Arrogant Bastard

The humidity in the city was disrespectful. Xiao Shen wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead, his thumb hovering over the "Delivered" button on his cracked phone screen.

Another twelve-hour shift was officially in the bag. His back ached, and his lungs felt like they were filled with bus exhaust, but he didn't have time to complain. He kicked his scooter into gear, the engine letting out a pathetic whine before it roared to life.

He had twenty minutes to get to the middle school across town before his sister, Meiling, ended up waiting on the curb alone.

The ride was a blur of neon signs and near-death experiences with Uber drivers who didn’t know how to use their blinkers. Shen wove through the traffic like a pro, his silver hair windswept and messy under his cap.

When he finally skidded to a halt in front of the school gates, Meiling was already there, kicking a pebble with her scuffed sneakers.

"You’re late," she said, though she was already grinning as she hopped onto the back of the scooter.

"Three minutes, kid. Don’t start with me," Shen teased, handing her a spare helmet. "I got us the good dumplings for dinner tonight. Extra spicy."

"You’re the best, Shen-ge," she murmured, clinging to his waist.

For a second, the weight of the world felt lighter. This was why he did it. The bills, the rude customers, the sore muscles—it was all for her. But the universe loved to mess with him. Just as they pulled up to their cramped, leaky apartment, Shen’s phone buzzed in his pocket. A notification from the premium delivery app "Elite Eats" flashed on the screen.

[URGENT: High-Priority Order. Double Pay + Guaranteed Tip.]

Shen groaned, leaning his head against the handlebars. He needed that money. The rent was due in two days, and the landlord was already breathing down his neck.

"Go inside, Mei. Lock the door. I’ll be back in an hour," he said, his voice tired.

"Again?" she asked, her face falling.

"Last one. I promise."

The order was for a single, oversized truffle pizza from a place that charged fifty bucks just for the box. The destination? The Summit Penthouse. It was the kind of building that had a lobby made of actual gold and security guards who looked like they’d been recruited from the secret service.

By the time Shen reached the 88th floor, his mood was in the gutter. He stood in front of the massive, sleek black door of Penthouse A. He pressed the intercom.

Silence.

He waited two minutes and pressed it again. "Delivery for Mr. Wei. I have your pizza."

Nothing.

Shen checked his watch. Ten minutes passed. Then twenty. He leaned against the cold marble wall, his legs shaking from standing all day. He called the number on the app. It went straight to voicemail—a deep, bored voice saying, “Don’t leave a message unless you’re dying.”

"Bastard," Shen muttered.

Thirty minutes turned into forty-five. Then, finally, an hour. Shen was vibrating with rage. He was about to leave the pizza on the floor and walk away when the heavy door finally clicked open.

A man stepped out, and for a split second, Shen forgot how to breathe. Wei Xun was tall—unnervingly tall—draped in a silk robe that probably cost more than Shen’s scooter. He was 29, looking like he’d just woken up from a nap that cost a million dollars. His dark hair was perfectly messy, and his eyes were hooded, looking at Shen like he was a bug under a microscope.

"You’re still here?" Wei Xun asked, his voice smooth and incredibly annoying. He didn't even look at the pizza. He looked at Shen's faded hoodie and the smudge of grease on his cheek.

"I’ve been standing here for an hour," Shen snapped, shoving the thermal bag toward the man’s chest. "The app says you’re supposed to be available for pickup. I have other jobs. I have a life."

Wei Xun tilted his head, a slow, mocking smirk spreading across his face. He didn't take the bag. He leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms. "I was in the middle of a skin-care routine. Surely a cold pizza isn't worth this much drama, little delivery boy."

"Little delivery boy?" Shen’s blood boiled. He stepped closer, refusing to be intimidated by the height difference or the expensive smell of sandalwood. "Listen, you arrogant bastard. Just because you live in a tower doesn't mean the world stops for you. You’re a brat. A grown-man brat who thinks his time is more valuable than anyone else’s just because he’s got a fat wallet."

The hallway went silent. Most people stuttered when Wei Xun looked at them. Most people apologized for existing in his presence.

Wei Xun’s eyes sharpened, glowing with a sudden, dark interest. He reached out, his long fingers brushing against Shen’s chin, forcing him to look up. Shen flinched but didn't pull away, his glare unwavering.

"You've got a lot of nerve," Wei Xun whispered, his smirk growing wider. He reached into his pocket, pulled out a wad of cash, and stuffed it into the front pocket of Shen’s hoodie without counting it. "Most people are boring. They’re scared. But you..."

He leaned down, his breath warm against Shen’s ear.

"You’re an interesting little bully, aren't you?"

Shen pushed his hand away, his heart hammering against his ribs—not from fear, but from pure, unadulterated loathing. "Get a therapist and eat your cold pizza, Wei Xun."

Shen turned on his heel and marched toward the elevator. He didn't look back, but he could feel Wei Xun’s eyes on his back the entire way down.

As the elevator doors closed, Shen pulled the cash out of his pocket. It was five hundred dollars.

"Asshole," Shen breathed, but his hands were shaking.

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