Zhao Jingshen stood at the floor-to-ceiling windows of his penthouse office, gazing out at the glittering skyline of Xia City. At 32, he cut an imposing figure – tall and broad-shouldered, with chiseled features that seemed carved from marble. His dark eyes, usually cold and calculating, now held a hint of weariness.
To the outside world, he was the epitome of success – the young, ruthless CEO who had turned Zhao Industries into a global powerhouse. But inside, he felt hollow.
A knock at the door interrupted his brooding. "Enter," he said, his deep voice carrying the authority of a man used to being obeyed without question.
His assistant, Chen Li, entered cautiously. "Sir, I have the final guest list for tonight's charity gala."
Zhao turned, his expression impassive. "And?"
"Your fiancée, Miss Lian, has confirmed her attendance. She's bringing her entire posse." Chen Li frowned slightly.
Zhao Jingshen's jaw clenched, a muscle ticking in his cheek. His engagement to Lian Fei was nothing more than a business arrangement, orchestrated by their families to merge two powerful dynasties. There was no love between them, only ambition and obligation. He did not have any specifications of what his wife should look like so, it didn't really matter whether it was Liam Fei or anyone else. Love was just an abstract concept to him.
"Fine," he said curtly. "Is there anything else?"
Chen Li hesitated, visibly nervous. "Sir, the board has been asking about the wedding date. They feel it would be good for the company's stocks to—"
"The board can mind their own business," Zhao Jingshen snapped, his eyes flashing dangerously. "My personal life is not up for discussion. Is that clear?"
"Y-yes, sir. Of course." Chen Li bowed hastily and retreated from the office.
Alone again, Zhao Jingshen loosened his tie, feeling suffocated. The thought of another evening pretending to be the perfect couple with Lian Fei made him want to cancel the whole event. But he knew better. In his world, appearances were everything.
He walked over to a hidden panel in the wall, pressing his palm against it. The panel slid open, revealing a small, private room. Inside, the décor was a stark contrast to the modern office outside. Here, traditional Chinese paintings hung on the walls, and a single photograph sat on an antique desk.
Zhao Jingshen picked up the photo, his expression softening almost imperceptibly. It showed a much younger version of himself, smiling genuinely, with his arms around his mother. He lost her when he was eight years old.
"Hi Mum," he murmured.
He trailed off, unable to voice the emptiness he felt. His mother had been his rock, the one who instilled in him the drive to succeed while teaching him about integrity and compassion – lessons that had become harder to remember in the cutthroat world of business.
A gentle chime from his computer interrupted his reflections. It was time for the video conference with his directors. Zhao Jingshen placed the photo back on the desk, his mask of indifference sliding back into place.
He sat at his desk and opened his laptop, connecting to the video call. As the screen filled with the faces of his directors, Zhao Jingshen's presence dominated the virtual room. Each director greeted him with a mix of reverence and trepidation, fully aware of the authority he wielded.
"Sir," began Mr. Li, the head of the board. "We have reviewed the quarterly reports. Zhao Industries has exceeded projections once again."
Zhao nodded, his expression unreadable. "Good. What about the new projects in Southeast Asia?"
Mr. Huang, another director, cleared his throat. "They are progressing as planned. However, there have been some delays due to local regulations."
"Handle it," Zhao Jingshen replied curtly. "I don't want excuses. I want results."
"Yes, Sir," Mr. Huang responded quickly, the fear evident in his voice.
Chen Li entered the room with a tablet, showing Zhao Jingshen some additional documents that required his immediate attention. He glanced at them, gave a few brisk nods, and returned his focus to the screen.
Zhao Jingshen's presence was intimidating. He rarely spoke more than necessary, and when he did, his words carried a weight that could silence a room. His directors knew better than to question him. Zhao Jingshen's rise to power was a testament to his relentless ambition and uncompromising standards.
"Ensure the media coverage is positive," Zhao continued. "We need to keep public opinion on our side."
"Understood," the directors echoed in unison.
After addressing a few more issues, Zhao Jingshen ended the call with a simple, "That will be all." The screen went dark, and he leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes for a moment.
Chen Li, still standing by, asked, "Is there anything else you need, Sir?"
"No, that will be all," Zhao replied, his tone softer but still commanding. "Prepare the car. I'll be leaving for the gala soon."
"Yes, sir," Chen Li said, bowing slightly before exiting the room.
Alone once more, Zhao Jingshen glanced at the hidden panel, where the photo of his mother lay. He straightened his tie, his face a mask of cold indifference. To the world, he was Zhao Jingshen – the powerful, intimidating CEO who commanded respect and fear. But deep down, he was still the boy who had lost his mother and was struggling to fill the void she left behind.
As he prepared to leave for the gala, Zhao Jingshen caught his reflection in the mirror. The man staring back at him looked confident, powerful, and utterly alone.
"One more night," he told himself, straightening his tie. "Just get through one more night."
He left his office, nodding curtly to Chen Li as he passed. In the elevator, he allowed himself one last moment of vulnerability, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath.
When the doors opened to the lobby, Zhao Jingshen stepped out as the epitome of a powerful CEO – confident, intimidating, and completely in control. Little did he know, this night would change everything.