The Gilded Last Name

The city of Bangkok didn't sleep; it simmered. From the penthouse of the Naravit Tower, the world below looked like a circuit board of neon blues and frantic reds, a chaotic mess that Pond Naravit controlled with a single, gloved hand. But tonight, Pond wasn't looking at the skyline. He was looking at a dossier spread across his obsidian desk.
​In the center of the file was a photograph. It wasn't a professional headshot or a grainy surveillance capture. It was a candid photo of a boy standing under a cherry blossom tree at a university campus, squinting slightly against the sun, a soft, accidental smile playing on his lips.
​Phuwin Tangsakyuen.
​He was the definition of "ethereal." To Pond, who lived in a world of jagged edges, spilled ink, and iron, Phuwin looked like something made of glass and moonlight. He was "cute"-a word Pond usually found trivial-but on Phuwin, it felt like a dangerous weapon. It was a beauty that demanded to be hoarded.
​"The Tangsakyuen family is drowning, Boss," his second-in-command whispered from the shadows of the doorway. "Their debts are higher than their skyscraper. They're looking for a way out. They're looking for a buyer."
​Pond's thumb traced the curve of Phuwin's jawline in the photo. "They aren't selling a company," Pond murmured, his voice a low, gravelly vibration. "They're selling a bloodline."
​"They have other sons. They have assets."
​"I don't want their assets," Pond cut him off, his eyes darkening. He stood up, his massive frame blotting out the light of the city. At six-foot-plus of muscle and tailored Italian wool, Pond was a predator who had spent his life taking what he wanted. "I need an heir to solidify the merger with the southern triads. But looking at him... I think the heir is just going to be my excuse."
​The library was quiet, smelling of old paper and the faint scent of rain. Phuwin was tucked into his favorite corner, his glasses sliding down his nose as he hurried to finish his thesis. H