“Don’t worry, I’m here.”
— Damian Shaw
*
Didu.
Late night.
The streets were still crowded, buzzing with life.
The night had barely started warming up.
At the center of the busiest district stood QUEENBAR.
Loud, heated, pulsing.
Music wrapped around the space, lights flashing nonstop.
“How’s it going?”
“Still waiting.”
Scarlett Evans sat in the farthest corner and ended the call.
Her skin was so pale it almost glowed.
The high‑slit slip dress hugged every curve she had.
Her bare shoulder held a thin black strap that looked like it could snap at any moment.
Between her long fingers rested a half‑burned slim cigarette.
She lifted it to her red, glossy lips and took a slow drag.
The way she moved—charming, lazy, almost dangerous—was enough to hook anyone watching.
Then she raised her eyes toward the second floor, catching the view up there, and a small, knowing smile tugged at her mouth.
She crushed the cigarette and tossed it into the glass ashtray.
Meanwhile, on the second floor—
a private area reserved for a select few.
On an expensive leather sofa sat two men, each with a striking presence.
Their features were sharp, almost perfectly carved.
One was dressed in a tailored suit.
The other lounged in casual wear, relaxed and effortless.
On the table lay a bottle of the pricey Louis XIII LEMATHUSALEM.
The crystal decanter sparkled, and even the stopper looked refined.The deep amber glowed softly, carrying a rich, heady scent.
Adrian Grant lifted the decanter, letting the liquor slide into the carved crystal glass.
Damian Shaw sat at the head of the table, staring at the drink with that usual cold detachment.
His nose was sharp, his eyes dark and predatory like some hawk sizing up the world.
His brows were hard, his face all sharp lines, and that jaw—clean-cut and icy—made him look even more untouchable.
His thin lips held no hint of a smile, as if warmth had nothing to do with him at all.
He never cared for women; that aloof, almost chilling nobility was the side he showed the world.
But when it came to his methods, he was ruthless to the bone.
“Heard you ditched Director Zhou’s dinner tonight?” Adrian lifted his glass a little, taking in the aroma.
Damian lit the cigarette between his fingers, answering with a quiet “Yeah.”
The tiny flame flickered, reflecting in his eyes that carried zero warmth.
“Pointless dinner. Boring.”
Adrian chuckled under his breath, thinking of the rumors outside, and teased, “You seriously not into women?”
Damian took a long drag, smoke curling around him, obviously not planning to respond.
His gaze drifted toward the wedding ring on Adrian’s finger, and he smirked. “Not heading home?”
Following his look, Adrian turned the ring lightly, eyes softening with something like fondness.
“Got permission. Can stay out late.”
A little show‑off, a little genuine.At that moment, Scarlett Evans slipped into the dim backstage on the first floor.
She waited quietly, like a hunter settling in for the moment her prey showed up.
Sure, waiting around felt kind of dumb, but sometimes the dumb method worked best.
When her gaze brushed past the shadowed corner upstairs and caught the man’s silhouette, her eyes narrowed a little.
And right then, every light in the place snapped off.
Only the hazy glow over the dance floor stayed, the whole vibe turning instantly suggestive.
The noisy crowd quieted without warning, as if someone hit a mute button.
Then she appeared—this seductive woman with a half veil hiding her face, only her enchanting eyes showing.
Her heels tapped lightly as she walked out, poised and slow, every step reeling people in.
The high‑slit dress swayed with her movements, revealing and hiding her long legs in turns.
Those long legs alone were enough to make anyone lose their composure.
Her loose waves slid over her shoulders, half covering the curve of her chest.
Right on cue, the sultry music started up: Tonight
Best You Ever Had
.
Scarlett twisted her waist effortlessly, her charm aimed straight at the man on the second floor.
Damian Shaw, who had stepped out for air, still held a half‑burnt cigarette between his fingers.
His cool, distant gaze was drawn to the woman in the center of the floor.
Honestly, there probably wasn’t a single man here capable of resisting her like this.
Adrian Grant lifted his glass, followed Damian’s line of sight, and said, “You into her?”
Damian didn’t reply, just flicked off the ash with a silent, indifferent motion.At that moment, her fox‑like eyes locked onto his dark gaze with unsettling precision.
Whether she meant it or not was impossible to tell.
The corner of Damian Shaw’s mouth tugged up the faintest bit as he drew on his cigarette, a smile so light it might’ve been imagined.
When her dance eased toward its end, he pressed out the dying ember.
“Slim. Soft.”
He tossed out that casual remark and vanished from the crowd without a backward glance.
By the time Scarlett Evans stepped off the stage to look for him, the man was long gone.
Her brows tightened, and she slipped out through the back door.
Neon flashed across the street as a crimson Ferrari sped past, seductive and wild—exactly like the person driving it.
Annoyance simmering under her ribs, Scarlett pulled on her lady’s cigarette.
Just then, the phone on the passenger seat lit up with a call.
She glanced over, slid on her Bluetooth earpiece.
“No. He left.”
Whatever the person said made her press harder on the accelerator. “I’ll be there in thirty minutes.”
She hung up right after.
The gloom from earlier faded a little, a faint curve slipping into her eyes.
Even her loose hair danced lightly in the breeze.
Midnight.
Moonlight hazy.
Scarlett stood by the window with a glass of red wine in hand.
She stared into the dark outside, eyes lifting with a lazy sharpness.
Then she tipped back the good wine, took her time, and finally turned around.On the bedside table lay an exquisitely made invitation to the banquet.
In the darkness, a streak of gold flickered.
The back mountain was damp and cold.
Damian Shaw stood hidden in the shadows, his gaze locked on the wolves tearing at their prey.
Ash drifted from his fingers as his cigarette burned low.
“Sir, DingSheng Group is hosting a banquet tomorrow night. Here’s the invitation.”
Damian took it without a word.
Night fell.
At the entrance of the elite banquet, rows of well‑trained bodyguards stood straight like a wall.
Gossip from the upper circle buzzed everywhere.
Then a black Rolls‑Royce pulled up, instantly quieting the crowd.
Damian stepped out in a tailored suit, all cool composure and distant elegance.
His polished shoes hit the floor with a steady sound.
Unlike others who arrived with glamorous dates, he had only a male assistant behind him.
People in the business world wanted to curry favor with him, yet none dared get too close.
Just then, Scarlett Evans walked toward him in a server’s uniform, heels clicking lightly.
Her tiny pencil skirt barely covered the tops of her thighs.
Her long legs drew eyes without even trying.
Her slim waist, tightly outlined, hinted at softness beneath.
“Mr. Shaw, would you like red wine, champagne, or a glass of white?”
Damian’s eyes swept over her, narrowing slightly.
He didn’t answer.
He simply lifted a hand and took a glass from the tray.Suddenly, Scarlett Evans caught sight of a male waiter heading straight toward her.
Her long leg shifted lightly to the side.
In that split second, the two collided.
The drinks splashed all over Damian Shaw’s pricey suit, the stain spreading fast across the fabric.
Before the assistant behind him even processed what happened, Scarlett, already full of apology, pulled out the tissues she’d prepared.
She bent down to wipe the spill, her voice soft and frantic. “Mr. Shaw, I’m so sorry, I really am.”
Through the thin fabric, her gentle hand brushed against the firm lines of his chest again and again.
The moment Damian lowered his gaze, the scene hit him square in the eyes.
The surrounding guests, hearing the commotion, all turned to look.
Everyone thought the pretty waitress was doomed tonight.
After all, everyone knew the most untouchable man in the business world never tolerated physical contact with women.
But the feared Damian simply turned and headed upstairs.
All the bloody scenarios people had imagined never happened.
Scarlett glanced at the male waiter still sprawled on the floor.
With a slight curve of her eyes, she whispered, “Thanks.”
