>Noel Castillo
My name is Noel Castillo, and I'm the secretary of the infamous Venzrich Archeval. I've been serving him for quite a while now—long enough to know his routines, moods, and the exact tilt of his eyebrow when he's about to ruin someone's day.
Which is why it threw me off when he suddenly called and told me to bring him a change of clothes.
To a club.
Of all places.
"What time was the meeting?" he asked, face as stoic as ever, as he handed me a paper bag stuffed with his used clothes. His expression didn't shift, but something in the air did. He looked… irritated. And considering he already looks scary on a good day, this was not exactly comforting.
I looked at my watch, then back at him."We only have ten minutes left, Young Master," I said, quietly sneaking a peek at his reaction.
Yep. There it was. His jaw clenched, and a sharp flicker of annoyance crossed his face.
There's a reason he's dubbed the youngest billionaire in all of Asia—despite his age, the man has an impeccable work ethic. He has never been late to a meeting.
And today? We have ten minutes left before a meeting that's a twenty–minute drive away.
"Hand me the key."He held out his left hand, the other gripping the documents I'd given him earlier. His eyes stayed glued to the papers, not even sparing me a glance.
…Wait. Why does he need the key?
"What do you mean, Young Master?" I asked, needing confirmation.
He finally turned to me, looking cold, irritated, and two seconds away from firing me. His brows pulled into a deep frown.
"Are you dumb? I mean, I'm gonna drive."
We're dead.
The boss has never been late to a meeting—not once—and apparently today won't be the exception either.
My hands trembled as I hesitantly handed him the key. He clicked his tongue in clear annoyance, tossed the documents at me, and strode straight to the driver's seat. I scrambled after him, silently praying that today wouldn't be my last day on Earth.
"Tsk. Now we're two minutes behind because of you."
I winced.
Yes, he might be the most handsome man I've ever laid eyes on, but behind that face is a demon. A punctual, cold, terrifying demon.
The moment he started the engine, I had a bad feeling—one of those ominous, crawling sensations in your gut that whisper, This is where your obituary begins. And I was right.
The tires screeched so loudly, I swear my soul punched its way out of my body, hovered above us, and refused to come back.
The world outside blurred into streaks of color as he weaved through traffic with surgical precision, as if every lane belonged to him and everyone else was merely an inconvenience sent by the universe to anger him. I clung to the door handle, praying to all known gods and a few unknown ones, promising lifelong devotion in exchange for survival.
By the time we arrived, my stomach had twisted itself into knots. The moment the car stopped, I stumbled out, bent over the pavement, and emptied my entire breakfast—along with every remaining ounce of pride—onto the parking lot floor.
Wonderful. Perfect. I'm sure the security cameras got all that in glorious HD.
"Tsk, so inconvenient," the Young Master muttered, stepping around me like I was a minor road obstruction.
"I—I'm human," I wheezed, wiping my mouth as I tried to stand upright again. My legs felt like cooked noodles. "Some of us prefer living, Young Master."
But he was already walking toward the building entrance, crisp, composed, not a single hair out of place. Meanwhile, I looked like I'd been dragged behind a bus, the bags under my eyes glowing darker from pent-up stress.
I jogged after him, clutching the documents and attempting to regain whatever shreds of dignity I still possessed. "Young Master, regarding the new product launch—"
His pace didn't slow. "Status?"
"We're almost ready. Marketing has finalized the concept and packaging," I explained, adjusting my tie as we approached the elevator. "The only thing left is securing a model for the main campaign. The team is currently scouting—"
"Make sure they finish it by this week," he said, stepping inside the elevator as the doors slid open. "I don't want delays."
"Yes, Young Master." Of course, he didn't want delays. He'd rather level an entire department than push back a deadline.
We reached the meeting floor, and the moment he walked in, the entire room straightened—managers, directors, even the VP. Everyone sat up like they'd been electrocuted. The tension thickened instantly, as if his presence alone tightened an invisible leash around the room.
He led the meeting with his usual terrifying calmness, his voice slicing through financial projections and marketing plans with the precision of a scalpel. Every word was crisp, calculated, and absolute. If he said the sky was green, the board would nod and take notes.
Meanwhile, I scribbled down everything as fast as I could, hands still shaking slightly from our near-death car ride. Every so often, he'd flick his gaze toward me, and I'd straighten so quickly my spine popped.
After an hour of intense discussion—and at least seven silent executions through his glare—the meeting finally ended. He stood, gathered his papers, and nodded once. The directors exhaled in unison, grateful to be alive another day.
We left the room, then walked back to the office. Thankfully, this time he seemed to calm down a bit as he sat on his swivel chair, but something was off about him. He wasn't tapping his fingers impatiently or reading through documents; instead, he stared straight ahead, deep in thought.
Not good. When he looked like that, someone was about to suffer. I prayed it wouldn't be me.
Back at the office, he strode into his private room. I followed, closing the door behind me, ready for instructions. Instead, he stood with his back to me, silent.
"Young Master?" I asked carefully. "Is there a problem?"
He didn't answer right away. He took a long breath, exhaled slowly, and finally said, "I need you to investigate someone."
My eyebrows shot up. "Someone?"
"A woman I met at the club last night," he said, his tone dropping lower.
A woman.At a club. My eyes nearly fell out of my skull.
"You—You met a woman? At the club? Like… casually? Socially?"I was spiraling. This man hadn't touched a woman voluntarily since—well, ever. No, he despises women to begin with.
He shot me a cold, terrifying look that told me to shut up before I died. I nodded vigorously.
"Describe her," I asked quickly, grabbing my tablet.
He fell still.
I frowned. "Young Master?"
And then it hit me.
He couldn't describe her. Because if the young master has one weakness, it is his face blindness. If he couldn't see a face clearly at the moment, he couldn't remember or describe it, even if they're close. Not even a single feature.
His jaw tightened. "She… had black hair. And brown eyes."
I froze. That described literally half the population.
"Young Master, that's… not very specific," I said carefully, already bracing for his glare.
"Do you perhaps remember her clothes? Or height? Or—"
"Figure it out," he cut in sharply. "I need to know who she is. No matter what."
The air around him shifted. He wasn't merely irritated—he was restless, agitated, as if something had sunk claws into him and refused to let go. Whoever this woman was, she had triggered something in him.
I swallowed, nodding. "Understood. I'll… figure something out."
I left his office, shoulders heavy with dread. Finding a random woman in a random club with "brown eyes and black hair" was like trying to find a needle in a haystack—except the haystack was 110 million people and the needle had no face.
I sank into my chair, rubbing my temples. I opened my tablet to begin listing all VIP entries from last night, security footage requests, and maybe a prayer or two.
Just as I typed my first note, my phone vibrated.
I opened it. My eyes grew so much that it was about to pop out of my eyes. I stumbled out of my seat and rushed to his office without even knocking.
"Young Master. Your grandfather set your engagement."
His brow furrowed.
"What did you say?!"
And that… that was the final blow to my sanity today.