The Immortal Emperor Returns for His Daughter

7

The person who entered was none other than Arya himself.

He walked into the office wearing nothing more than a plain t-shirt and black trousers, no accessories of any kind. The moment Evelyn saw him, she knew immediately that this man — who appeared to be in his mid-twenties — was nothing but an oddball wasting her time.

She didn't bother looking at him any further. "Get out," she said flatly.

Arya paid her no mind whatsoever. He simply walked over to the sofa, settled into it with a calm and unhurried expression, and helped himself to the coffee that had been prepared nearby — as though he were the one who owned the office.

Watching him, Evelyn's anger flared to a whole new level. Quietly, her hand slid toward her desk drawer, where she always kept a pistol within reach.

"Are you the owner of this company?" Arya asked, completely indifferent to whatever the woman was thinking or doing.

Evelyn said nothing. She simply fixed him with a cold, unwavering stare, her right hand closing around the grip of her firearm beneath the desk. If this stranger made even one suspicious move, she wouldn't hesitate to put a hole through his head.

Arya caught the look on her face and smiled faintly. He shifted in his seat and reached into his pocket.

"Don't move!" In an instant, Evelyn was on her feet, pistol trained directly at him.

But Arya only smiled, not even glancing her way, and calmly continued the motion — until he pulled out a folded slip of paper and placed it on the table.

"Before you pull that trigger," he said lightly, "you might want to take a look at what's on the table." With that, he went back to sipping his coffee as though nothing had happened.

Evelyn let out a short, dismissive sound, but kept the pistol firmly in hand as she stepped toward the table in front of him.

Still watching him with cold, guarded eyes, she slowly reached for the paper and read it.

Without looking up, Arya sat quietly on the sofa, yet he could sense every shift in her expression — the surprise, the flicker of interest, the hesitation. He had no intention of explaining himself. He simply rose to his feet and said, "If you're interested in working with me to obtain the full formula, you know where to find me."

Without waiting for Evelyn's reaction, he turned and began walking toward the door.

"Wait!" Evelyn's voice rang out — and despite himself, a small smile crossed Arya's lips. He didn't turn around. He kept walking.

Seeing that, a hint of panic crossed Evelyn's face. "Wait, please! We can discuss this properly!"

Arya stopped and turned to face her, but instead of responding to what she said, he glanced pointedly at the pistol still aimed in his direction. "Is this how you conduct all your conversations? With a weapon pointed at the other person?"

The meaning was clear. If she wanted to continue talking about what was written on that paper, the gun needed to go away first.

"This?" Evelyn hesitated, then walked back to her desk, returned the pistol to its drawer, and sat down.

"Can we talk?" she asked, gesturing for Arya to sit again — on the sofa, while she remained at her desk.

Arya had no objection. He gave her a brief glance, settled back into the sofa, and once again lifted his coffee cup in silence.

Watching him, Evelyn felt the anger she had just managed to tamp down reignite without warning. A moment ago, when she had seen what Arya was offering, she had felt genuinely hopeful — the frustration from her conversation with Karina had almost faded entirely.

But now, watching him sit there without saying a single word, as though she were the one desperate to negotiate and not the other way around, her irritation surged right back.

She couldn't afford to let it show, though. She drew a slow breath and began, "I apologize for the misunderstanding earlier. My name is Evelyn Vale — president and owner of Valen Beauty. If I may ask, what is your name?"

"Arya Ananta. You can just call me Arya," he replied, glancing at her with a faint, unreadable smile.

Evelyn pretended not to notice and continued in a professional tone. "I've reviewed the formula you provided. What I'm not sure of is whether it's genuine or simply wishful thinking. A beauty cream that can make its users appear ten years younger than their actual age — with some claims stretching as far as twenty years. No side effects. And the results last as long as the user continues applying it."

"This reads like a fantasy product out of a fairy tale. What I'd like to know is — what makes you so confident in what you're offering? What proof do you have? And what happens if the results fall short of what you've described?"

"There's also the matter of the forty percent profit share you're demanding as a net return on sales. That's an enormous cut, especially considering that you're only providing the formula. Our company would be responsible for all the resources, manpower, funding, and marketing. It's as though we—"

Without waiting for Evelyn to finish, Arya stood up and walked toward the door without so much as a backward glance.

"You—!"

Evelyn's fury boiled over. If she hadn't been so genuinely captivated by the formula he had presented, she would never have given this man the time of day.

"Stop right there!"

But no matter how loudly she called after him, Arya didn't even flinch. He might as well have gone completely deaf.

This insufferable man!

Evelyn seethed, but in the end, she had no choice. Through gritted teeth, she finally said, "Fine. Tell me your terms."

Arya stopped and turned back around, a ridiculous smile playing on his face.

He looked at the beautiful, furious, and utterly powerless woman standing there, and replied with an unhurried calm, "I already laid them out from the beginning. I want to partner with your company and take forty percent of the profits."

"That's outrageous!" Evelyn cut him off immediately. "Twenty percent. That's my best offer."

"It seems you're not seriously interested in a partnership."

"Twenty-five."

Arya shook his head. "Thirty percent is my floor. Anything less, and I'll take this to another company. Keep in mind — even if you've seen the formula, it won't do you any good without my final input. You could attempt it a hundred times and still end up with nothing."

Evelyn went silent, weighing the costs and benefits for a long moment before finally giving a slow nod.

"Fine. Thirty percent. But understand — if the formula doesn't deliver what you've promised—"

"If it falls short of what I've promised, I'll replace it with something far better."

Evelyn scoffed the moment those words left his mouth. She didn't believe a word of it. The formula Arya had already given her was, by any measure, the stuff of dreams — something she had been chasing for years. It was nothing short of a miracle.

Something better than that? Not a chance.

Arya didn't bother arguing or explaining himself when he saw the disbelief written plainly across her face. He simply extended his hand and said, "One last condition. Give me an advance of at least one thousand dollars."

This time, Evelyn didn't argue. She simply slid a bank card across the table with a composed expression.

"The PIN is six zeros. I'll have my assistant transfer one thousand dollars into that account as your advance."

For a brief moment, Arya fell quiet. He looked at the woman smiling at him — and felt a pang of genuine regret.

One thousand dollars. He had thought that was a reasonable ask. But one look at the barely concealed contempt behind Evelyn's smile told him everything. He should have asked for far, far more.