The CEO's Dirty Secret: Why the Billionaire Is Hiding?

Chapter 4: The Paint Fight

Ryan stood paralyzed by the gate, his fingers twitching against his thighs. The silence of the playground, which had felt like a refuge only moments ago, now felt like a prison cell.

"Financial suicide?" Elvina repeated, her voice dropping. "Is that what you call a missed meeting?"

"It’s not just a meeting, Elvina. It’s the Solstice board. If I’m not there to counter-vote Ginting, they’ll trigger the divestment clause. I’ll lose controlling interest."

"You’re serious? You’d lose your firm over a sandbox?"

"I’I’m losing my mind," he muttered, turning in a frantic circle. "Where’s my car key? Did I leave it in the shed?"

"Rian, stop. You’re spiraling."

"I’m not spiraling, I’m bankrupting myself. There’s a difference."

"You’re currently covered in mud, wearing a twenty-dollar hoodie, and panicking about a company you claim to hate. Look at yourself."

"I see a man who just made the most expensive mistake of his life."

"Maybe you just made the most honest choice of your life."

He stopped, his eyes darting to hers. "That’s poetic, Elvina, but it doesn't pay the dividend."

"Does the dividend matter? You said yourself, it’s all just a game."

"It was a game until I started losing. Now it feels suspiciously like real life."

Elvina sighed, stepping toward him. She gestured to the open painting station nearby, where a mess of primary colors lay abandoned on the concrete. "We’re in the middle of afternoon art. The kids are waiting. You want to stay, or do you want to run back to your glass tower and beg for a seat at the table?"

"I can't go back now. It’s too late. The vote happened at four."

"Then you’re unemployed, or at least significantly less powerful."

"I hate that you’re smiling at this."

"I’m smiling because for the first time, you actually look like you’re experiencing a human emotion. It’s refreshing."

Rian let out a sharp, breathless laugh, shaking his head. "You’re twisted, you know that?"

"I’m a realist. Come here. We have a mural to finish before the parents get here."

"I am not touching that paint."

"You’re already covered in dirt. A little tempera won't kill you."

He walked over to the low table, picking up a brush with two fingers as if it were a biohazard. "This is blue. It’s bright blue. I don't do blue."

"It’s sky blue. Keep up."

He dabbed the brush into a pot, his movements stiff. He leaned in, flicking a glob of paint onto the canvas—or at least, where the canvas should have been. It landed squarely on the plastic table.

"You missed," Elvina noted, leaning against the table with a smirk.

"It was a stylistic choice. Abstract expressionism."

"It was sloppy. Here, let me." She reached over to guide his hand, but he jerked back, causing the brush to swing wild. A streak of vibrant azure slashed across his cheekbone.

Rian froze. He looked at her, his eyes wide. "Did you just paint me?"

"It was an accident. Mostly."

"An accident. Sure. You’re sabotaging me now?"

"You’re sabotaging yourself, Rian. Look, you’ve got a little... there." She reached out, her finger tracing the edge of the paint on his skin.

The air between them suddenly shifted. The distant sound of children playing faded into a dull hum. Rian didn't pull away. He stood perfectly still, his breathing hitching as she wiped the stray drop from his jaw.

"You have paint on your nose now, too," he murmured, his voice dropping an octave.

"Do I?"

"Yeah. Right there." He didn't move to wipe it. He stayed close, his eyes locking onto hers. The arrogance that usually defined him was replaced by something raw and uncertain. "Is this part of the game, Elvina?"

"What game?"

"This. The distraction. The 'let’s play peasant' routine."

"You’re still looking for a motive."

"I’m looking for a reason to stay," he admitted, his voice barely a whisper.

"Maybe you don't need a business reason."

He leaned in, his gaze dropping to her lips before snapping back to her eyes. "If I stay, I’m not just a volunteer."

"What are you then?"

"I think I’s in trouble."

"Good," she whispered, her hand lingering on his face, her thumb tracing his cheek. "I hate men who have it all figured out."

He took a slow, deliberate step forward, closing the final inch between them. His hands moved to the table behind her, bracing them both in a small, private world of smudged paint and cooling afternoon air.

"Elvina," he started, but the name caught in his throat.

"Don't talk, Rian."

She moved her hand from his face to his collar, pulling him just a fraction closer. The tension was electric, a sharp contrast to the mundane plastic toys and woodchips surrounding them. He looked down at her, his expression caught between the corporate shark he had been and the man he was rapidly becoming.

"If I do this," he whispered, his breath warm against her skin, "there’s no going back to the boardroom. You know that, right?"

"I’m counting on it."

He didn't hesitate. He leaned in, but just before their lips touched, the sound of the school gate creaking open echoed across the yard.

"Mr. Ginting!" a parent’s voice rang out from the entrance. "Is it time for pick-up?"

Rian and Elvina jumped apart as if burned. Rian stumbled back, knocking a paint tray to the ground with a loud clatter.

Elvina turned toward the gate, her face flushing, while Rian stood frozen, his heart hammering against his ribs. He looked at the paint on his hands, then at the man walking toward them, then back at Elvina.

"You," Rian breathed, his eyes wide as he recognized the figure at the gate. "What is he doing here?"

Elvina’s expression shifted from romantic daze to cold, sharp terror. "That’s not Ginting."