40. David

  I wake to the soft chime of a distant bell, late morning sunlight spilling across the room in golden sheets. It warms my skin like a lover’s touch.

  For a moment, I lie still, watching dust motes drift through the sunbeams. The sheets are tangled around our legs. Sonora’s arm is draped across my chest, possessive even in sleep. Her breath is slow, steady. I resist the urge to wake her—to see those sleepy eyes flutter open and find me.

  Outside, the city begins its daily roar—shouts, laughters, car horns. Inside, there’s only our breathing, the soft tick of the clock, and the quiet thrum of a world we’re about to break.

  She stirs, whimpering softly. Not ready to wake. Her body arches in a languid stretch, arms reaching overhead as if to pull sleep back around her.

  “Morning, baby,” I whisper against her ear.

  A smile touches her lips. She turns, fingers threading through my hair, pulling my mouth to hers. The kiss is slow, tasting of sleep and something deeper. A quiet, knowing hum vibrates in her throat as she pulls away. "Morning. Did you sleep well?"

  “Best sleep ever.” I grin, my hand finding her bare hip, fingertips tracing the curve of her flesh. A sensual shiver ran through her, a small, involuntary confession.

  “Me too,” she purrs. “I was having such a yummy dream.” Her eyes sparkle, telling me exactly what kind.

  I move my hand up her side, my thumb brushing the curve of her breast, before tracing a fingertip over her bottom lip. Her eyes flashes as she parts her lips, drawing my finger in, sucking lightly—a silent promise.

  Then the phone rings. Sharp. Jarring.

  Mine.

  It’s Hansen.

  “Hi, David.”

  “Hello, Hansen.”

  “You busy?” His voice is deferential, like I’m his boss. Not he is mine.

  “No.”

  “Good. First things first—congratulations! You’re officially moved to directive trading.” He laughs, hearty and proud.

  Sonora releases my finger from her lips, her smile curling into something wicked. She presses closer, lips grazing my earlobe, a light sucking followed by a tantalizing nibble that’s anything but gentle.

  “David, if you need anything, come to me directly. I consider you a younger brother. Don’t be a stranger.”

  Sonora's breasts are now crushed lightly against my chest, her nipples hardening against my skin. I struggle to focus.

  “Thanks, Hansen. I really look up to you.” I mean it. His instincts have always been my compass.

  The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  Her hand slides down my side, over my hip, teasing my ass, then up my back.

  “Good, good. Come in at 12:30,” Hansen says. “We’ll lock down the sales plan. Good chance to get oriented.”

  “You got it!”

  He hangs up.

  Then Sonora’s phone rings. Her boss.

  I grin. It's time I give her a taste of her own medicine.

  I roll her onto her back, straddling her hips. Her dark eyes meet mine, wide and unreadable.

  She answers, voice calm. “Sure. I’ll be there.”

  When she hangs up, the sparkle of joy in her eyes fades. The weight of reality returns.

  “I need to go to the office at 12:30,” she says quietly.

  “Me too.” The air shifts. The warmth drains from the room.

  We’ll be working together. But our first job is to engineer the biggest stock market crash in history.

  “What can we do?” she asks, her voice low.

  Not much. We both know it. If we resist, they’ll simply find someone else. But they won’t leave us alive to talk about it.

  “I see three options,” she says. Her face is serious, composed. I admire that—especially now. I look at her, truly look at her, and listen.

  “Option one: we go public. Media, Weibo, WeChat, forums. Every channel we can.”

  “Will anyone believe us?” I ask.

  “Some might. But the state tightly controls the news. I doubt anyone dare to publish it. We have no reach on social media. They’ll delete our posts within hours.”

  She pauses let it sink in. Then she continues.

  “Option two: if not all Ruby Fives are involved, we pass the info to one of them.”

  I shake my head. “Suicide. We don’t know which one to go to. Even if we did, we’d have no access. No leverage.”

  Politics at that level is ruthless and unforgiving.

  “Option three: we leave. Disappear. For that, we need money.”

  Her words from yesterday echo in my mind: Buy time. Real time. Time with people I love. Somewhere like the Cotswolds. Or the Lake District. Where houses are brick, not concrete. Slow mornings. A garden that actually needs tending.

  She’s inviting me to run away. To live the fairytale.

  “David, I’m scared.” Her voice is barely audible. Her face pale. “Have you heard the story of Cao Cao borrowing the head of the Grain Transport Officer? If the crash is as big as we think, someone will take the fall. Maybe many. Maybe us.”

  “You’re right. The best thing we can do is leave.” Not get our hands dirty. Or at least not stay to see the aftermath. “But we need to get enough money.”

  “How?” she asks. She tries to hide it, but I see something in her eyes—expectant. Hopeful. Maybe dreaming.

  “I don’t know. But I think we’ll find out this afternoon.”

  “Right. Once we know the sales plan.” She agrees. “But one thing we sure need is a foreign entity qualified to trade A-shares.”

  “I have one,” I say. “My uncle helped me approve a company. Just in case I couldn’t handle working in a state-owned firm. I can trade independently.”

  Her smile blooms—unfiltered, radiant. A flicker of joy she can’t hold back.

  And for a moment, in the quiet between catastrophe and escape, we believe in the possibility of another life.

  /**

  Cao Cao’s army laid siege to a city, and the campaign dragged on far longer than expected. Grain thinned. To stretch what remained, Cao Cao ordered the Grain Transportation Officer, Hou Wang, to issue rations with a smaller scoop. The soldiers noticed at once. Grumbling spread through the ranks, hardening into something close to mutiny.

  On the third day, Cao Cao summoned Hou Wang. “I need to borrow your head for a moment,” he said, “to settle the soldiers’ hearts. Do not be reluctant to give it up.”

  Hou Wang went pale. “Chancellor, I only followed your orders. I am not guilty!”

  Cao Cao’s face did not change. “I know,” he said. “But if I do not kill you, morale will break. Do not worry. After you die, I will bring your wife, children, and elders to the capital and provide for them. They will not be treated poorly.”

  Hou Wang tried to plead again. Cao Cao waved in the executioners. They dragged him outside.

  Before the whole army, Hou Wang was executed, his head raised as proof that ‘justice’ had been done.

  The fury cooled. Discipline returned. The siege held, and the city fell. Those who understood power saw the darker truth: Cao Cao had not paid his debt with grain or silver, but with a life—borrowing one person’s head to purchase time, order, and victory for the campaign.

  **/