Titan 109

Yolanda stepped into the room, holding onto the key card Jack had given her.

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As she entered, she was greeted by a spacious living room. Her luggage had already been taken to the bedroom.

She pulled out her phone and messaged Blake for an update.

Blake replied with a single message: [Just met. Ten days should be enough. Just keep your husband out of the way.]

Yolanda quickly deleted the message–no trace left behind. She never bothered saving Blake’s number on her phone; she just kept it in her head.

There were only four presidential suites on this floor–one for Charles, one for Vivian, one for Simone, and one for Raelyn, the female lead.

Yolanda wasn’t really here for the so–called temple fair; her real goal was to get Charles out of her hair.

She sent Charles a message, telling him she’d be wandering around nearby.

Charles didn’t respond–he was tied up in a meeting.

It was already evening, and the last rays of sunlight spilled gold and red across the revolving glass doors.

Just as Yolanda turned the corner, Ian’s arms slid around her waist. “Let me go with you,” he said.

Yolanda sent a guilty glance at the security cameras and patted his hand. “Let go.”

Ian let go and stood quietly by her side.

Yolanda rubbed her temples, thinking, ‘Wasn’t he supposed to be busy with filming?‘

Ian shrugged and said, “Filming doesn’t start till tomorrow. It’s not like Ms. Sinclair’s some kind of slave driver.”

Everyone had spent over four hours in the car today; nobody had the energy to do anything else.

Ian had a hat and a mask on, and Yolanda had switched into something more low–key. Figuring Charles was still stuck in a meeting, and with the temple fair kicking off tonight for a whole week, she saw no reason to wait around–so she stepped right out.

Ian fell in step behind her in silence as they headed out along the hotel drive.

The hotel had a prime location, barely a ten–minute walk from the biggest festival in town.

Crowds were already starting to gather.

Yolanda kept quiet, but her gaze sparkled with curiosity every time she glimpsed those odd and quirky stalls

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along the way.

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Red lanterns hung overhead, colorful flags fluttering, with vendors shouting and the lively bustle of street food all around–the whole place was practically buzzing. For Yolanda, this was her very first time experiencing such a festival, and she couldn’t help but feel a little exhilarated.

Before she turned ten, she’d been cooped up in the orphanage; after that, life with the Grant Family kept her mostly inside–she’d hardly gone anywhere at all.

As Yolanda zoned out, a skewer of candied hawthorn suddenly appeared in front of her, offered by a slender, graceful hand. She looked up along the hand and met Ian’s smiling face.

The candied hawthorn was already unwrapped; Ian gently held it up to her lips.

Ian said softly, “Go ahead, try it.”

Yolanda took a bite, and as the glossy syrupy shell cracked, a burst of sweet and sour flavor filled her mouth.

She rarely indulged in treats like this. As a kid, money was always tight, and a single skewer of candied hawthorn had to be split between a bunch of children. Yolanda, ever the considerate one, always let the younger kids take the first bite. Later, with keeping her complexion flawless as a priority, sweets were absolutely out, and spicy food was forbidden too. Her meals were strictly clean and plain—she’d always held herself back, even when she really wanted a taste.

“Do you like it?” Ian asked, leaning in close.

He took a bite from the skewer, right where Yolanda’s teeth had just left their mark.

Yolanda worried that his good looks would draw a crowd–he’d been all over trending topics not long ago. She quickly pushed him away and fixed his mask back in place, whispering, “Promise me you won’t take it off again.”

Ian’s cap was pulled low, showing off his elegant jaw and the angle of his throat. Hearing her, he smiled and replied softly, “Mm–hmm.”

Yolanda snacked her way through the fair with Ian, picking out little treats from the stalls. By the time they made it all the way through, she had a lotus lantern dangling from her hand.

Ian stayed glued to her side, leaning in close and murmuring right by her ear with playful warmth, “Ms. Grant, I’m spending the night alone. Why don’t you keep me company?”

As he spoke, his arm quietly wrapped around her waist, a gentle and secretive gesture.

It was pitch dark, with no one else around–the fair’s noisy calls echoed faintly from a distance, leaving them wrapped in their own little bubble.

Yolanda glanced at him, then shoved him up against the wall and kissed him hard.

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lan’s cap got knocked sideways as he instinctively leaned back, slipped his arm around her waist, and flipped the game, holding her tight.

The bag slipped from Yolanda’s hand and hit the ground as Ian scooped her right up, pressing her between himself and the wall.

In the gloom, there was a predatory gleam in his eyes–so different from the withdrawn, brooding man he’d been when they first met.

The kiss lasted a long, long time. Eventually, Yolanda turned her head away, catching her breath. “We should really head back,” she said.

Ian was tense, every muscle wound tight.

“When can I finally taste you?” His voice was low and husky, whispered right against her skin.

He gently nuzzled at her neck, leaving no trace behind.

Yolanda’s legs were left dangling as she gave a little wriggle.

But even that small movement was enough to make her feel something… waking up underneath her.

She let her lashes drop and tugged his mask back into place. Yolanda whispered, “We’ll talk about it later.”

Ian dropped his gaze, long lashes shadowing his eyes. Something flickered there before it faded. He smirked and teased, “You know, I’m starting to think you’re trying to train me like a dog.”

Yolanda burst out laughing, grabbed his hat from the ground, and set it back on his head herself.

They headed back to the hotel with Ian close behind Yolanda. She had just finished getting ready for bed when her phone buzzed–Simone was calling, saying they needed one more for mahjong and asked her to come fill in.

No

way she could refuse, so Yolanda headed over. When she walked in, she found herself face to face with Charles, Ian, and Simone already gathered at the table.

Yolanda paused, tempted to turn and run for it.

But Simone waved her over. “Come on, Yolanda! Tonight I’ll help you clean up–besides, your hubby’s loaded anyway!”

The mahjong table was top–shelf, made of rich walnut wood.

Yolanda took a deep breath, plastered on a smile, and slid into her seat.

To her left was Ian, to her right was Charles, and across from her was Simone. Just as they were about to start, the doorbell rang.

Yolanda went to answer the door, only to find Vivian standing right outside.

This was Simone’s suite–Vivian wouldn’t just drop by out of the blue unless she’d already found out where

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Charles was hanging around.

She

gave the room an easygoing grin and called out, “Mahjong night? Count me in, I’m no rookie.”

Simone’s expression darkened. Vivian was thirty–one, three years older than Charles. Back when they were kids, this whole group used to hang out together all the time, and Vivian had always been the outgoing, bold type–popular with the boys, never shy, and totally up for any game, even those forfeit games where you’d have to take off a piece of clothing if you lost.

Vivian didn’t even bother acknowledging Yolanda at the door, striding straight over to the mahjong table and taking Yolanda’s seat like she owned the place.

With a smirk, Vivian challenged, “Mrs. Sinclair, you don’t mind, do you?”

Their feud was no secret–Yolanda was done playing nice. She stormed over and shot back, “Actually, I do mind. Move.”

Vivian’s smile was all teeth, no warmth. “The Sinclair family and the Andrade family are working together now. Mrs. Sinclair, you really don’t seem to understand how the business world works.”

you think?” Then she turned to Charles, her voice sweet but sharp. “Mr. Sinclair, what do

Charles never glanced up from his cards. “Whoever wants to play, go ahead.”

Before Charles had even finished talking, Ian got to his feet and grinned, “Mrs. Sinclair, you can have my seat.”

Yolanda shot Vivian a quick look as she caught that faint, totally mocking chuckle.

‘Whatever,‘ she thought, pressing her lips together before scooting into Ian’s seat.

Simone snorted, sarcasm dripping from her voice. “Wow, you’re really not lifting a finger for your wife, huh?”

Charles set down his tile, sounding utterly relaxed. “Yolanda’s at the table now, isn’t she?”

Simone seethed inside, ‘Whatever, keep acting like you don’t care!’