The restaurant had no name on the door.
Just a brass emblem and an unmarked elevator that opened without a button. The hallway that followed was soft-lit, wood-paneled, and silent—like walking into a secret.
Lucas followed Julius into a private dining room tucked behind a lacquered screen. Inside, the space was quiet and deliberate. Dark wood floors. Ink-wash wall art. Calligraphy in real gold leaf. No menus—just a curated progression of dishes that appeared like magic, each one plated with the kind of restraint that whispered generational money.
The table was small—only four seats taken when they entered.
Leo Shen, crisp mandarin-collared shirt, legs crossed, drink in hand.Adam Xi, more casual in a designer tee, fork spinning between his fingers.Julius, already sliding into the seat across from them like he belonged here.And now Lucas, invited as a variable too loud to ignore.
Leo stood and offered his hand.
"Glad you made it, Pan."
Lucas shook it. "Didn't realize the guest list would be this tight."
Adam grinned. "That's the point. Nobody here needs to check your résumé. We all read the news."
They sat. A fresh round of appetizers arrived—modern takes on Cantonese classics. Lobster shumai with gold leaf. Braised short rib jiaozi. Black sesame soup served in porcelain half-shells.
Conversation didn't start until the tea was poured.
And even then, it started sideways.
"Your media numbers are ridiculous," Leo said, folding his napkin like origami. "I've had people calling me trying to schedule conversations with you. Like I'm your assistant."
Adam laughed. "One guy offered to donate to my father's hospital foundation if I could put you on a call."
Lucas raised an eyebrow. "You take it?"
Leo snorted. "I told him meeting you in person had a three-month waiting list, and even that was optimistic."
Julius grinned. "He's not joking. I started tracking requests this morning. We're at 60+ soft pings and 14 hard asks—all in the last two days."
Lucas picked up his cup. "What happened to dinner being quiet?"
Leo shrugged. "Quiet's not the same thing as irrelevant."
A new dish arrived—abalone over smoked tofu, with a black vinegar reduction.
Lucas didn't touch it yet.
Instead, he watched the room. The way no one raised their voices. The way every pause had weight. These weren't kids playing rich. These were men born into silence and influence. Men who spoke in subtext and never wasted charm without reason.
Leo set his glass down.
"After dinner, a few friends will drop by. Nothing heavy. Drinks at the bar."
Lucas waited.
Adam leaned in. "They're… interested."
"Curious," Leo corrected.
"Same thing," Julius murmured.
Lucas raised an eyebrow. "Interested in what, exactly?"
Leo didn't blink.
"Introductions. They're heiresses. Not new money. Legacy. Family-run holdings across real estate, shipping, and clean energy."
Adam added, "They don't want an investor. They want access. You're the son of Cyrus Han, and—more importantly—you didn't implode on day five."
Leo continued, more carefully now.
"Your father had minor stock positions in two of their family's companies. Legacy ties. Nothing controlling. But it's enough for a warm introduction. You don't have to sell anything. Just… be seen. Shake hands. Let them say they've met you."
Lucas considered that for a beat.
"Why now?"
"Because," Leo said quietly, "you're the only man in this city who made a boardroom, a locker room, and Hot Search Daily all shut up and pay attention in the same week."
Adam added with a lazy smile, "And let's be real—half of them think you're either a myth or a problem. Either way, they want a look."
Lucas finally picked up his cup, let the steam hit his face, and took a slow sip.
Adam set his utensils down, unusually quiet.
Then he said, "You know what's happening to you, right?"
Lucas looked up. "Enlighten me."
"You're no longer the story," Adam said. "You're becoming the setting. Other people are using your name to move their own plays. Access to you is now social currency. Anyone seen with you—even briefly—inherits momentum."
Lucas didn't answer right away.
Julius filled the pause with a deceptively light tone.
"We need to get you back in the news."
Lucas raised an eyebrow. "I've been in the news all week."
"That's the problem," Julius said. "Too much heat on the business side. Every article keeps ending with phrases like 'pending restructuring,' 'asset consolidation,' or 'legal maneuvering.' That gets people twitchy. We need to tilt the story."
"Toward what?" Lucas asked.
Julius gave him a look. "Toward you. The man. The myth. The maybe-dating-someone-who-smiles-like-she-doesn't-know-what an offshore holding is."
Leo chuckled under his breath. Adam didn't.
Instead, Adam reached into his coat, pulled out his phone, and tapped something open.
"I've got a list of seven," he said. "Low-key profiles. Solid families. Some with actual personalities."
Lucas stared. "You already had a list?"
"Come on," Adam said. "You walk into a boardroom like a ghost and blow up the sports market in 72 hours. I'd be an idiot not to prep."
Julius looked at Leo. "Please tell me you have something less curated."
Leo smirked. "I've got three. They won't like each other, which makes the field cleaner."
Julius looked back at Lucas. "That's ten names. One simple dinner. Quiet restaurant. Just enough visibility. You don't even have to like her."
Lucas took a long breath.
"I thought this was about redirecting the press, not auditioning wives."
"It's about controlling your gravity," Julius said. "Right now, you're pulling headlines for every stock movement. If you're seen smiling at someone who isn't your lawyer, the tone shifts. You go from 'volatile heir' to 'grounded leader.'"
Leo nodded slowly. "The public doesn't trust stability. They trust stories about stability. Give them a scene they can project onto."
Lucas sipped his tea. "And if it backfires?"
Julius shrugged. "Then we leak she ghosted you. Instant sympathy. Instant focus shift. Win-win."
Adam reached into his jacket again, pulled out his phone, and flipped it around with a little too much flair.
"You want to see them or not?"
Lucas blinked. "You're pulling matches off a dating app?"
Adam tapped once. "My app. I built it with two co-founders from Stanford, sold the algorithm to three private equity groups, bought back the IP last year."
He tilted the screen so Lucas could see the profiles—each woman smiling, polished, and quietly intimidating.
"Oh, and by the way," Adam added casually, "you now own fifteen percent of the platform. One of your dad's holding companies held a chunk. It passed to you."
Lucas stared at the screen. "So I'm technically the boss of everyone in this lineup?"
Julius laughed. "Which means if the date goes bad, at least the exit strategy is efficient."
Adam swiped again. "Profiles are private tier. All verified. No press connections. Most are business adjacent or family-run enterprises. A few are... direct."
Leo, who'd been watching with amused detachment, finally reached into his own pocket and slid a sleek phone across the table.
"One better."
Lucas glanced down.
The screen displayed a high-resolution group photo—eight women, four of whom Lucas recognized immediately. All perfectly lit. All rich in different ways. All dangerous in the same one.
"They don't get along," Leo said flatly. "But they show up for photo ops like this when the event's black-tie and the alcohol's imported."
"Are any of them here tonight?" Lucas asked, already knowing the answer.
Leo nodded. "Three. Possibly four. One's already circling the room upstairs. The others will 'drop by' after dessert."
Julius leaned in. "You just need to talk to one. Smile once. Let someone capture it."
Lucas raised an eyebrow. "And what happens after?"
Julius leaned forward, casual as ever, but his eyes were already five moves ahead.
"After dinner, we go next door—rooftop bar, invite-only, no cameras unless someone wants to be seen. Frances's people will assume it's informal. Meanwhile, you'll be talking to three of the most well-connected women in this city."
Lucas folded his arms. "Three?"
"Or one," Julius said with a shrug. "If you're not up for it. Keep it light. They're not here for deep strategy, just optics and impressions. You hold court for a few drinks, flash a couple of those mysterious 'I might destroy you or marry you' looks, and we're out."
Leo smirked. "He's not wrong. Talking to just one of them in person guarantees her whole peer group recalibrates their priorities. Two, and you're a headline. Three, and you're a problem."
Adam added, "And if you ghost them all, you'll become a myth."
Lucas looked at them. "And what's the timeline?"
Julius sat back. "Thirty minutes. Max. One drink, maybe two. You speak to who you want, how you want, and when you want to leave, I'll have the car ready downstairs. Simple."
Lucas glanced at the photo again, then back at the three men watching him.
"All right," he said. "Let's make it thirty."
Julius grinned, already texting. "I love it when you commit like that."
Lucas didn't respond.
He stood, adjusted the cuff of his jacket, and glanced once toward the wall-length window where the skyline blinked like a constellation of rivals. Somewhere up there, the rooftop bar waited. So did names. Intentions. The next wave of curated chaos.
But his voice stayed low. Calm.
"I'm not committing to them," he said.
Adam looked up, curious.
Leo paused mid-sip.
Julius stopped typing.
Lucas walked to the door, hand on the handle ready to make a move.