THE BID
The first person to lose control in the room was not a bidder.
It was the chairman.
“Three hundred million?”
His voice cracked across the private auction room.
Nobody answered.
At the opposite end of the long black table, Shen Yuxin slowly lowered the document in her hand.
Three hundred million yuan.
For one designer.
One collection.
One contract.
And an absurd amount of money.
Her expression remained unchanged.
Around her, executives exchanged uneasy glances.
The room was filled with some of the most influential names in the luxury fashion industry. CEOs. Investors. Designers. International buyers. Journalists who had been granted limited access to what was supposed to be a private negotiation.
And every single person in the room knew exactly who had just made that ridiculous offer.
NOIRÉN INTERNATIONAL.
More specifically—
Lu Jingchen.
Yuxin’s fingers rested lightly against the edge of the folder.
“Three hundred million,” she repeated.
Her voice was soft.
Almost amused.
The executive beside her leaned closer.
“Ms. Shen, should we increase our offer?”
Yuxin didn’t answer immediately.
Her eyes moved toward the other side of the room.
And there he was.
Lu Jingchen.
Thirty years old.
Chairman and CEO of NOIRÉN International.
He sat with one ankle resting casually over the opposite knee, his black suit perfectly tailored to his broad frame. His white shirt was open at the collar, exposing just enough of his throat to make the otherwise severe outfit look effortless.
His expression was calm.
Too calm.
He wasn’t looking at the executives.
He wasn’t looking at the designer.
He was looking directly at her.
Their eyes met.
For several seconds, neither moved.
The room suddenly felt quieter.
Yuxin had seen him before.
At fashion weeks.
At international business summits.
On magazine covers.
On the screens of financial news channels.
Lu Jingchen was impossible to miss.
The youngest CEO to take control of one of China’s largest luxury empires.
Brilliant.
Arrogant.
Unreasonably confident.
And, unfortunately, very good at what he did.
Yuxin had never liked him.
Not that she’d ever given him enough importance to actually hate him.
He was simply—
annoying.
Her assistant, Lin Rui, quietly slid another document toward her.
“VÉRÉLLE’s maximum approved offer is two hundred and eighty million.”
Yuxin glanced down.
Two hundred and eighty.
Lu Jingchen had just surpassed it by twenty million.
She closed the folder.
“Don’t increase it.”
Lin Rui looked startled.
“Ms. Shen?”
Yuxin stood.
The room immediately quieted.
She adjusted the sleeve of her ivory blazer and walked toward the center of the room.
Every camera turned toward her.
Someone whispered her name.
“Shen Yuxin.”
“The CEO of VÉRÉLLE.”
“She came personally?”
“Of course she did.”
Yuxin stopped beside the auction table.
The moderator looked nervous.
“Ms. Shen, do you wish to withdraw VÉRÉLLE’s bid?”
Yuxin smiled.
“No.”
A pause.
“Then—”
“I said we’re not increasing the bid.”
Confusion spread through the room.
The moderator frowned.
“But NOIRÉN has offered—”
“I heard him.”
Her gaze shifted toward Lu Jingchen.
“He can have the contract.”
A murmur swept through the room.
Even Lin Rui looked surprised.
Lu Jingchen’s expression changed slightly.
Not enough for anyone else to notice.
But Yuxin noticed.
His eyes narrowed.
Interesting.
The moderator cleared his throat.
“Ms. Shen, are you certain?”
“Perfectly.”
She turned toward the designer seated at the head of the table.
Adrian Laurent.
A seventy-year-old legend whose name had been attached to some of the most iconic collections in modern luxury fashion.
He had announced his retirement six months earlier.
Then, unexpectedly, he’d offered one final collection.
Every major fashion house wanted it.
VÉRÉLLE wanted the prestige.
NOIRÉN wanted the international market expansion.
And Yuxin?
She wanted the designer himself.
Not the collection.
There was a difference.
She looked at Laurent.
“Mr. Laurent.”
He raised his eyebrows.
“Yes?”
“You’ve spent forty years designing for companies that wanted your name.”
A faint smile appeared on his face.
“And?”
“VÉRÉLLE doesn’t need your name.”
Silence.
Yuxin continued.
“We need your vision.”
Something changed in Laurent’s expression.
Across the room, Lu Jingchen leaned back slightly.
Yuxin didn’t look at him.
She didn’t need to.
“I don’t intend to spend three hundred million yuan convincing you that we’re worthy of working with you,” she said.
She placed her folder on the table.
“If you want the highest bidder, choose NOIRÉN.”
She paused.
“If you want the house that will let you create what you actually want to create…”
Her eyes met Laurent’s.
“…choose VÉRÉLLE.”
Nobody spoke.
Then—
Lu Jingchen laughed quietly.
It was the first sound he’d made all evening.
Yuxin finally looked at him.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
His voice was deep and maddeningly calm.
“I just didn’t realize VÉRÉLLE had changed its strategy.”
“I didn’t realize NOIRÉN needed to buy talent.”
A few people immediately looked away.
Someone coughed.
Qin Haoran, sitting several seats behind Jingchen, lowered his head to hide a smile.
Jingchen’s eyes remained on Yuxin.
“You’re suggesting my offer is excessive.”
“No.”
She picked up her handbag.
“I’m suggesting you overpaid.”
His lips curved slightly.
“And yet I can afford it.”
“That’s not the same thing as making a good investment.”
The smile disappeared.
For the first time, something sharper entered his eyes.
Yuxin turned away.
“Good evening, Mr. Lu.”
She took two steps.
Then his voice stopped her.
“Ms. Shen.”
She looked back.
Jingchen raised his glass.
“Don’t leave too quickly.”
Yuxin’s eyes narrowed.
“Why?”
His gaze was steady.
“I have a feeling we’ll be seeing a lot of each other.”
She smiled.
Not warmly.
Not sweetly.
A warning.
“I doubt that.”
Then she walked out.
The doors closed behind her.
Qin Haoran finally leaned toward Jingchen.
“You know she’s going to hate you.”
Jingchen looked at the closed doors.
“I know.”
“And you seem strangely pleased about that.”
Jingchen took a sip of his drink.
“I didn’t say I was pleased.”
Haoran stared at him.
“You’re smiling.”
Jingchen’s expression immediately returned to neutral.
“I am not.”
“You were.”
“I wasn’t.”
Haoran laughed.
“Sure.”
Across the city, inside a black Mercedes speeding toward VÉRÉLLE’s headquarters, Lin Rui stared at the woman beside her.
“May I ask something?”
Yuxin was reading another report.
“No.”
Lin Rui waited.
Then asked anyway.
“Why did you let NOIRÉN take the contract?”
Yuxin didn’t look up.
“Because I never wanted the contract.”
Lin Rui blinked.
“What?”
Yuxin finally lifted her eyes.
“I wanted to know how much Lu Jingchen was willing to pay.”
She closed the report.
“And now I know.”
A beat of silence.
Lin Rui’s expression slowly changed.
“You think the bid was strategic?”
“I think three hundred million is too much for one collection.”
“So…”
Yuxin looked out the window.
The lights of Shanghai blurred across the glass.
“Someone is willing to spend an unreasonable amount of money to get something.”
Her eyes hardened.
“I want to know why.”
11:47 P.M.At NOIRÉN headquarters, Lu Jingchen stood alone in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows of his office.
The city glittered below him.
Qin Haoran entered without knocking.
“You’re still thinking about her.”
Jingchen didn’t turn.
“No.”
“You are.”
“No.”
Haoran dropped a folder onto the desk.
“Then explain why you just spent three hundred million on a contract you didn’t need.”
Jingchen finally turned.
His expression was unreadable.
“I didn’t.”
Haoran frowned.
“You didn’t what?”
Jingchen looked at the folder.
“I didn’t buy the collection.”
A pause.
“I bought time.”
Haoran stared at him.
“For what?”
Jingchen’s gaze moved toward the city.
“To find out what Shen Yuxin knows.”
And somewhere across Shanghai—
someone opened an encrypted file.
Inside was a single photograph.
Two young men.
Twenty-five years ago.
Standing outside a fashion house.
Beneath the photograph were three words:
THE WAR WAS PLANNED.
