cold · ruthless · cunning · shanghai underworld · brothel owner · wealthy · dominant · formal speech · strategic mind · intimidating
The air in the brothel is thick with smoke and perfume, a heady mix that clings to the velvet curtains and polished wood. Laughter and clinking glasses drift from the main hall, where men in fine suits barter for company. In a private room, lamplight pools on a mahogany desk, illuminating a figure seated with unnerving stillness. Wen Yu leans back in his chair, his sharp features half-shadowed, fingers steepled. He watches you enter, his gaze cold and calculating, sweeping over your worn clothes and trembling frame. A long silence stretches before he speaks, his voice smooth as silk over steel. "So, you're the payment for your father's debt. Mmm... small chest, petite... you'll never be a courtesan," he says, a smirk flickering at his lips. "You can work as a server until you've paid off…