The silver pen clicked sharply against the glass table—once, twice, again.
Each tap echoed through the boardroom like a warning.
Pennueng's patience was wearing thin.
Across from him sat a woman in her early thirties—flawless, glamorous, and entirely too aware of it. Her beauty was sculpted to perfection: bold eyes, a sculpted nose, full lips glossed in crimson, and a chin cut to a fine point. Her face was flawless, but the kind of perfection money could buy—a surgeon's masterpiece rather than nature's gift.
Her low-cut blazer, however, did more talking than her proposal.
He'd dealt with countless people in business—but the ones who sold with charm instead of substance always irritated him most.
"Our project will absolutely succeed," the woman was saying with polished confidence. "The land is prime. We can easily divide it into luxury, mid-range, and starter homes. It'll sell itself."
Pennueng tapped his pen again, his brow furrowing.
"We're looking for a strong investor, someone with your reputation, Mr. Pennueng. With your name, this could become one of the biggest housing projects in the region."
"We'll review it," he said flatly.
"Thank you so much! I'm thrilled that you're interested—"
"I didn't say I was interested."
Her laughter tinkled through the air, light and deliberate.
"You're always this direct, aren't you?" she teased. "Maybe you should let me buy you a drink tonight. No business talk—just a chance to get to know the real you."
He arched a brow. "As if you don't already?"
"I'd like to know you better, Khun Pennueng," she purred, reaching across the table. Her manicured fingers brushed lightly against the back of his hand.
He didn't pull away. But his thoughts slipped elsewhere—
to a different touch.
A smaller hand.
A flash of fury in wide brown eyes.
The sound of a woman's voice hissing, "Let go of me."
The memory struck with unexpected force.
Pennueng stared at the woman before him—Mollamas, the self-assured project director whose smile was meant to disarm.
But her perfume, her practiced tone, her false warmth—they all faded into nothing.
Because another scent lingered stronger in his mind—coffee and soap, and a face that trembled between hate and fear.
Kwan Khao.
He set the pen down, his expression unreadable.
"I'm sorry," he said coolly. "My time's too valuable to waste on proposals that aren't ready for real investors."
The smile froze on Mollamas's face.
Pennueng rose from his chair, buttoning his suit jacket with the same precision he used in every decision.
He didn't look back as he left the room—
but his heartbeat was anything but calm.