The Retired Young Mercenary Is Secretly a Billionaire-Chapter 54: The wild flame of the Phoenix Clan.

Sterling Enterprises – 32nd Floor, Chairman’s Office

The morning sun poured through the tall windows, casting golden streaks across the polished black floor. The massive screen on the wall displayed the live news feed—headlines flashing in bold red:

"Reaper Entertainment Unveils Mega Film City Project in Star Harbor—Construction Quotations Open for 3 Days."

A sleek, confident female anchor elaborated on the story:

"This ambitious project aims to transform the eastern part of the city into a global film production hub—complete with sound stages, post-production units, and training studios. Experts are calling it one of the boldest entertainment infrastructure moves in recent years..."

Miles watched in silence. One leg crossed over the other, fingertips steepled beneath his chin, expression unreadable—but sharp.

He leaned back in his chair, a glint of satisfaction in his eyes.

"The trap has been set."

He didn’t need to say more. The weight of that sentence filled the room.

Without turning, he spoke again."Spread the news. Sterling Construction & Real Estate will submit a quotation too. Quietly... but make sure Winstone and Elfric hear it. Personally."

June stood beside the desk, already typing on her tablet.

"Yes, boss. I’ll leak it to just the right ears."

Just then, her phone buzzed sharply. She paused mid-swipe and raised it to her ear.

"Yes? ...Who? ...Okay. Wait." She lowered the phone and turned to Miles, a puzzled expression on her face.

"Boss, there’s someone at the reception... asking to meet you."

Miles looked up, brow furrowed.

"Who?"

June hesitated. "She’s calling herself... ’Princess’."

Miles’s eyes widened slightly—a flicker of surprise breaking through his calm.

"What is she doing here...?"He adjusted his sleeves instinctively. "Tell her I’m not in the office."

But before June could respond—

Click.

The door to the office swung open without warning.

And in she walked.

A young woman in her early twenties stepped into the room with the kind of grace that made time slow down.

Long, cascading black hair framed her heart-shaped face. Her skin had a warm glow that caught the sunlight just right, and her eyes—sharp, emerald, and mischievous—were impossible to ignore. She wore a high-waisted designer skirt with a flowing white blouse, paired with sleek heels and a confidence that wasn’t loud, but undeniable.

A simple gold bracelet dangled from her wrist. Her walk was elegant—not practiced, but natural. Regal.

She carried herself not like someone who entered a chairman’s office uninvited.

But like someone who belonged there.

She tilted her head, her lips curving into a sly smile.

"Who’s not in the office, hmm?"

Miles’s jaw clenched slightly—but his eyes held something between irritation and amusement.

Because this wasn’t just any visitor.

This was her.

As soon as the mysterious young woman entered, June instantly understood.

She closed her tablet, gave a brief glance toward Miles — a knowing one — and without another word said:

"Boss, I’ll give you two some space." She turned gracefully and exited, closing the door behind her with a soft click.

The room fell quiet for a moment.

Miles exhaled, loosening his tie just slightly, his voice hesitant.

"He... Hello, Clarissa. How are you doing...?"

She didn’t answer right away.

Instead, Clarissa stepped forward—heels clicking confidently across the hardwood floor—and in one sudden motion, grabbed Miles by the tie, pulling him in.

Her emerald eyes narrowed. "I sent you so many messages. And you didn’t reply to a single one." Her voice was dangerously soft. "Do you even know the consequences of ignoring the princess of the Phoenix Clan?"

Miles gently untangled her grip from the tie, straightened it, and stood tall.

"I was busy with work." A calm answer. A practiced excuse.

Clarissa scoffed, arms folding over her chest. "You and your work. Always working. Ghost needs some rest too, you know."

She paused, her expression softening for a moment. "I heard you found your family. I’m... happy for you."

Miles blinked, caught slightly off guard by the genuine tone.

"Thanks."

Clarissa tilted her head, teasing again. "So, when are you introducing me to them?"

Miles tensed slightly. "Wait—you... want to meet them? Why?"

Clarissa looked away with a sigh, her voice quieter. "Never mind... someday, maybe."

Then, her demeanor shifted again. Back to business.

She reached into her coat and pulled out a dark crimson envelope, sealed with a flame-shaped gold crest.

"Anyway. I’m here to give you this."

Miles took the envelope with slight caution, broke the seal, and opened it. His eyes scanned the contents, then widened slightly.

"Is this real?"

Clarissa nodded. "Yes. The Ancient Clans are hosting the Martial Arts Succession Tournament—contest to decide which clan rules the Inner Circle for next five years"

Miles groaned, tossing the envelope lightly onto the desk.

"What a headache. Why can’t you people just walk out of the mountains and get a normal job or something?"

Clarissa rolled her eyes. "Says the most abnormal man I’ve ever met."

Miles raised an eyebrow. "So, Why am I invited again? I’m not quite the ’audience’ type."

Clarissa crossed her arms again, leaning forward just slightly. "Don’t you get it? You’re the future patriarch of the Phoenix Clan. "She gave him a flat look. "If you don’t show your strength now, they’ll mock you later. Disrespect you. Challenge your claim."

Miles shook his head. "I’ve told you already—I’m not interested in any patriarchal nonsense."

Clarissa stepped closer again, now just a foot away.

"Oh? Then why did you crash my groom selection ceremony and defeat every single candidate like you were auditioning for something?"

Miles groaned again, rubbing his temple.

"That was a mission. Purely professional. And it wasn’t intentional! I didn’t know the final opponent was going to shatter after one punch."

Clarissa smirked. "Well, intentional or not, you ruined that day. And according to Phoenix Clan law and tradition..."She leaned in, eyes locked with his."...once you’re selected, we’re bound by fate. Whether you like it or not. "Then she added with a mischievous grin: "Besides... I loved that punch to his face. I never liked him anyway."

Miles could only sigh—half amused, half defeated. ƒree𝑤ebnσvel-com

This was Clarissa.

The wild flame of the Phoenix Clan.

A storm he wasn’t quite ready to chase... but one that clearly had already found him.

Miles let out a slow exhale, rubbing the back of his neck before speaking.

"Okay, fine... I’ll come." He glanced at the invitation again on the desk. "Let me just finish something important here first. It’s next week, right?"

Clarissa’s eyes lit up with satisfaction.

"Finish what you must. I’m not here to rush you." She turned slowly, inspecting the office." But... I’m staying. I’m here to take you with me, so I’ll be around until then."

Miles raised an eyebrow, chuckling softly.

"What, you want to play my maid again?" he teased with a sly grin.

Clarissa smirked, one hand on her hip. "Not a bad idea, actually. "She leaned forward just slightly. "You do owe me for that mission in Sicily."

Miles waved his hands defensively, laughing. "Hey! That was a joke! Don’t start dressing like a butler just to prove a point again."

Clarissa looked him up and down, eyes amused but calm.

"Where are you staying, anyway? And what’s with these clothes?" Miles asked, gesturing at her designer blouse and city skirt. "Where’s the traditional, robe-wearing Clarissa I know—the one with wind-blown hair and daggers in her sleeves?"

She shrugged casually. "I just arrived this morning. Haven’t found a place yet. "Then she glanced down at herself. "And hey, a girl can evolve. I blend in when I want to. Phoenix robes don’t go well with city elevators."

Miles stepped toward his desk and pressed a small silver button on its side.

The door opened within seconds, and June entered again.

"Yes, boss?"

"Arrange a stay for Princess Clarissa. Private, comfortable, secure."

June nodded without hesitation.

"Understood. I’ll handle it right away. "She gave Clarissa a polite nod before stepping out again.

Clarissa watched her go, then turned back to Miles, arms lightly folded.

"Thanks."

Then, with a playful tilt of her head:

"Well, you have a pretty assistant. Sharp eyes... calm energy. She looks good in her role."

Miles chuckled. "She was trained by Monica."

Clarissa’s expression changed subtly—impressed.

"Ahh. That explains it. Monica doesn’t just train... she forges. "She walked closer again, this time standing beside the large screen on the wall. "Still... she doesn’t have your wit. Or your stubbornness. Or that annoying habit of vanishing for months."

Miles smiled lightly. "It’s a survival trait. You’d be surprised how often it helps."

Clarissa looked at him, her eyes glimmering with a blend of amusement and something far older—something buried.

"One day, you’ll run out of places to hide, Miles."

Miles didn’t reply right away. His expression softened slightly, then turned thoughtful.

He looked back at the screen, where the headlines about the Star Harbor project still glowed in the background.

"Maybe that’s the point." he murmured.

Afternoon – Stone Enterprises Headquarters, Chairman’s Office

High above the city skyline, in a fortress of glass and steel, the top floor of Stone Enterprises exuded cold, modern authority. Frosted glass walls shimmered under harsh white lighting. The air was sterile—measured and calculated like the men who ruled it.

In the heart of it all, within a soundproof executive cabin, sat Gibson Winstone, the current chairman—a man with hawk-like eyes, streaks of grey lining his slicked-back hair. His sharply tailored navy suit mirrored the precision of his character. Calm, but always calculating.

Across from him, leaning slightly back on the leather armchair, was Elfric Willise—sleek, silver-tongued, with a more casual elegance. His light grey suit was unbuttoned, one leg lazily crossed over the other, yet his eyes never missed a flicker of movement.

On the desk between them, the holographic projection of a news broadcast flickered above the surface.

"...Reaper Entertainment has officially launched the Star Harbor Film City project—an unprecedented, large-scale entertainment infrastructure in the eastern district..."

The voice echoed through the room.

Winstone narrowed his eyes at the headlines, his fingers tapping lightly against the polished wood.

"Have you heard...?" he said slowly."About the Star Harbor project. Reaper’s new play."

Elfric’s smile was thin and knowing.

"Yes. I have. It’s all over the market. Everyone’s rushing to fill quotations."

Winstone leaned forward, eyes gleaming."We need to secure it. At any cost."

He stood from his chair, walking toward the glass wall, staring out at the sprawling city.

"A partnership with Reaper would explode our influence overnight. A public collaboration with them... would solidify our standing globally. Even if we suffer short-term losses—" he turned his head slightly, "—the long-term value is immeasurable."

Elfric stood now too, hands in pockets, slowly pacing beside the projection.

"You’re right. This isn’t just a project. It’s a branding opportunity. If we let it slip, others will rise. We can’t afford that."

Winstone’s expression hardened.The edges of his mouth curled slightly—not into a smile, but into a sharpened smirk.

"I’ve also heard... Sterling just announced a new division."He turned back to Elfric."They’re trying to push their luck. Again."

Elfric scoffed, then chuckled low.

"Sterling? That forgotten family? Let them try. We’ll bury them like we did before."

He waved his hand through the air, dismissive."They’re crawling out of a grave. Let’s make sure they stay in it."

Winstone walked back to his desk, placed both hands on the surface, and looked straight into the holographic display of the bidding document.

"Don’t worry. The best quotation will be ours. We’ll undercut, outshine, and outmaneuver them."

He lowered his voice, almost hissing:

"Sterling will never rise again. Not while we breathe."

The camera would linger on the cold determination in his eyes... before fading to black.

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