Night had settled over Chicago, draping the sprawling city in hues of silver and indigo. From the uppermost floors of the Aurelius Tower, a gleaming skyscraper of steel and glass, the skyline stretched endlessly, lights flickering below like constellations scattered across the earth.
Inside the top-floor suite, the atmosphere was heavy with authority. The walls were a fusion of smoked glass and obsidian panels, reflecting the golden glow of a chandelier shaped like a spiral galaxy.
Seated on the long leather couch at the head of the room was Qi Xiyue — his posture lazy, yet commanding. Even when relaxed, his presence dominated the space. Dressed in a tailored charcoal suit, his tie loosened slightly at the collar, he exuded a kind of controlled danger — the quiet power of a man who didn't need to raise his voice to be obeyed.
Across from him sat Minister Harold Kellan, a middle-aged man with thinning hair and a nervous air about him. The faint sheen of sweat on his forehead betrayed his tension. His hands fidgeted with the edge of a document file, but he dared not lift his gaze fully to meet the man across from him.
Three of Qi Xiyue's subordinates stood silently in the background, sharp-eyed and watchful.
The air between them was thick with unspoken weight.
For a long moment, only the faint hum of the air conditioning and the soft tick of the antique clock could be heard.
Then Qi Xiyue finally spoke, his voice calm but laced with quiet authority.
"You asked to see me, Minister. I assume you didn't come here to waste my time."
The man across from him swallowed hard.
"Monarch," he began carefully, "thank you for agreeing to meet on such short notice. I know your schedule is… demanding."
Qi Xiyue leaned back slightly, one arm draped across the couch, his fingers brushing the edge of his wristwatch. His gaze, cool and unreadable, rested on the minister. "Get to the point."
Minister Kellan inhaled deeply, steadying himself. "I've decided to run for President in the next election."
A faint flicker of amusement touched Qi Xiyue's lips, though his eyes remained indifferent. "Ambitious."
"I've spent twenty years in government," Kellan continued quickly, sensing the weight of that single word. "And I believe the people trust me. But—" he hesitated, then added, "I need backing. I need strength behind the scenes. Your strength."
The silence that followed was suffocating.
Qi Xiyue tilted his head slightly, his tone deceptively mild. "You came to ask for the mafia's support."
Kellan flinched at the bluntness, but nodded. "Yes. With your network and influence, my victory is certain. And when I take office, I'll make sure your organization—" he hesitated again, lowering his voice, "—operates without interference. No police raids, no government obstacles. You'll have access to contracts, intelligence, and—"
He stopped when Qi Xiyue's gaze sharpened.
"Benefits," Qi Xiyue murmured, as though tasting the word. "You're offering to sell the system in exchange for power."
The minister's throat tightened. "You could say that. But it's mutually beneficial. I get the presidency. You get full control over Chicago's underground."
Qi Xiyue's fingers tapped lightly against the armrest — slow, deliberate, rhythmic. A subtle smile ghosted over his lips. "And what makes you think I don't already control it?"
Minister Kellan froze, realizing too late how foolish his assumption sounded.
Qi Xiyue's smile deepened, though it didn't reach his eyes. "I could crush half of the city's bureaucracy with one phone call, Minister. You're not here to offer me opportunity. You're here to beg for protection."
The man's lips trembled. "Monarch, I— I didn't mean—"
Qi Xiyue leaned forward slightly, and just that shift — the faintest movement — was enough to make the room colder. "Be careful with your words."
The minister's head dropped instantly. "Y-yes, Monarch."
The air grew heavy again, thick with tension.
Qi Xiyue studied him for a moment longer, then reclined once more, exhaling softly. "Still… your offer interests me. I appreciate ambition when it comes with courage."
Minister Kellan looked up, startled, as though he'd been offered a lifeline. "Then you'll consider—?"
But before he could finish, Qi Xiyue's phone, sleek and black with a silver edge, buzzed quietly on the low table beside him. The name flashing on the screen caught his eye.
'Little Trouble Maker.'
His heart skipped once, the faintest, involuntary reaction. Then his gaze softened almost imperceptibly.
"Leave," he ordered, voice calm but leaving no room for argument.
The three subordinates obeyed instantly, exiting the room without a sound. Even the minister hurriedly stood up and bowed until his forehead nearly kissed the ground before running out.
When the heavy doors clicked shut, silence fell again — the kind that felt almost sacred.
Qi Xiyue's gaze lingered on the glowing screen. His thumb brushed lightly over the name. Then he answered.
"Little trouble," he said, his voice low, smooth, the faint edge of a smile in his tone.
On the other side of the call
In her villa, Su Ning froze when she heard his voice — deep, calm, but threaded with something intimate. The wineglass in her hand trembled slightly.
She hadn't expected him to pick up so quickly.
"Qi Xiyue," she began softly, her tone steadier than she felt. "Were you… busy?"
There was a pause. Then his voice came, lighter now, almost teasing. "Do I sound busy?"
Her lips curved slightly despite herself. "You sound… distracted."
"Because a certain someone decided to call in the middle of a meeting."
Her breath caught. "Ah— I didn't mean to interrupt—"
"You didn't."
His reply came so quickly and firmly that it cut her apology short.
On his end, Qi Xiyue leaned back into the couch again, his earlier hardness dissolving into quiet ease. The shadows of the city reflected faintly in the window behind him, painting him in hues of silver and blue.
He listened to the faint rustle on her end — the soft sound of fabric brushing against her skin, the quiet clink of glass.
"What are you doing?" he asked, tone low, conversational but with that undercurrent of curiosity that made her pulse skip.
"Nothing much," Su Ning murmured. "Just… relaxing and having some wine."
"Alone?"
She hesitated, then smiled faintly. "Who else would I be drinking with?"
"Hmm." His voice deepened slightly, smooth as velvet. "You shouldn't drink too much at night. It could affect your sleep."
Su Ning arched a brow, even though he couldn't see it. "And how would you know that?"
He chuckled, his voice deep and low.
Her breath hitched. The air between them seemed to shift — a subtle charge, like the moment before a storm.
"Qi Xiyue…" she said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. "Thank you. For earlier."
He didn't answer immediately. When he did, his voice was softer. "I told you. You don't need to thank me."
"I still should."
A pause. Then, with a faint hint of amusement, he asked, "Oh— and how do you plan to thank me?"
Her pulse jumped. "I—"
"Words?" he continued lazily. "Or something more tangible?"
"Qi Xiyue," she protested, half in embarrassment, half blushing.
He chuckled again— low, rich, the sound of it wrapping around her like warm smoke. "You blush easily."
"I'm not blushing," she lied.
"Little liar."
There was something intoxicating about the way he said it — soft, certain, and teasingly intimate.
Their conversation slowed, softened, until the air felt too thin between their breaths.
Su Ning leaned her head against the couch, eyes half-closed. "You should rest," she murmured finally.
"Starting to care about me?"
"No," she said, smiling faintly.
Qi Xiyue leaned his head back against the couch, one hand covering his eyes. "You really are trouble," he said, half a laugh, half a sigh.
"Then why do you sound like you like it?"
"I do."
The words were quiet, but they lingered.
A long silence followed — soft, almost tender.
Then, before hanging up, he said in that same calm, deep tone, "Sleep, Little trouble. And dream something beautiful."
Her heart fluttered. "You too. Goodnight"
"Goodnight"
Su Ning set her phone down, the faintest blush still coloring her cheeks.