He moved through the crowd, a predator drawn to its prey. The scent grew stronger, leading him away from the glittering ballroom and towards a set of glass doors that opened onto a private terrace. Each step was deliberate, weighted with a hope he had long since buried. He pushed open the doors and stepped into the cool night air, the humid Singapore air thick with the promise of rain.
The terrace shimmered under the soft glow of strategically placed lanterns, illuminating a scene that stole the breath from his lungs. A woman stood beside a marble fountain, bathed in a light that seemed to cling to her like liquid gold. She was dressed in imperial gold and white silk, the colors of a dynasty, her gown flowing around her with an ethereal grace that spoke of power and poise.
It was Xia, but not the Xia he remembered. The timid girl, the gentle soul who’d trembled beneath his touch, was gone. This woman was a queen, her eyes holding the cool authority of someone who commanded armies and conquered markets. Her warmth was replaced by an icy elegance, a carefully constructed mask of indifference that chilled him to the core. She was the chairwoman of the Han Group, a titan of industry, a force to be reckoned with, and the Jasmine flower had blossomed into an Imperial Rose.
Beside her stood two children. Twins. A boy and a girl, their features a haunting blend of Xia's delicate beauty and a familiar, unsettling sharpness that sent a jolt of recognition through Zhenting’s heart. The boy, no older than five, was meticulously studying a financial tablet, his brow furrowed in concentration. His focus was unnervingly intense, mirroring Zhenting's own analytical precision. His eyes, sharp and calculating, held the cold spark of ambition, and Zhenting felt the unsettling sensation of looking into a mirror.