"It's not about being pure," Julian wheezed, his throat burning. "You're calling the MD a 'Daddy' to his face. Don't you value your life?"

"I'm small fry," Jordan said, gesturing with his chin toward the head table. "Look over there. Someone is being way more suggestive than me."

Julian looked. A female PR executive from Synapse AI was practically draped over Samuel's chair. She wore a skin-tight red dress that left little to the imagination.

"Samuel," she cooed, leaning close enough that her thigh brushed his elbow. "Can you remember my name? If you can't, I'm going to have to punish you with a drink."

Samuel shifted his arm, a subtle movement that put a cold, professional distance between them. He recited her English name without looking at her.

She pouted, her smile fixed and glossy. "English doesn't count. My Chinese name."

Samuel gave it to her—clinical and perfect.

"Oh, I'm honored you remembered," she purred, her eyes tracking him with a predatory hunger. "This project wouldn't have crossed the finish line without you. Let me toast to your brilliance."

She drained her glass in one go, swaying slightly as if the alcohol had suddenly hit her. Samuel didn't reach out to steady her. She caught herself on the back of his chair, her long, blood-red nails digging into the white leather.

Julian stood up abruptly.

Jordan looked up. "Where are you going?"

"To toast the boss," Julian said, his voice tighter than he intended.

"Right behind you. Let's go rescue Big S."

The pack of analysts descended on the head table. The PR woman, sensing she was outnumbered and unwanted, offered a forced smile and retreated. Julian caught the scent of her heavy perfume as she brushed past.

Jordan took the lead, launching into a sincere, polished speech of gratitude. Samuel toasted each of them in turn. "You all worked hard," he said, his voice a low vibration that made Julian's pulse skip.

There were so many people crowding the table that Julian was shoved to the very edge. When he raised his glass, he wasn't close enough to reach Samuel's. He felt a sharp, silly pang of disappointment and started to pull back.

Then, Samuel reached across the gap.

The clink of the crystal was sharp and clear. The liquid inside Julian's glass shivered. Julian looked up and found Samuel watching him, his dark eyes holding a depth that felt like a secret.

Samuel withdrew his hand and drained his glass.

Samuel never forced anyone to drink, but the trainees knew the rules of the game. If the MD finished his glass, the analysts couldn't just take a sip. Julian tilted his head back and swallowed.

The burn hit him instantly. He'd grabbed a glass of high-proof white spirits by mistake in his rush to leave the other table. His vision swam. He'd thought his tolerance had improved over the year; he was wrong.

The rest of the night was a blur of voices. Julian retreated to his seat, watching through a haze as the CEO of Synapse AI took the stage. The man was a typical middle-aged tech founder—rumpled, awkward, and reciting a script of corporate platitudes.

Then, the room erupted into cheers.

Samuel Frost stepped onto the stage.

He moved with a natural, unforced authority. He took the microphone with one hand, scanning the room with a calm, steady gaze. The celebration seemed to have softened him; his usual frost was replaced by a rare, approachable warmth.

"I want to thank Synapse AI for choosing Apex Capital," Samuel said. "You are the foundation of this success. I also want to thank our legal and audit partners. This listing required every hand on deck."

He paused, his eyes finding Julian's in the crowd.

"And to my team at Apex... to Amanda and every analyst who lived in that war room. Your effort is what made this a reality. Thank you."

The speech was brief and surgical, but it resonated. Julian felt a lump form in his throat.

Success.

His first project. The endless hours, the tears on the rooftop, the terrifying night in the canyon... it had all been for this.

The weight of the year began to lift, replaced by a slow, shimmering tide of joy. Julian watched Samuel under the stage lights and felt a sense of belonging so intense it almost felt like a physical ache.

It was finished. They had won.

For Julian, this was more than a closed deal. It was an exorcism—the final shedding of his skin as a timid student and his emergence as a professional who could finally hold his own.

The experience he had forged in the trenches of this project was his armor; he finally had a foothold in the industry.

He remembered when he had begged to be transferred off the team. Samuel had been unyielding, telling him with a cold, dominant certainty that seeing a project through to the finish line would be the defining upgrade for his resume and his character.

Back then, Julian hadn't understood. He'd even thought Samuel was simply being difficult.

Now, the reality of the man's foresight hit him with the force of a physical blow. Julian felt a crushing wave of gratitude.

Without Samuel's calculated pressure, he would have folded months ago. He wouldn't have this growth, this insight, or the life-changing project bonus currently hitting his account.

Julian had a thousand things to say, but Samuel was the sun around which the gala orbited. As the lead MD, he was constantly besieged by VPs and clients. Julian hadn't found a single opening to speak to him.

Now, Samuel was back on the stage, the microphone a silver glint in his hand. A line of people already waited to take photos with him. Julian assumed his turn would never come.