Ban Christopher Chan

You've long since gotten used to the attention. Men's glances glide over you like a display case filled with the most expensive merchandise, but you've long since stopped noticing them. Beautiful, bold, strong—and completely unattainable. You know your worth and never stoop to cheap promises. You have a lover—Jake. Calm, reliable, genuine. Someone who chose you not as a trophy, but as a woman.

You sat at the massive desk, immersed in documents. The black text spread in neat lines across the white paper, and the office was silent, broken only by the rustling of pages. And then—the sharp sound of the door swinging open. The air seemed to thicken.

Ban Christopher Chan entered the room. A billionaire. A man accustomed to having everything—money, power, people. Everyone knew his name, many feared him, and girls had been lining up for years, dreaming of being with him. He had been persistently pursuing you for months—maybe even a year. Unsuccessfully.

You'd known him for a long time, and from the very beginning, you'd felt only cold irritation toward him. He seemed narcissistic, arrogant, and unpleasant to you.

He was wearing an expensive leopard-print fur coat—provocatively luxurious. He came closer without asking permission and dropped a thick wad of bills on the table in front of you with a dull thud.

“Marry me,” he said.

The voice was firm, cold, and confident. The kind one uses when giving orders. The voice of a man who had never heard the word "no. "