C6 It has nothing to do with her.

Seven years had passed, yet he could still see her—standing in front of the villa’s massive gates as he sat in his car, about to leave for Country A. She hadn’t moved. She stood like a statue, expressionless. Her tears were gone. So was her smile.

He pulled over, hoping—perhaps foolishly—that she would run to him, break down, beg for forgiveness.

But she didn’t.

She just stood there. And watched him go.

He went mad after his father’s sudden death. It wasn’t natural—there was a conspiracy behind it. And while his father had been taken from him, their family hadn’t been completely destroyed. With relentless fury, he tore down every man involved. One by one. He had used every weapon at his disposal to avenge the man who had raised him. But in doing so, he lost the boy he once was—the boy who loved basketball and dreamed freely.

> “Mom, I’ve never broken a promise. I still swear—I won’t think about her. But I will never forget the day Father died.”

He was tired. Tired of thinking about her. Tired of holding on. But how could he let go, when his father had died in his arms?

Mrs. Qing remembered it all too well. After her husband’s death, her only son lost his sanity—and she nearly lost hers watching him burn in his grief. She cried herself to sickness for months. The doctors warned him: if she didn’t find a reason to live, she would die of heartbreak. And for Ziyan, nothing—neither vengeance nor business—mattered more than his mother’s life.

So he promised her. He’d leave the past behind. He’d walk away from it all. He left the country to live quietly. And he never looked back.

> “Son, she had nothing to do with your father’s death. And you cannot hate a dead girl. She’s already gone.”

After Ziyan left for Country A, Mrs. Qing returned from the hospital. Even while confined to bed rest, she had wanted—desperately—to meet the girl who had shattered their once peaceful lives.

But when she called her manager, asking him to invite the girl to the house, she received devastating news.

She had jumped from a building. She was dead.

> “Mom… until I see her body with my own eyes… I won’t believe she’s dead.”

His tone was rushed but calm. Not angry. Just… resolute.

He hated her—so why did the word “dead” sound so heavy? Why did it cut like that?

Why couldn’t he accept she was gone?

Mrs. Qing didn’t know what to say. Her son’s voice stunned her.

She remembered, painfully, the first time she visited him after recovering—traveling to that foreign country to find her son shut in his study, surrounded by documents he was far too young to be reading.

At nineteen, he should have been playing, laughing, falling in and out of love.

Instead, he was buried in company reports.

> “Mum? What are you doing here? Why didn’t you call first?”

> “Son… I need to tell you something. You don’t have to listen. But if you do, swear to me you won’t spiral again.”

He stepped forward and held her by the shoulders. His voice trembled.

> “Tell me, Mum. I swear.”

She hesitated. Then, finally, she said it.

> “She… killed herself after you left. She’s no longer alive.”

He flinched. His jaw tightened. But his face didn’t change. Only his grip loosened.

Was he turning into a soulless monster? Did he feel anything anymore?

Mrs. Qing feared the answer.

> “Did you see her body, Mom?”

> “No,” she admitted with a slight shake of her head.

> “Did any of our people see it?”

> “No. Her body had already been buried.”

> “Then don’t worry. She’s still alive.”

He had refused to believe it. Refused to grieve. He searched for her like a madman, clinging to the belief that she had survived.

Ziyan eventually excused himself from his study, claiming to have a meeting. But truly, he couldn’t bear the weight of his mother’s eyes on him.

He sat in the backseat of his car, heart clenched, memories flashing through his mind like lightning. His mother never knew what he truly felt when he heard the news of her death. He told her he would be fine. He lied.

> “Where are we headed, Sir?” the driver asked, snapping him out of his thoughts.

> “To the company,” he answered sharply, his voice leaving no room for hesitation.

The Ferrari sliced through the streets like a jet in flight. Even though it wasn’t rush hour, traffic still lingered, but no lights or vehicles could slow them down. The driver, wearing sunglasses, bobbed to the beat of loud music, belting out lyrics as if the car were his stage.

Eventually, they stopped in front of Qing Corporation’s towering headquarters—the tallest, most extravagant building in the entire country. Qing Pvt. Ltd. stood like a king among castles.

The man strode into the building like it belonged to him.

> “Hey, sweetheart, where’s your boss?” he asked, flashing a charming grin.

The receptionist’s jaw dropped. Her gaze trailed him like a magnet. Sure, her boss was known for his beauty, but this man… this one had a dangerous allure.

> “He’s… he’s in his office,” she stammered, but he was already gone.

He moved with such speed and confidence that even when she called security, they couldn’t catch up. Morning activity buzzed around them, but he was undeterred.

On the 88th floor, a man sat in silence, flipping through files with razor-sharp focus. The office door was wide open, yet Ziyan Qing didn’t so much as glance up.

> “You didn’t even tell us you were returning to Nation M?”

Security guards trailed behind the tall, handsome man with his hand casually tucked in his pocket. More guards rushed to intercept, but Ziyan didn’t need to look up.

He already knew who it was.