Return of the God of War: Crushing Wall Street

The moment my back slammed heavily against the marble floor, the mechanical pacemaker in my chest let out a dull, heavy thrum.

The crisp shatter of a wine glass abruptly broke the elegance of the banquet hall at the Peninsula Hotel on New York's Fifth Avenue.

Clutching my convulsing chest, I struggled to lift my head. Entering my vision was a pair of custom Berluti leather shoes. The owner of the shoes—Victor, heir to a veteran Wall Street financial syndicate—was slowly and deliberately retracting the right foot he had just stuck out.

"Oh my, Arthur, how can you not even walk straight?"

Victor's voice wasn't loud, but it was perfectly pitched for the surrounding circle of Wall Street investment bank executives to hear clearly. He looked down at the few drops of red wine splashed on his suit trousers, his tone dripping with feigned innocence and grievance.

"This is the suit Vivian specifically picked out with me. What a pity it got dirty."

At the sound of "Vivian," my gaze shot past Victor's shoulder. Vivian, dressed in an haute couture evening gown, was walking over briskly on her high heels.

Tonight was the crucial dinner on the eve of her company ringing the bell at NASDAQ. To help her clear the obstacles before the IPO, I had stayed up for three consecutive nights fixing shady data loopholes. My already weak heart was now protesting under the severe overload.

I thought she was walking over to help me up.

But those four-inch heels stopped half a meter away from me.

"Arthur, what the hell are you doing?" Vivian's voice was kept very low, laced with undisguised disgust.

I opened my mouth, a violent spasm wracking my heart, cold sweat soaking the back of my shirt.

"Vivian, it was Victor who just stuck his foot out..."

"Enough!" She cut me off, her eyes sweeping over the whispering capital tycoons around us, her brows tightly furrowed. "Haven't you embarrassed me enough?"

The surrounding murmurs swept in like a tide.

"Is this Vivian's husband who lives off women?"

"I heard he's a sickling. Showing his face at an occasion like this is just a disgrace."

"Victor is the lead underwriter for this IPO. This kid is probably jealous that Victor and Vivian are close, and deliberately trying to pick a fight."

Every word pierced my ears like needles.

Victor sighed softly next to her, putting on a magnanimous posture: "Vivian, let it go. Arthur's health is poor to begin with; maybe he just got dizzy for a moment. Dirtying my clothes was unintentional. I'll just go change into another set, don't let this delay your investment bets with Mr. Smith."

That sentence accurately stomped on Vivian's pain point.

She turned around, her blaming gaze piercing right through me.

The agonizing cramp in my chest felt like a rusty saw cutting back and forth. The micro-currents of the pacemaker stimulated my nerves, and my vision began to black out in waves.

I couldn't fall here.

With a trembling hand, I reached into my suit pocket and fished out that life-saving small transparent pill bottle—Nitroglycerin. As long as I dissolved one pill under my tongue, I could suppress this fatal ventricular fibrillation.

My fingertips had just flicked open the plastic cap.

Smack!

Vivian's backhand swung over fiercely, striking my wrist.

The pill bottle flew from my grasp, rolling far across the polished floor. The white pills scattered everywhere, quickly dissolving into the dark red wine residue, turning into a muddy puddle.

I stared at her in sheer disbelief.

"Stop playing dead." Vivian looked down at me from her high horse, her tone filled with impatience. "Besides using these cheap pity tricks to gain sympathy, what else can you do? Today is my critical juncture to finalize Wall Street venture capital, and you insist on putting on a show for me right now?"

Waves of severe cardiac pain hit me, almost draining all the oxygen from my lungs.

I looked at the pills scattered in the spilled wine, my voice so hoarse I could barely hear myself: "I'm not putting on a show... My pacemaker, it just took a hit."

"I told you to shut up." Vivian took a step closer, lowering her voice, every word a lethal strike. "Victor is the core introducer tonight. Arthur, apologize."

I gritted my teeth, swallowing the coppery taste rising in my throat: "I didn't bump into him. He tripped me."

"I said, apologize!"

Vivian's pitch rose a few degrees. She pointed at Victor's leather shoes stained with a few drops of red wine and issued her command: "Now, kneel down, and wipe Victor's shoes clean."

The banquet hall fell into dead silence.

Dozens of pairs of eyes, filled with mockery and ridicule, stared in unison at me on the floor.

Kneel? Wipe his shoes?

I raised my head and stared fixedly at Vivian's familiar face.

Five years ago, when she was dying in a car crash, I transplanted half of my healthy heart to her and had this mechanical pacemaker installed in myself.

Back then, I held her hand by the hospital bed and said: "As long as I live, I will protect you for a lifetime."

For this promise, I laid down my identity as the Commander of the underground world, concealed my name, and became a submissive partner by her side. I watched her go from a bankrupt heiress, step by step, to the doors of ringing the NASDAQ bell.

I thought this was love.

My heart shrank violently again, the excruciating pain tearing at my sanity. I stared deeply into Vivian's eyes, wanting to find even a single trace of mercy in those eyes I once knew so well.

Nothing. In her eyes, I only saw a ruthless determination for fame and fortune regardless of the consequences, and a deep-seated hatred for me, her "stumbling block."

"Not going to wipe them?" Vivian twitched the corner of her mouth. "Then leave right now. If you ruin my IPO plan because you offended Victor, I will never forgive you."

Victor stood to the side, the corners of his mouth turned up, his eyes full of a victor's provocation.

"Okay."

I heard my own hoarse voice echo in the cavernous hall.

This was not a compromise. This was drawing a period to the vow I bought with half my life all those years ago.

Propping myself up on trembling arms, under the amused gazes of Wall Street's elite, I slowly turned my body over.

Both knees hit the ground, knocking heavily against the freezing hard marble.

Victor took a half step forward, stopping those Italian leather shoes stained with wine steadily right in front of me.

I extended my suit cuff, my wrist trembling, and bit by bit, wiped the red wine off the top of his shoes.

The faint warning alarm of the pacemaker vibrated continuously in my chest cavity.

"How obedient." Victor patted my shoulder, turning to look at Vivian. "Vivian, let's go meet Mr. Smith."

Vivian didn't even cast me a second glance. She turned to the Wall Street executives, raised her wine glass, and switched on a gentle, perfectly appropriate smile.

With both hands supporting me on the ground, I watched their retreating backs walking side by side.

She would never know that with that kneel just now, what I wiped away wasn't a wine stain.

It was the affection for her that I had traded my life for all those years ago.