At the airport corridor, Veil reluctantly said goodbye to Anna—her face hidden behind oversized sunglasses, a mask, and a scarf. Only the reflective lenses gave any hint of emotion.
Back in the car, Veil rolled down the window, lit a cigarette, took a deep drag, and exhaled a swirl of smoke into the air. He rubbed the faint mark Anna had left on his neck, encouraging the blood flow.
It would fade soon enough.
Kai was behind the wheel of the Bentley, driving slowly. With Anna no longer in the passenger seat, the tension that had lingered in the car evaporated.
He glanced at the rearview mirror, grinning as he gave Veil a thumbs-up.
"Boss, that was impressive. Seriously. We’re talking about Anna—the queen of the entertainnt world! In all of Trasidia, who doesn’t know her na? Every mogul in the industry, even so of the biggest sharks in finance, have been chasing after her, hoping for just a chance encounter. And you? You t her a handful of tis and sohow had her completely enchanted.
"Did you see the way she looked when she left? If it weren’t for so binding contract she couldn’t get out of, I bet she would’ve paid the penalty herself just to stay."
Veil blew out a puff of smoke and rolled his eyes.
"What are you trying to say? That I’m a player?"
Kai quickly shook his head. "No way! Co on, I know you better than anyone. Anna’s been stuck in the chaos of showbiz her whole life, surrounded by sharks and sycophants. She’s exhausted—directionless. You didn’t toy with her emotions. You gave her sothing real. A ho. A safe haven, free of gas and greed. That’s not being a player. That’s being a goddamn miracle."
Veil snorted. "And here I thought telling you to read more would make you smarter. Guess all it did was teach you how to spin fairy tales."
He flicked the cigarette into the ashtray and paused for a mont.
"What’s the situation with Dorian Wilson?"
To Veil, a so-called "Child of Fate" from the entertainnt world was far too weak to be a real concern—more of a background nuisance. Still, he’d given orders about him earlier and figured it was worth checking in.
"Dorian Wilson? The screenwriter guy?"
Kai instantly pictured him, swallowed hard, and sighed.
"That kid... damn, he’s hit rock bottom. After turning down our buyout offer, he tried shopping his script around to other publishers. One of them—guy’s got a real... specific taste—slipped sothing into Dorian’s drink during a eting. Ever since, whenever our people trail him, they keep seeing him sob uncontrollably in public restrooms."
Veil didn’t say anything, but the look in his eyes said he understood all too well.
He’d ordered Cody and the others to make Dorian’s career harder—not to push him into complete ruin. Still, this unexpected turn of events wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. Zoe, Anna—they were both "Fated Ones." And both Legend of Heroes and Regret were destined to beco blockbuster hits.
Now both works belonged to him.
Dorian’s fate had dimd. His luck had soured. It all made sense.
The Bentley continued cruising down the road, Kai recounting the long string of disasters Dorian had endured: stepping in dog shit, getting crapped on by birds, rejected repeatedly by publishers. And just when soone finally showed interest in his script? It wasn’t for the work—it was for his body. Left him... well, still crying day and night from that encounter.
Brutal.
Elsewhere in the city, at a high-end golf course, several well-dressed socialites were gathered near the helipad, gawking at the sleek black private jet parked there.
"They say poor n show off with cars, rich n with watches. But this... this is another level," one woman gasped.
"Whose jet is that? I’ve never seen it before."
"I’d love for him to teach golf. He could stand behind , hands guiding mine, body pressed close. I an, who cares if sothing ends up inside ? As long as it feels good, I’m not complaining," another said with a giggle.
These weren’t outsiders—they were all from the sa social circles. Among friends, there were no filters, just raw envy and unfiltered curiosity.
Why were they lingering? Simple. They were hoping to et the jet’s owner. Maybe get invited onboard. Maybe even experience a little turbulence of the private kind.
"Hey, what are you all doing out here?" a voice called from behind.
Veil walked toward them, amusent flickering in his eyes. "This is a golf course, right? Not exactly a spectator arena. Anyone up for a round?"
One of the won, cute in a girl-next-door kind of way, smiled playfully and offered a polite refusal.
"This spot has a great view. Thought we’d enjoy the breeze. Besides, we’ve already played a few rounds. Getting a little tired. You go ahead, we’ll catch up later?"
Truth be told, she thought Veil was handso. Charming, even. But in her mind, the owner of that jet had to be so sixty-sothing tycoon—and in comparison, Veil ca off a little... underwhelming.
Of course, she wasn’t planning to burn bridges. If Veil wanted to "teach" her golf later, she’d be more than willing.
"Ah well," Veil sighed, walking past them and toward the jet.
The hatch opened, and he and Kai stepped in. Monts later, the rotors roared to life. The private jet lifted off, blades slicing the air.
As the grass rippled beneath them and the jet soared into the sky, the won stood stunned.
"...Are you f***ing kidding ?! That was his jet?"
"You absolute idiot. He invited you to play golf, and you turned him down?!"
"You’ve gotta be brain-dead! That guy’s plane alone costs tens of millions—maybe more. And you thought he was just so nobody?"
The woman they were yelling at snapped. Eyes burning red, she scread, "Shut the hell up!"
She glared at her so-called ’friends.’ Were they mad at her for missing the chance? Or just pissed they couldn’t take it themselves?
As if she wanted to pass on that opportunity!
She’d assud the jet belonged to so ancient billionaire—and honestly, that kind of wealth outweighed looks in her book.
But Veil? He wasn’t just young. He was stunning.
If she’d known he was the owner, she wouldn’t have turned him down for anything.
Regret burned in her chest like fire.
She’d ssed up. Big ti.
"Boss, that socialite just now—honestly, she was pretty hot, huh?"
Kai grinned innocently at Veil as he boarded the jet.
Gotta admit, the group of socialites they’d run into at the golf course? High quality, no question.
Especially the one Veil actually spoke to.
Now, let’s clear sothing up—don’t go believing all that crap from cliché novels or TV dramas about socialite ’green tea bitches.’
Lies. All of it.
If every rich girl really looked like so plastic-surgery disaster with a chin sharp enough to stab soone, how the hell would there even be rich n hanging out with them?
What, you think billionaires have never seen a pretty face before?
Please.
Those stories are just trying to make the female lead look better by dumbing down the competition.
In real life? The top-tier socialites—especially the ones who actually survive and thrive in wealthy circles—don’t just look good. They’ve got the face, the body, the presence. So of them even copy whatever the current ’ideal woman’ is down to the last detail.
And Kai? He was just one wrong look away from falling straight into that trap.
Those won had him stirred up and half-aroused already.
"You want to turn the plane around and bring a couple of them along to keep you company?" Veil asked, casting a cool glance in Kai’s direction.
Didn’t matter how hot they were—Veil couldn’t care less about that whole scene.
He had a bit of a thing about cleanliness.
If soone else had already pissed in the pool, he wasn’t jumping in.
Kai swallowed and rubbed his palms awkwardly. "Boss, co on... I was just saying. You think I’m that kind of guy?"
"That so?" Veil raised a brow. "Funny. I was going to have you handle casting for my new series. But if you’re in that kind of mood, maybe I’ll hand it off to Cody and the others instead."
Legend of Heroes was practically greenlit already. As soon as the casting was in place, he could throw a few million at it, and the whole production would be up and running in no ti.
With Anna already on board, the project was guaranteed to generate buzz.
And even if he had to rely on brute-force advertising, all it took was enough money to make it trend.
Actors? Not a problem.
Once word got out, they’d be swarming in, begging for an audition.
Who made the final cut? That’d co down to talent—and maybe a little bit of what they were willing to offer in return.
Veil wasn’t shy about it.
Give and take—that’s just business.
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