship with to remain in your company. That’s another form of control, isn’t it? You must think I’m a fool, don’t you? In your eyes, a secretary is more ‘respectable’ than a lover?”

 

Even Zong Bolin felt the words were becoming unreasonably bold. His tone hardened. “If that’s how you feel, then it’s clear you’ve thought this through before speaking. I respect that. Pull the car over. I’ll take you to a more appropriate place where we can have this conversation properly.”

 

But the secretary ignored him, letting out a dry laugh instead.

 

From his seat in the back, Zong Bolin couldn’t see the secretary’s face. He could only hear his voice, bitter and resolute: “See? You’re trying to seize control of the situation again. But I’m not one of your disposable lovers. I’ve been by your side for too long—I know you too well. Once you take charge, you’ll start brushing me off like you always do.”

 

There was despair in his voice, and Zong Bolin felt a deep unease creep over him. He spoke carefully: “Calm down. These negative emotions don’t benefit either of us. Let’s—”

 

The car sped through the dark, rain-soaked streets as the secretary continued, his voice heavy with years of unspoken thoughts. “I’ve spent a long time thinking about what I wanted to say. And now that I’ve said it, I know I’ve already lost this job. But Boss, someone like you, who only cares about your company and your money, will never understand what it means to truly care about someone. You probably think I’m pathetic and disgusting right now. But let me warn you: you can’t control everything—not people’s hearts, not life and death.”

 

As if to punctuate his words, a pair of blinding high beams suddenly pierced through the rain-soaked darkness, coming straight toward them. The oncoming car had its high beams on full, and the glare made it impossible for Zong Bolin to see anything. His vision blurred, and before he could process what was happening, the car he was in swerved violently.

 

There was a blaring horn, followed by a deafening crash.

 

And then, everything went black.

 

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