Crimson Contract

Genius

After school, Aurora ventures to a nearby supermarket, procuring vegetables, fruits, and meats. Passing through the park, he spies an elderly man seated upon a bench.

Clad in a well-fitted Tang suit, the man exudes an aura of imposing dignity.

Not far off, an elongated Rolls-Royce limousine rests by the roadside, its driver anxiously phoning for a tow, the vehicle evidently stalled.

Their eyes meet squarely. Alaric Blackthorne rises abruptly, his visage transformed by agitation, startling Aurora.

“You…”

Perplexed, Aurora—ever the gentlemanly Sugar Cub—offers a refined smile. “Good day, venerable sir!”

Alaric Blackthorne stands aghast. The boy from the airport, glimpsed fleetingly that day, bore a striking resemblance to Lucian. Now, face-to-face, the likeness is uncanny!

Those brows, that veiled elegance—nine parts in ten a mirror image.

“Who is your father?” Alaric Blackthorne blurts, his voice quivering despite decades of commanding the mercantile battlefield.

“Dear sir, do you ask every stranger you meet of their father?” Aurora replies with a gracious smile.

Alaric Blackthorne’s breath catches, halted by the ringing of his phone. As he answers, Aurora prepares to depart, yet pauses at the old man’s first words.

“Lucian’s secretary is to be replaced?” Alaric Blackthorne’s tone is grave, his countenance darkening.

Aurora’s brow arches, a pensive look crossing his face.

“Then let Ruoxi take the post—at least I’ll have peace of mind watching him!” Alaric Blackthorne’s voice chills to ice.

Aurora’s lips curve elegantly, though a trace of frost tinges the gesture.

His obsidian eyes flicker with mockery, swiftly veiled, restoring the poised Sugar Cub.

“Very well, so be it!” Alaric Blackthorne ends the call, his gaze locking onto Aurora’s face. “Who is your father?” he repeats.

Aurora smiles with exquisite grace. “He is a teacher—you needn’t know more!”

With that, he strides away.

A teacher? Alaric Blackthorne’s lips tighten, a bitter chuckle escaping. Perhaps mere coincidence—how could Lucian entwine with common folk?

Nearing the apartment, Aurora retrieves his phone and dials. “Lila, I need a favor…”

Blackthorne Inc., the President’s Office.

Lucian reclines upon a leather sofa, his tailored Armani suit accentuating a visage both bewitching and noble. His frigid gaze lends him an air of elegance tinged with aloofness.

Sunlight slants through the window, dappling his form with fragmented beams, cloaking him in an aura of mesmerizing potency.

Lucian, aged twenty-seven, the third scion of the Blackthorne Family, graduated from Harvard. Three years ago, he assumed the helm of Blackthorne Inc., and with deft skill and innate talent, he has, in mere years, carved his name across the mercantile realm, elevating the company to unprecedented heights.

His iron-fisted approach and resolute decisions render this youthful president invincible in commerce, a master of shifting fortunes.

Yet he is equally notorious as a libertine executive. With a fortune in the billions and a countenance of striking beauty, Lucian is the coveted prize of debutantes and ladies of refinement, a beacon to celebrities and magnates alike. Voluptuous or slender, all are his to choose.

Rumors abound that Yun Ruoxi, heiress of the Yun Consortium, is his official paramour, their union nearing matrimonial vows. Intimate photographs have graced the tabloids.

Even so, Lucian’s carousel of lovers spins at a staggering pace—actresses, heiresses, refined maidens, and humble beauties alike. None he desires escape his grasp.

Save for Yun Ruoxi, no woman lingers by his side beyond ten days. Lucian’s creed is clear: part amicably. His wealth and charm draw throngs; his ruthlessness and resolve deter prolonged entanglements.

Thus, he bears the moniker of the profligate president.

Now, his brow furrows in displeasure, his icy stare sweeping over his secretary, You Lili.

You Lili, drenched in cold sweat, quails beneath his gaze. Though wife to his friend, Lucian’s piercing look unnerves her still. Who could foresee a sudden pregnancy necessitating leave? “President, I’ll select a suitable replacement for my role.”

“No need!” Lucian’s tone is glacial, his slender eyes narrowing. “Instruct HR to recruit!”

You Lili hesitates, braving rebuke to speak. “President, I’ve a candidate to recommend—might you consider her?”

Heavens, Lucian’s visage is fearsome—will she perish before her task begins?

“Speak!”

“Yes—my friend served a year as secretary to Phoenix Inc.’s president. She’s returned home, seeking work. Her competence is exceptional—I’m certain she surpasses me for this post.”

Phoenix Inc.? A year under that banner bespeaks undeniable prowess. Kloss, that eccentric tyrant, cycles secretaries monthly—his quirks legion, his standards exacting. He spurns simpering fools and ornamental vases. To endure three months beneath him marks one among the world’s elite secretaries.

“Submit her résumé to HR—no interview required!” Lucian decrees swiftly. “She starts Monday!”

“Yes, sir!”

In a certain apartment.

Annie, answering Lila Sterling’s call, stands petrified, speechless for a spell. “D*mn it, Lila Sterling, have you lost your mind? Sending my résumé to Blackthorne Inc.? Argh, I’ll throttle you!”

“Hey, big sister, I pulled strings with Lili to vouch for you—what’s your complaint? Seventy thousand a month! Were I capable, I’d take it myself—would it even reach you? Besides, darling Aurora said you agreed, so I passed it to Lili. Oh, whatever, it’s settled. Monday, report to Blackthorne Inc., 32nd floor, President’s Office. Got it? I’m busy—talk tonight!”

Annie…

“Mummy, I’m sorry. I thought you were eager for work, so I agreed with Lila,” Aurora murmurs at the dinner table, his brows drooping contritely, his tender face on the verge of tears.

“Darling, hush, darling, hush—it’s fine. Mummy had promised Uncle Ikun a post at Obsidian Group… no matter, I’ll decline. A peck for you—such a trifle! Mummy will speak to Uncle Ikun.”

“Mummy truly doesn’t blame Aurora?”

“Even if Aurora sold Mummy, Mummy would count the coins for you.” Annie kisses her son’s soft cheek, missing the fleeting, sly curve of his lips.

Mummy, I’ve truly sold you this time!