The Billionaire's Multiplier System-Chapter 80 - 81 – Velvet Steps and Crimson Eyes

The night had a hush to it. The kind of silence that didn’t feel empty, but expectant—like the pause before a violin’s first note.

The Heliantheas Hall stood at the heart of the old diplomatic quarter, wrapped in high walls of sandstone and black marble, illuminated only by carefully positioned lights that refused to overstate their presence. There were no media, no paparazzi, not even an obvious valet station. Only people who were meant to be there arrived. Everyone else didn’t know it existed.

Lin Feng stepped from his car into the cool night. He wore a tailored black suit with fine charcoal embroidery around the cuffs, understated but undeniably expensive. His hair was slicked back, but not so much it looked deliberate. Under the outer calm was a quiet intensity, like a calm surface hiding deeper waters.

He looked up at the entrance—massive doors flanked by polished stone columns, guarded not by bouncers but by men who moved like they didn’t need to be seen to be lethal.

A whisper of heels clicked beside him. Guo Yuwei stepped out of a separate car, dressed in a deep navy gown that followed her body like still water, her dark hair swept back into a low twist. Her necklace was an unbroken strand of pale moonstone—subtle, expensive, and cold.

"You’re late," Lin said, offering his arm.

"I’m never late," she replied, accepting it. "I just arrive at the right moment."

Behind them, a third vehicle pulled in. Qin Yuyan stepped out, wearing matte black silk cut in a style that didn’t follow fashion—it ignored it entirely. Her eyes met Lin’s only briefly before she turned her gaze toward the building.

"I don’t like places like this," she murmured, walking past them. "But I do like what happens when places like this meet people like us."

Then came the fourth. Luo Bingqing’s car had tinted windows that didn’t even allow silhouettes. When she stepped out, she wore no jewelry, no gown. A jet black pantsuit with a silver collar and ankle boots—rebellious, calculated. Her hair was braided down one side. Her presence didn’t just stand out. It refused to blend in.

"You look like a corporate assassin," Lin said.

"I feel like one," she muttered. "Let’s go stab a few reputations."

The four of them approached the gate as one unit—not a couple, not a group of guests. A formation.

Inside, velvet lined the grand corridor floors, muffling footsteps as gold sconces flickered with real flame. The smell of aged liquor and jasmine-scented polish clung to the air. But what made Lin pause wasn’t the atmosphere.

It was the people.

Thirty or forty guests already mingled beneath the high ceilings, flanked by staff in muted tones. These weren’t celebrities. These were dynasties dressed as elegance. Sons and daughters of legacy firms. Board members from state-backed banks. The kinds of people who never went viral because their money moved in whispers.

And they all noticed Lin Feng.

Some looked too long. Others turned away too quickly. He wasn’t unknown here—but his presence wasn’t expected, either.

A man in a crimson tuxedo stepped forward, smiling thinly. Older, with silver at his temples and a ring bearing a dragon crest.

"Mr. Lin," he said smoothly. "I must say, your reputation arrived before you did."

"That’s unfortunate," Lin replied. "I was hoping to make my own entrance."

The man chuckled, but his eyes didn’t. "The Assembly doesn’t forget names that grow too quickly."

"And you are?"

"Lu Tianye. I chair the Northern Securities Consortium. And occasionally... I greet wolves who wander into the flock."

Lin smiled coolly. "Then I’ll do my best to leave teeth marks."

Lu Tianye turned with a chuckle, though he lingered a second longer than necessary. Around the room, other heads had begun to turn more overtly. Some with curiosity. Others with calculation.

Yuwei leaned in. "He was sizing you up for asset leverage. If you had blinked, you’d be on his acquisition list tomorrow."

"Then it’s a good thing I’m not for sale," Lin murmured.

A voice broke through the soft music.

"Well, well. The new face finally joins the old room."

Luo Zixuan.

He approached alone, but that meant little. His presence was rarely casual. Tonight, he wore white—almost defiant, like purity used as armor. His smile was perfect. His posture was precise.

He extended his hand.

Lin shook it without hesitation.

"You’ve made quite the impression, Lin Feng," Zixuan said. "I’ve heard everything from ’mysterious benefactor’ to ’emotional financier.’ Which are you?"

"I’m whatever the person speaking needs me to be," Lin replied.

Zixuan grinned wider. "A diplomat, too. Impressive."

Guo Yuwei stepped slightly closer, her presence subtle but grounded.

"And what have they said about you, Mr. Luo?" she asked.

Zixuan turned his charm toward her. "Only what they always say about the heir who hasn’t failed yet."

"Then let’s hope they get something new to talk about," Bingqing added, sipping champagne nearby. "Success stories are boring."

Zixuan chuckled, even as his gaze flicked toward her, then Lin again. "You’ve built a powerful orbit."

"They’re not orbiting," Lin said. "They’re walking beside me."

That wiped the smile off Zixuan’s face for a flicker of a second. Then he bowed slightly and stepped back into the crowd.

As he vanished into murmurs and gold-draped nobility, Ruoxi appeared on the stairs above, descending like she had owned the place in another life.

She wore velvet—just as promised—but blood-red, the color of control. Her hair was down, framing her face like a warning.

"Fashionably late," Lin said, offering her his hand.

"Strategically timed," she corrected, taking it. "Your table is in the east wing. Surrounded by sharks, landmines, and at least one attempted saboteur."

"Sounds like a game."

"No," Ruoxi said. "It’s a test."

The banquet hall was quieter than expected. Not hushed—just intentional. Only two dozen seats were arranged, each facing in odd angles that broke traditional symmetry. Designed for conversation traps and unexpected eye contact.

Lin’s seat was directly across from Zixuan.

Of course.

As they sat, staff moved like ghosts—pouring wine, setting small plates, adjusting lighting by millimeters.

The host hadn’t spoken yet. There were no opening speeches.

But the room already felt like a trial.

Yuwei whispered, "There are people here who think this city belongs to them by birthright."

"It doesn’t," Lin replied.

"No. But they think anyone who wasn’t born here is trespassing."

"I’m not here to inherit their table," Lin said. "I’m here to build a new one."

The music softened.

A silver-haired woman in a midnight-blue gown stepped forward. She tapped her glass once. Silence followed.

"Tonight," she said softly, "we are gathered to remember what power sounds like when spoken quietly."

Her eyes passed over Lin for half a second longer than anyone else.

"Let us begin."

And so it did.

Not with fireworks.

Not with applause.

But with the clicking of forks, the sharpening of glances, and the game that everyone pretended wasn’t being played.

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