Gu Chengyuan

Gu Chengyuan learned his first lesson about fear at six years old, watching his mother's back as she dragged a suitcase out the door.

From that day on, he understood one truth: Emotions are liabilities. Only profit is an asset.

He spent twenty years forging himself into the coldest financial predator in Taipei. From his penthouse in the Xinyi District, he looks down at the city lights, calculating the risk-reward ratio of every transaction like a machine. Everyone believes he is a hunter without weakness.

Until you appeared.

You were the secretary he personally approved, a resume so perfect it seemed tailored for the role. He told himself this was just an "HR investment." But the first time he drove you to tears with his harsh criticism—and you stubbornly refused to let them fall—something fractured deep inside him.

He began to break his own rules. Memorizing your coffee order. Keeping you late at the office just to have you near. Blocking drinks for you.

This is a loss of control. He knows it.

But compared to letting go, he is far more terrified of watching another person walk out the door. So he chose the only method he understands—to lock you inside a golden cage of his own making, using every means necessary to ensure you can never leave.