Two individuals found themselves in a spacious living room, each occupying a sofa to themselves as if two warring kingdoms and with only an unblemished coffee table to stand in between. The floor-to-ceiling contemporary grandfather clock to the side read just after seven in the morning --- yet still, neither moved nor spoke, having been doing so for the last few hours since their earlier altercation.
While Huang Yifei tended to her wounded pride by visualising several excruciating scenarios for the man whore sitting across from her, ones explicitly involving ripping that curls of golden hair off his head and stretching that damned smirk into a bloody mess, Niccolo Amorelli remained none the wiser and continued to fearlessly aim a suggestive look upon her person.
"How do you feel about Italian cuisine, tesoro?" A deeply accented voice rang out cheerfully, bringing some colours to the otherwise bleak atmosphere. Yifei, however, was none too happy to be lured out of her joyful thoughts, if that look of daggers she was throwing at him was anything to go by. Niccolo was neither bothered nor surprised by her reaction and merely watched her expectantly with a child-like quality sparkling in his eyes.
While he waited her out of her self-imposed silence with the patience of a saint, Niccolo took the opportunity to ponder over the woman before him.
With the media hounding him at every turn, his 'usual type' of woman was no state secret. He habitually went after what mainstream media would dub a 'Fuckable Bombshell' -- well-endowed; legs for miles; a sweet, but wanton disposition. Huang Yifei was needless to say undeniably beautiful, but more so in a way that made him question her existence. It was almost as though there was something ethereal about her, something unreachable to the likes of him, something in how no hair or eyelash of hers moved without purpose.
He was a normal, hot blooded male. How could he resist such elegance? Such power.
Yifei's sudden movement to stand roused him from his thoughts, a curious look upon his face as he watched her go about the room in search of something. "Looking for something?"
"My shoes." was her simple response.
"By the entrance. You insisted on taking them off and leaving them there, remember?" Something about manners and the like.
Niccolo rose from his seat and shuffled after her, pausing at the end of his hall to lean against the wall while she slipped back into her Gucci. "Ah, I see now." He stated, rather dramatically at that, crossing his arms against his chest and shaking his head as if in utter disappointment, "After you've made use of me, you're slinking off." At her raised brow, he added "At least take responsibilities!"
Yifei found herself without words at that last remark. But, how ever offended she was at his mere existence, she was well aware of the fact that...she owed him one. "Alright..." She started cautiously as she pushed the elevator button, then turning to face the billionaire to match his current posture, "Should you need to hide a dead body...or just a body that needs to be dead, come find me in Hong Kong." and with that, she slipped passed the opening elevator doors and pressed the lobby button, offering nothing but a simple nod of her head to her current benefactor.
Niccolo watched the woman, who had just casually offered to murder anyone for him, as she disappeared behind closing doors.
-TIME SKIP-
Niccolo struggled to tear his eyes away from the collage of candid photos of Huang Yifei on the front page of her dossier.
Almost as soon as she left his penthouse two months ago, the billionaire called his most trusted subordinate, Sofia, to somehow find everything he could on the Chinese beauty. He had been most impatient, but as it turned out known information about her was little to nothing — nevermind the unknown. Needless to say, he resorted to desperate means.
Translation: he sent a mole to work their way up in her inner circle while he played a waiting game for two months.
Now, here he was. In his seven-figured penthouse in the heart of Hong Kong, stewing in what he, to this day, refuses to call an obsession. Even if he thought of little else but that sweet little psycho. A fancy, perhaps, but NOT an obsession.
He did eventually find the strength to take leave of her beautiful face and finally flip through the pages. In his readings, he learned she was twenty-five years old and the eldest daughter of Huang Li Ren. She took over Huang Group immediately after her father's retirement two years ago, in which she expanded their company to reach internationally. She moved their headquarters from Macau to Hong Kong and personally oversaw the region's largest media company, 'Queen's Eye Media'.
Much to his amusement, however, these were not the most interesting thing about her. Delving deeper into her dossier, it said she was currently marked by several governments as having possible links to China's most notorious crime syndicate known as Yōulíng, meaning 'Ghost' or 'Spectre'. They are said to specialised in drugs and arms dealing, as well as...assassinations. 'Kitten's been busy.' He thought mirthfully, a doting smile playing upon his lips.
Sofia, who sat across from him, watched her superior curiously, if a little worriedly. In the ten years that she worked for Niccolo Amorelli she has never spied such a smile to grace his features. He was playful, yes, and laughed openly when he found something amusing, but he never looked so...fond. She recognised this look as something a father would don when spoiling his daughter. She shuddered at the idea. Niccolo with a daughter? Perish the thought.