"Emily, Christopher Davis is at Jiangnan. I just sent you the room number. Get ready and head over there asap."

"Tell Louise to make sure I look hot in the pics she takes! This one’s going official!" Emily Blackwell said as she flipped her hair, her tone flirtatious and sultry.

After ending the call with Nancy Thompson, she changed into a revealing lacy dress and applied flawless makeup. She looked like a black mandala blooming in the night—seductive and dangerously alluring.

Walking into Jiangnan, she didn’t rush upstairs. Instead, she lounged at the bar, ordered a cocktail, and sipped slowly while thinking through her plan to catch Christopher Davis’s attention.

A bunch of guys tried to approach her, but she brushed them off without a glance.

One drink down, and with a plan forming in her head, she finally made her way to the third floor.

The moment she pushed open the private room’s door, she was hit by the low lighting and the noise inside. Men and women were sitting together, and under the dim glow, colorful bottles lined the marble table.

Her striking rose-colored eyes immediately locked onto the man in the corner—Christopher Davis, leader of the Four Giants of Jincheng, freshly crowned the richest man on earth, and notorious for his ruthless reputation.

Emily’s beauty hit like a truck. As soon as the door opened, everyone turned to stare.

"Well, look who it is! Isn’t that the mute siren from the Blackwell family?" someone whistled lewdly.

"Didn’t Miss Blackwell cancel ten engagements in a year? That's some record."

"Heard the last one she called off was with Mr. Davis's nephew. Think he knows about that?"

Christopher had a drink in hand, his expression unreadable in the dim light.

Emily gave a soft little smile like she didn’t hear a thing. Hips swaying gracefully, she walked straight toward Christopher.

Her goal tonight was clear—get close to Christopher, block Grace Blackwell and Lucas Barrett, and hold onto the Blackwells' 20% share in Taifeng.

What people thought or said didn't bother her one bit.

Honestly, her reputation had already gone to hell thanks to Grace and her mother. In Jincheng, everyone labeled her a man-eater, told their daughters not to copy her, told their sons not to get within ten feet of her, scared she'd ruin them too.

"Looks like the Blackwell mute’s aiming high, huh?" someone jeered as she moved with purpose.

Emily had a messy rep, sure. But she was smoking hot—curves in all the right places, and those come-hither eyes could wreck a man in seconds.

Problem was, her standards were through the roof. Most guys didn’t stand a chance.

"She bails on the nephew, and two days later she’s in Uncle’s arms? Classic mute move!"

"As if a guy like Mr. Davis would go for someone half this city’s passed around."

"Even if she’s been passed around, dudes in Jincheng still line up for a shot."

Christopher frowned. With one swing, he slammed his glass down. The dudes talking trash were suddenly covering their mouths, groaning in pain.

"Get out."

Those men scrambled like clowns, tripping over themselves to leave.

The rest of the room instantly fell silent. Eyes down, no one dared breathe too loud.

Mr. Davis defending her? That wasn’t expected.

Emily blinked, slightly thrown off, but recovered quickly. She strolled over and sat right next to him, tilting her head with a teasing smile that lit up the room—pure summer sunshine that made your heart skip.

Christopher turned his face toward her, his expression unreadable. "You blind? Someone’s already sitting here. Move."

Emily’s eyebrows quirked up slightly as she lazily glanced at the woman on the other side—Violet Thompson, the reigning PR queen of Jincheng.

Violet looked soft and sweet, her gentle tone and delicate features straight out of a southern girl painting. But right now, next to Emily’s bold beauty, she faded into the background like wallpaper.“Miss Blackwell.” Violet Thompson held a wine bottle, locking eyes with Emily and curling her lips into a light smile.

Emily didn’t even blink. She lifted her hand and casually made a “get lost” gesture, one brow arching. Her eyes sparkled with teasing charm.

She’d always been the bold, fearless type. A PR queen like Violet? She wasn’t worth a second of Emily’s time.

Christopher Davis sat there like a sculpture—dark eyes unreadable, fingers elegantly lifting a cigarette to his lips. He seemed completely unbothered by the silent clash playing out before him.

Violet, pretending not to notice Emily’s brush-off, dropped the bottle and reached for a lighter.

But Emily moved faster. She smoothly plucked one from her purse, igniting it just as her eyes caught that flash of cold indifference in Christopher’s gaze.

For some reason, the phrase “cold-blooded” popped into her head.

He took a drag, then slowly blew out a smoke ring. “You need something?” His voice was low, unhurried.

Considering she’d just been dumped yesterday and now turned up here, her timing was...impressive.

Emily opened her mouth to reply, but ended up breathing in smoke. She choked, coughing uncontrollably.

Her dewy eyes glistened, and her coughs made her look helpless—almost like she needed protecting.

Violet politely offered her a tissue.

Emily gritted her teeth, inhaled sharply, and out of nowhere, slid into Christopher’s lap. Her arms wrapped loosely around his neck, and with a bold gaze, she mouthed, “Private talk?”

Everyone in the room exchanged looks, shocked into silence. Wasn’t this girl supposed to be mute?

In all of Jin City, it was common knowledge—Mr. Davis had a serious germ thing. Most women didn’t even dare stand too close, let alone...

Sit. Right. On. His. Lap.

What kind of game was she playing?

Christopher’s eyebrow twitched; still, he didn’t say a word.

Violet’s hand froze mid-air, her expression cracking just slightly before resuming its calm sweetness.

Out of view, Emily tossed her a cheeky grin—pure provocation.

Violet said nothing, keeping her usual graceful facade.

Christopher, with effortless elegance, stubbed out his cigarette, then moved Emily off his lap and onto the seat beside him. His body relaxed lazily as he spoke, “What could we possibly discuss alone, huh?”

His deep voice, soaked in magnetic charm under the dim lights, sent chills down more than a few spines.

Everyone else? Speechless.

Did Mr. Davis—who usually shooed women off like flies—just...joke?

About her?

Emily’s face turned a bit red but she smiled quickly, then bent forward to pour two drinks. One for herself, one for him. Glass touched glass with a crisp clink.

Christopher’s eyes lingered on her. The V-neck black dress hugged her curves just right, and her crossed legs, long and flawless, peeked out, all legs and allure.

He looked away smoothly. "So, you can’t talk, huh? How exactly are we chatting?"

His tone was light. Teasing, maybe.

The room collectively held their breath.

Emily’s gaze didn’t waver. She leaned in again, lips brushing his ear, voice soft with a coquettish lilt, “One sip of this wine with me, we head upstairs. Up there, you can decide how we communicate, Mr. Davis.”

The flirtatious pitch in her tone—intentional and razor sharp—felt like a soft brush across skin.

When she was five, she’d seen her father and her stepmom doing unspeakable things. She told her mom. Her mother jumped off a building later that same day.

Since then, Emily hadn’t spoken a word to another living soul. People just assumed she was mute.

Christopher took in a slow, deep breath. “Guess you’re not mute after all.”

Emily tilted her head back and downed the rest of her drink. Her eyes gleamed under the lights, and her voice came soft as silk. “Only talk to you.”

Now everyone’s jaws had basically hit the floor.

The mute heiress from the Blackwell family… could speak?