Chapter 537 Zayn’s Better And Bigger Than All Of Us

Zayn shook his head. “Nope. I’m gonna have to pass. Gotta go home and report to my wife.” Hints of despondency flitted through Alexandra’s eyes. Biting her lips softly, she asked pointedly, “So… you’re scared of your wife, huh?” “It’s got nothing to do with being scared. It’s got everything to do with respect,” Zayn replied, before adding, “Not that I trust you to understand the difference. You haven’t gotten married.” Alexandra wanted very much to argue, but Zayn was not about to give her the chance. He quickly halted a cab by the roadside and took the ride home, leaving a very frustrated Alexandra to stomp her foot alone. She snapped her fingers, and several bodyguards came out from their hiding around the street before escorting her home. Zayn returned home to an awaiting Faye. When the two of them stood close to one another, Faye’s nose sniffled hard and caught a whiff of perfume. Something slight but evident befell her expression. Women were creatures endowed with the uncanny hypersensitivity to other women’s perfume, so it was not at all surprising for Faye to not only smell it but also identify it as one worn by women in standing. Zayn was mortified. He had been too careless, and since this had happened before, he became even more anxious this time. He was about to explain himself when Faye said, “It’s nothing. I trust you.” It was all she needed to say to send any argument Zayn concocted back into his guts. After all, if he insisted on explaining himself after something like that, he would only succeed in making himself seem even more suspicious than he really was. Strangely, despite knowing that Zayn had spent some of his night with other women, Faye was a lot less upset about it than one would expect. In fact, she even felt a little relieved. She had to go through a rather elaborative introspection to finally understand why her visceral responses were like this. It was because Zayn was too good at everything. He was such a genius that after knowing who he really was, she started feeling inadequate. She saw herself as unremarkable, mediocre, and undeserving of owning all of Zayn. She knew that exceptional men like Zayn were bound to attract other women’s romantic advances because which successful man had ever stuck to only one woman? It was just impractical. This was something she had learned since she became the chairman of Neotech, which gave her ample case studies to work on given the businessmen she had to work with. Hence, Faye had talked herself into the reality of Zayn having another woman out there. All she needed from him was that he carved a spot in his heart for her. Since then, Zayn had been putting all of his attention into his new company, with a jot of copious monetary investment to boot. He planned to have it up and running within three years. Today was the day of the company’s grand opening. As the biggest investor—hence, the de facto “boss”—Zayn was supposed to be present for the ribbon-cutting ceremony before a surfeit of media, journalists, and cameras for live broadcasting. It was going to an event bursting with pomp and circumstance. Zayn, being a man who valued keeping a low profile, was not the sort to enjoy that sort of exposure though, so he delegated the ribbon-cutting ceremony to Sean and Gordon, his proxies, and resigned himself to be the shadow leader. The average denizens felt no changes since the founding of the company, but those of the wealthy upper-class grew to respect and fear the chairman of Violet Vision even more now. Everyone in the domain knew that the real boss behind this 300-million-dollar advertising agency was the chairman of Violet Vision. Sean and Gordon were just investors contributing little to the share. Coupled with a series of other things Zayn had done in public that shocked and intimidated everyone, those who dabbled in business began to warn each other with a saying of their own invention: “Better cross the Devil than to cross the chairman.” Meanwhile, in a secretive, sylvan location somewhere in Rheasia, a village the size of ten meters in radius sat, its idyllic serenity belying its advanced technology and state-of-the-art weaponry. It was a village that shunned visitors whose entries would result in a summary execution. Among the houses, a hut built from bamboo and wood sat on the waist of the mountain. A woman bearing an elegant, regal profile resided in it, her eyes colored by a profound sense of moroseness. She was in her fifties, but her well-cared physical features could have fooled anyone into thinking she was in her thirties—that was if no one noticed the telltale sign of age in the form of faint creases around the edge of her eyes. She was embroidering what appeared to be an image of a young man on a piece of fabric. Had Zayn been around to see it, he would have quickly noticed the image bearing a likeness to how he looked four years ago.