Storm Games
The weekend approached like a coiled snake—quiet, slow, but filled with venom. Daniel Han had always believed in precision, in the subtle art of making chaos look like coincidence. And this time, his target wasn’t a hostile investor or a corporate mole.
It was Jia.
The plan had been set into motion the moment he sent the message. Now all that remained was perfect execution.
But Jia was impossible to corner.
The problem, came in the form of one very small, very clingy obstacle.
Lucas.
The child had turned into Jia’s shadow. Wherever she went, he followed, clutching her hand or trailing her with questions about dinosaurs and planets. He refused to sit beside anyone else. Slept curled against her. Ate only if she was nearby. Madam Han, surprisingly, encouraged it, claiming it was good for Lucas to have a maternal figure around. Daniel had bit his tongue through it all, jaw tight, smile thinner.
But enough was enough.
Every attempt to speak with her alone was thwarted.
Attempt number 1:
At breakfast, he'd tried leaning in—just enough to suggest a quiet conversation after the meal—but before he could say a word, Lucas grabbed her by the wrist, demanding her help to pick out cartoon characters from the cereal box.
"Is this one a ninja or a robot?!"
"Looks like both," Jia answered coolly, obliging without skipping a beat. She didn’t even glance at Daniel.
He gritted his teeth behind a
smile.
Attempt number 2:
Attempt number two came an hour later, in the lounge. Daniel had timed it perfectly—or so he thought. Jia was sipping tea, alone for once, flipping through her planner. He made his approach with practiced ease, but before he could speak...
"Noooooo, my robot puzzle"
From the corner of the room, the kid shot up like he’d been waiting for a cue. "Can you help me Jia please?!"
Daniel’s jaw ticked as Jia gave him a polite nod and walked off like nothing had happened.
By lunchtime, he was losing composure. Every time he took a step toward her, Lucas would miraculously appear with an urgent request. It was like the boy had a radar for blocking private conversations.
Attempt number 3:
At one point, Daniel saw Jia reach for her blazer on the coat rack. This was it. He straightened his cufflinks and cleared his throat, about to step forward—
"JIA! I CAN’T FIND MY LEFT SHOE!"
Jia turned instantly, kneeling down beside the child. "You checked under the couch?"
"I think it ran away."
Daniel practically burst a vein.
By late afternoon, the frustration was eating him alive. The clock was ticking. The weekend setup was in motion, the gold-diggers were already circling like vultures, and his supposed “trap” was still missing its most crucial piece: Jia.
He needed her isolated. Away from Madam Han. Away from Lucas. Away from... everything.
Daniel paced in his room like a caged wolf, tugging at the collar of his shirt.
There had to be a way.
And then—
A lightbulb. A slow, burning smirk unfurled across his face.
"Grandma," he whispered to himself. "Of course."
He didn’t waste time.
That evening, while the household was winding down, Daniel made his way to Madam Han’s study—calm on the outside, but practically buzzing beneath the surface.
He knocked once. “It’s me.”
“Come in, darling!”
The door opened to reveal the matriarch seated by her massive desk, silk scarf draped loosely around her shoulders, a cup of tea steaming gently beside her. Her reading glasses were perched at the tip of her nose.
Daniel entered with his best neutral heir expression—half-affectionate, half-unreadable. The one that got him whatever he wanted.
Except today, he added a touch of hesitation. A pause. The kind of energy that spelled: I have a vulnerable request, and I don’t make those often.
Madam Han blinked at him, immediately interested. “Something wrong, Daniel?”
He stayed standing. “It’s nothing serious. I just… I was wondering if I could ask a favor.”
Her brows lifted. “A favor?”
He nodded, lowering his voice just enough. “About Jia.”
That was all it took.
The entire air in the room shifted.
Madam Han’s eyes lit up like fireworks behind her glasses. “Jia?”
Daniel gave a brief nod, strategically avoiding eye contact. “I think I’ve… I’ve been too cold to her lately. Distant. I want to change that. Make things a little less… formal between us.”
There was a beat of silence.
Then:
“My grandson,” Madam Han whispered, pressing a hand to her chest, nearly knocking over her teacup. “You’re finally seeing it! I knew it—I knew you weren’t as emotionally constipated as your father!”
Daniel blinked. “I… thank you?”
Madam Han was already standing, practically floating across the room with excitement. “You want to take her out, don’t you? A private dinner? A little outing—somewhere beautiful?”
“Well, yes—”
“I’ll take Lucas,” she declared. “Don’t worry about a thing. I’ll make up a story. Maybe an art gallery trip. Maybe to the amusement park? He loves to go there. I’ll come up with some excuses. He won’t be able to say no.”
Daniel was trying not to look stunned. This was going smoother than even he expected.
Madam Han turned sharply, pointing at him like a general issuing battle orders. “You listen to me, Daniel Han. You will wear something decent. You will not cancel last-minute like you always do. And most importantly—” she paused dramatically “—you will not fumble.”
“I won’t,” he promised, biting the inside of his cheek to hide the rising smirk.
She reached for her phone. “I’m calling the driver. And the stylist. We’ll have her ready by seven sharp.”
Daniel blinked. “Wait—stylist?”
Madam Han fixed him with a look. “You don’t think I’m letting you fumble and let her show up underdressed? Please. I’ve seen how you boys operate. This is a proper evening. A gentleman’s move.”
He had to admit… she was terrifying when she was excited.
But it worked. He had Jia. He had the evening. He had the perfect setup.
And she wouldn’t even see it coming.
Daniel turned to leave, his heart oddly steady for someone about to throw the match into a room full of gasoline.
Behind him, Madam Han called out, “This might be your last chance, you know. Don’t waste it.”
He didn’t reply.
Just smiled faintly to himself as he stepped into the hallway—already visualizing the pieces sliding into place.
The evening air was crisp with the scent of luxury and quiet orchestration.
Jia stepped out of the black town car, expression unreadable. A soft breeze rustled through the trees lining the private hilltop estate—Han family property, but far enough from the main residence to feel secluded.
Too secluded.
She glanced up at the grand estate house—more like a private event villa, to be honest—elegant, glimmering under warm lights, but empty from the outside. It wasn’t used unless Daniel wanted.
Tonight, the only guests were vipers.
She sighed.
Madam Han had been strangely giddy at breakfast. One minute she was laughing over Lucas spilling orange juice, the next she was talking about “romance blooming in silence”. Jia had raised an eyebrow but let her talk. Only later, when she was handed a dress bag and a driver, did she realize something was up.
Daniel’s name had been mentioned far too casually.
And now here she was. Out of respect. Not fear.
She pushed open the grand double doors and stepped inside.
The silence inside the estate was pristine. Too pristine.
Jia’s heels clicked against the marble floor with muted finality as she moved through the foyer. The walls were lined with soft amber lighting, chandeliers flickering above her head like stars caught mid-breath. Somewhere in the distance, the faint notes of a piano played—live.
Of course.
She followed the sound.
When she stepped into the main room, conversation ceased.
Every head turned. Every eye locked.
And for a moment—just a moment—the world tilted.
Jia didn’t do extravagant. She didn’t chase pretty. But tonight, her drop dead gorgeous looks were enough to show the whisper of a silver chain—she was dangerous. All lines and silence. Part elegance, part challenge. The kind of beauty that didn’t beg to be looked at. It demanded it.
Daniel—already standing by the fireplace with a glass—almost dropped it.
The other women in the room weren’t used to competition. They were used to control: of the narrative, the tone, the pacing.
But Jia’s very presence unraveled their choreography.
She didn’t say a word. Just scanned the room, polite but unreadable.
Daniel stepped forward. “You’re here.”
“Unfortunately,” she said smoothly, accepting the offered galss without a glance. “Your grandmother’s persuasion skills are terrifying.”
“I get that a lot.”
The tension curled between them—electric, unreadable. Daniel was about to speak again when—
“Oh my god,” one of the women drawled behind a manicured smile. “Who is that Daniel?”
Another voice, sugar-laced venom: “Ah—this must be the companion. The one Madam Han’s grooming. So modern. So… bold.”
The third struck deeper: “I’ve heard about her. The tomboy heiress, right? Parents wanted a boy, didn’t get one. Tragic. She tries to compensate. Poor thing.”
There it was.
The final nail.
Jia blinked.
Then laughed once—soft, disbelieving.
She set her glass down. Turned. And faced them.
“I see,” she said, voice level. “You’ve rehearsed this.”
The room went still.
One of the women smiled tightly. “Excuse me?”
“You practiced what you’d say. The digs, the tone, the timing.” Jia walked forward slowly. “But here’s the problem. You aimed too low.”
“Low?”
“You thought you were insulting me by comparing me to a man.” Her voice was calm, razor-sharp. “But I’m not trying to be one. I’ve just never needed one to feel complete.”
The air snapped.
“And you? You’re so obsessed with being chosen by a man, you forgot how to be anything else.”
The silence was thunderous.
Jia smiled—not kind, not cruel. Just done.
“I came because I respect Madam Han. But I’m not here to play your game. Next time you want to come for the throne,” she added, “bring a sharper crown.”
Then she turned—
And walked straight past Daniel.
Straight toward the door.
But before she reached it—
One of the women hissed, too bitter to let it go: “No wonder you don’t belong. You walk like you’re untouchable. But in the end, you’re just another girl with no name, no title, and no place at this table.”
And that…
Was it.
Jia stopped mid-step.
The lights caught the tension in her shoulders. Her hand curled at her side.
She turned slowly—face shadowed, eyes unreadable.......
Jia turned slowly—face shadowed, eyes unreadable.
Then she smiled.
Not the kind of smile that begged understanding.
Not peace.
Not mercy.
It was the kind of smile you saw just before a kingdom fell.
She took one step back into the light.
"No name?" she echoed softly.
The air shifted.
Heels clicked once, twice—measured, deliberate—as she crossed back into the center of the room.
"Funny."
Her voice wasn’t raised. But it cut through the air like scripture.
"You speak as if your families weren’t built on debt to mine."
There was a flicker of confusion—then silence, raw and sudden.
"No title?" Jia stepped closer to the long banquet table. Her fingers traced the edge of a place card—gold-embossed, hand-calligraphed.
She picked it up. Read the name. Smiled again.
Then set it down in front of her own seat.
"You’re sitting at my table."
A quiet gasp. One of the women went visibly pale.
"And as for no place?" Jia’s tone dipped—velvet laced with iron.
"Look around you."
She extended one graceful hand, spinning once on her heel—like a queen in a ballroom of ghosts.
> "This entire estate was a wedding gift from my family to Madam Han. My name is carved on the deed. My family funded the merger that saved your family’s bank from ruin. The art you post on your stories? Comes from our private collection."
Beat.
"You wear borrowed crowns and still forget who forged them."
Dead silence.
Not even the pianist dared breathe now.
Jia’s gaze swept over the stunned faces—one by one—until it landed, at last, on the girl who'd spoken.
"So next time," Jia whispered, stepping in so close the girl couldn’t look away, "before you question where I belong…"
She reached into her blazer.
Pulled out a single, embossed card.
"...try Googling it first."
She dropped the card onto the table.
Turned.
And walked away—heels echoing like gunfire against marble.
The doors opened before she even touched them.
Daniel was still frozen by the fireplace, heart in his throat.
And just before the doors closed behind her—
She paused.
Looked over her shoulder.
> "Oh, and sweetheart?"
Her eyes flashed silver.
"I don’t walk like I’m untouchable.
I walk like I own the floor."
as she crossed the floor with a grace that could shatter egos.
Her eyes swept the group one last time—cold, clear, unflinching.
"Let me remind you one last time..." she said, voice soft as silk, laced with steel. "A name isn't given. It's made."
Silence. Sharp. Total. Like the moment before a guillotine drops.
And then—
Crack.
Not literal—but close enough.
One of the women blinked too fast, lips twitching like she wanted to speak but couldn’t find words. Another shifted, spine stiff, rage simmering just beneath her Botoxed smile. The third? She looked like she’d swallowed a gemstone sideways.
Daniel?
He was still standing by the fireplace, glass long forgotten in his hand.
And for once in his life, he had nothing to say.
No comeback. No smirk. Just the quiet realization that Jia hadn’t just held her ground.
She'd claimed it.
There it was again—that kingdom-falling smile, now ghosting at the corners of her lips as she turned, heels clicking once more, softer this time. Final.
She didn’t slam the door. She didn’t need to.
She exited like someone who owned the building.
The room was left in tatters—quiet, scorched, reeking of wilted perfume and wounded pride.
Daniel blinked once. Then twice.
And for the first time in a long, long while...
He was afraid of someone.
And more than that—
He was absolutely, helplessly captivated.
And there it was, the official beginning of the real war.....