Ah, No! That's Not It!

Foolish Hill.

Beside a modified Mercedes-Benz G-Class, Fyren stood in moccasins, cargo pants, and a tailored brown hunting jacket with a fashion-forward wide belt. He'd popped the collar and slid on designer sunglasses—looking every inch a fashion shoot model. Ditching the suit for this getup was a refreshing change.

Chloe couldn't take her eyes off him. God, he's gorgeous. How is he real? Those legs in moccasins...

Fyren examined a double-barreled shotgun, smirking as he turned to chide, "Zaring, hurry up—what's the hold-up?"

"Coming, Fyren!" Zaring shouldered his own shotgun, clad in jeans and deerskin boots. "You're always swamped—rare to see you hunt. I brought a trophy bag—we'll show the company your haul! Let them know Fyren dominates both business and the wilderness. Best in Crystalpeak at both!"

The flattery hit home. Fyren finally got why emperors needed sycophants. When you're rich, powerful, successful... you crave validation. But great minds know how rare true understanding is. Flunkies praise your wealth, not your wisdom. That's why professional flatterers exist—to feed that ego.

Zaring was a maestro. He'd mastered the craft, infusing hard flattery with subtlety. To the uninitiated, his praise sounded over-the-top, but Fyren saw the art. Zaring's hyperbole wasn't empty—it was a declaration of admiration. He gets me! Fyren thought. Hard flattery means he truly buys in!

Truth was, Zaring had a knack for spotting Fyren's strengths and hitting the sweet spots. They were a perfect match.

Recouping fifty billion in under twenty-four hours only fueled Fyren's swagger.

He didn't credit luck—this was pure ability. Flexibility, intellect outpacing Tactician and Gold King, and crossing industry lines to intimidate them: that's what won the day. Fyren swelled with arrogance, hence the hunting trip to lay low and unwind.

Hunting was legal here, but required a license. Firearms were restricted to designated zones, with strict bullet limits. Chloe looked stunning in hiking boots and jeans, making Fyren's heart skip.

What more could a man want? he thought. Qianyi Group at my fingertips, a gorgeous secretary on demand, and a loyal flunky feeding me praise. Chloe's outfit today only heightened his interest. Pretending to scout hunting spots, he mentally scouted spots for a tryst.

[Christ, Chloe is hot. Those legs, that waist—how are her legs so toned? And that ass, round and curvy...]

[Pin her against a tree. If she resists, play tough—she's timid, she'll cave.]

Chloe trailed him, blushing. He wants to do it in the forest! How scandalous... But as his secretary, she owed him compliance—just enough resistance to stoke his ego. When she stumbled, Fyren caught her. "Careful."

"Thanks, Fyren."

Fyren mused:

[Why do tycoons marry multiple wives? Too much drama. Two women are already a headache. Work all day, then manage home conflicts—exhausting.]

[One wife is enough. If I crave variety, there's Eason. More than one is just messy.]

[Wonder if Mom and Dad will let me marry Chloe. Need to sell them on it.]

Chloe froze. Marital fidelity from a boss wasn't shocking—but marriage to her? She saw herself as his secretary, his mistress—nothing more. No wealthy chairman married his secretary. Why would they?

A secretary is, after all, a woman always within reach... If you can have a secretary whenever you want, why marry her? The wealthy excel at calculation.

But what if a secretary isn't obtained? Such cases are rare—the temptation is too strong. If the CEO of Qianyi Group shows interest, most women can't resist. And if they refuse, it's simple: find someone who won't. So why would a wealthy person settle for just anyone?

Chloe fought back tears, head bowed as she walked. Fyren thought she was unwell. "Chloe, what's wrong?"

"Oh, Fyren, I'm fine."

"Are you crying?" Fyren halted, closing in on her anxiously. "Are you tired? I'm sorry—I didn't realize you tire so easily. Maybe we should head back..."

"No, it's not that..." Chloe said through tears. "Fyren, you're too good to me."

Fyren blinked, confused. "Oh... okay. You sure you're all right?"

"I'm fine." Chloe bit her lip, then smiled brightly. "Fyren, let's play hide-and-seek!"

Fyren started. [Unbelievable! Once she sets her mind, she's bolder than any man! But that's exactly my style... Wait, she looks exhausted—how can I bear to tease her?]

He wiped her tears, smiling. "Let's just take in the view."

"No, I want to."

"Huh?"

"I... I want to please you."

"I'm plenty happy. The air's fresh, the scenery's beautiful." Fyren cooed, "When we get back, let's go shopping. Don't hold back—pick anything you want. I'll buy you a hundred designer bags, a hundred outfits, a hundred watches..."

Chloe smiled. "I might spend all your money."

Fyren laughed. "I'll give you a million to blow."

"I don't want your money."

"Why not? I've got cash to burn!"

Chloe shook her head. "Fyren, I love you."

Fyren froze, then smiled softly. "Honestly, I like you too."

"Then let me earn my salary and spend my own money—you can't spend a dime on me. Otherwise, my love for you won't feel pure."

Fyren hugged her. "You're so naive! Love is a mirage. Right now, we're young and in love. But what if I fall out of love when you're older? You need to save while you can."

"I work hard and save on my own. I have enough. But I need you to know my love is interest-free."

Fyren smiled, stroking her hair. "You're too naive! I'm wealthy—I love you with everything I am, money included! If you don't love my money, that's a problem."

Chloe blushed. "Who says I only love you? I also love..." She leaned close, breath tickling Fyren's ear as she whispered.

Fyren burst into laughter, pinching her cheek. "Naughty girl! Let's find a spot for some fun!" He turned and bellowed, "Zaring!"

Zaring was no fool—he'd already wandered off, now shouting from a distance: "What is it, Fyren?" The implication: I'm too far to eavesdrop.

Fyren hollered across the mountain: "Fyren's having a guerrilla tryst with Chloe! Stay clear—don't come near, got it?"

"Roger! May your mission succeed, Fyren!"

Fyren chuckled. "Sly dog."

Chloe was already flustered. The two had just started getting intimate when Fyren accidentally tugged the shotgun's trigger. A shot rang out, followed by a groan and a thud in the woods.

"Shit! Zaring!" Fyren yanked up his pants, grabbed the gun, and bolted, shouting, "Zaring! Are you okay?"

Zaring came running from the other side. "Fyren! You all right?"

"Are you okay?" Fyren panted.

"Fine!"

Fyren's panic spiked. "Oh no—my gun went off. I think I hit someone!"

"No way!"

Deep in the woods, Gold King clutched his bleeding wound, unable to rise. Through gritted teeth, he snarled: "Goddamn it! How the hell did this happen?!"