Billionaire CEO Love Him
Rion Sky lived above the world — literally and figuratively.
From the 100th floor of Sky Corporation’s headquarters, he stood before a wall of glass, overlooking the city as if it were a mere painting on display. Traffic lights glittered like obedient ants, people moved like numbers on a spreadsheet, and everything beneath him served one purpose — profit.
His reflection stared back in the glass.
Tall. Composed. Perfectly groomed black hair. A suit cut to his frame so sharply it could kill a man if thrown.
His face was calm.
Too calm.
Most men needed to raise their voices to prove power. Rion had long discovered that the softer he spoke, the more the world trembled.
Behind him, two executives waited. One trembled. The other tried not to.
“This quarter’s investment portfolio shows—” the older one began.
Rion raised a hand.
Silence.
He didn’t turn around.
“I asked for results,” he said quietly, “not explanations.”
The younger executive swallowed. “W-We had complications with—”
“Complications?” Rion’s voice remained steady and composed. “Do banks accept complications as collateral? Do competitors fold when you cry about complications?”
They both fell silent.
Good. He hated incompetence.
Rion finally turned, taking slow, deliberate steps toward them. He never walked fast. Fast movements showed desperation. He had never once needed desperation.
“Gentlemen,” he said. “I pay you to prevent problems. Not report them.”
His gaze settled on the older man.
“You have one day.”
Then the younger.
“You have one hour.”
Neither dared ask who was given the worse fate.
Rion brushed past them, heading toward the elevator. His secretary — a seasoned woman who survived longer than anyone else — followed him, keeping three respectful steps behind.
“Your schedule, sir,” she said, handing over a tablet. “Morning shareholder briefing, lunch with Prime Minister Sato’s envoy, and in the evening… your engagement dinner with Miss Cherry Ling.”
She said it carefully. As if approaching a beast with a stick.
Rion didn’t look at her.
“Cancel it.”
She hesitated. “Sir, Miss Ling already flew in from Shanghai—”
“Cancel. It.” His tone didn’t shift. But it never needed to.
“Yes, sir.”
The elevator opened.
Rion stepped in, alone.
As the doors closed, silence wrapped around him like a familiar lover.
Silence never lied.
People lied.
---
Flashback.
Screaming. Begging. A child hiding behind a couch while lawyers and relatives fought over his dead parents’ fortune. They didn’t even cover the bodies before arguing over who got what.
His father’s funeral wasn’t a funeral. It was a bidding war.
Rion was eleven when he made his first decision:
Never feel.
---
He opened his eyes as the elevator reached the rooftop, where his private helicopter waited.
The pilot bowed. “Where to, sir?”
“The east district.”
The pilot froze. “Sir, that area is—”
A single glance from Rion shut him up. “—understood.”
They took off.
---
The eastern district was nothing like Rion’s world of glass and gold. It was chaos — flickering neon signs, graffiti-covered walls, piles of trash in alleys that smelled of smoke and desperation.
Rion stepped out of the helicopter with his hands in his coat pockets. His driver was already waiting with a black car.
The driver opened the door for him, nervous. “Sir… with all due respect, you shouldn’t handle these matters personally. We could send men—”
“I don’t trust men,” Rion said calmly as he entered the car. “I trust myself.”
The driver shut his mouth.
They drove deeper into the alleys until the road narrowed. The car stopped.
“Wait here.”
Rion stepped out and walked into the darkness.
No bodyguards.
No entourage.
Just him — a billionaire strolling through danger like it was a park.
Calm.
Unbothered.
Unbreakable.
He had a meeting with a crime syndicate leader who recently disrupted one of his quiet operations. Rion preferred negotiation over violence — but only because negotiations were more efficient. If they refused…
He glanced at his watch.
They have five minutes to arrive before I end them.
The wind rustled.
Then — footsteps.
Four men emerged from the shadows, surrounding him. None were the leader he expected.
Amateurs.
Sloppy.
The one in front grinned. “You lost, Mr. Rich Boy?”
Rion didn’t answer.
Another pulled out a knife. “Nice watch. Must be worth—”
The man didn’t finish.
Rion stepped forward once.
Only once.
His gaze — steady, emotionless — met the man’s eyes.
“Touch it,” he said quietly, “and I’ll see to it that your whole bloodline vanishes from public records.”
They froze. Not because of the threat itself — but because he sounded dead serious. Too calm to be joking.
These weren’t normal rich boy threats.
This was a promise from someone who had erased people before.
Their hesitation broke when one fool lunged.
Rion sidestepped effortlessly.
A swift, efficient movement — like swatting a fly.
He twisted the attacker’s wrist, breaking it with a sickening crack.
The man screamed.
The others panicked.
They pulled weapons.
Rion sighed.
He could kill them.
He probably should.
But before he could decide—
Gunshot.
His shoulder jerked.
He blinked slowly, more annoyed than pained, as warm blood seeped through his coat.
Someone had fired from behind.
He turned—just as another shot hit his leg.
His body stumbled against the wall, but his expression didn’t change.
He looked mildly inconvenienced.
The attackers laughed nervously, thinking he’d fall.
He didn’t.
He stayed standing.
Like a dying god refusing to kneel.
But blood loss demanded obedience.
His vision blurred.
He slid down the wall slowly.
Still calm.
Still silent.
If this was how he died, so be it.
He would die standing in dignity, not crawling in fear.
The world dimmed.
---
ASHIN POV's
Ashin Storm was late.
Again.
“Crap crap crap,” he muttered, sprinting through the alleyways while clutching a plastic bag of steamed buns. “Grandma’s gonna kill me if dinner gets cold—”
Then he stopped.
A metallic scent hit his nose.
Blood.
He turned right — and froze.
There, slumped against the wall, was a man in a suit so expensive it didn’t belong anywhere near this gutter. Blood dripped down his arm. His eyes were half-open, yet burning with refusal to fall.
Ashin’s brain screamed RUN.
His body moved forward.
“Hey! Sir! Can you hear me?!”
No response.
Ashin dropped to his knees, tearing open the bag, pulling out napkins. “Crap, okay—apply pressure, stop the bleeding, don’t die, don’t die—”
The man’s eyes rolled toward him slowly.
Cold. Sharp. Silver-gray.
Ashin felt like those eyes could kill him on the spot.
But instead of pushing him away…
The man spoke, voice calm and terrifyingly steady.
“Leave. Now.”
Ashin swallowed.
“…No.”
---
Chapter 1 — End
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