In the VIP room of Per Se restaurant, Mark was impatiently scrolling through Instagram, the rope of his LV sweatshirt dragging on the Ralph Lauren placemat. When he saw Amanda Zhang push the door in, he immediately smiled: "Wenwen, you took so long to touch up your makeup, I thought you fell into the Hudson River."

Amanda ignored his joke, and the chain of her Hermès Birkin bag hit the wall of the crystal glass when she sat down. She took a sip of Romanee-Conti, her eyes flickering: "I heard something interesting on the terrace just now."

"What's it?" Mark came over, his Gucci watch reflecting in the light.

"Someone made $10 million in a few days of stock speculation." Amanda's tone was full of yearning.

"10 million?!" Mark's scream attracted the attention of the VP of the investment bank at the next table, "Which Wall Street tycoon? Or did he win the Powerball?"

He quickly showed his disdain: "It must be a blind cat that meets a dead mouse. This kind of quick money comes quickly and goes even faster! Wait and see, you will lose everything and sleep on the street in less than a month!"

Manhattan is brightly lit under the night sky, and the valet parking attendant at the door of Per Se restaurant is opening the door for the Bentley. Michael saw Jason and Amanda off and was about to walk towards the Lincoln Continental when a sharp voice rang out: "Hey! Isn't this my useless ex-brother-in-law? How dare you come to Per Se for dinner?"

Michael frowned and looked over, only to see Mark hugging Amanda Zhang standing by the fountain, the latter's Chanel brooch flashing in the night. "Tell me the truth, the money was stolen from Sophia, right? If you dare to touch a penny of her, I'll make you get out of Manhattan!" Mark pointed at him, and the hat rope of his LV sweatshirt dangled.

Michael's eyes turned cold: "Mark, keep your mouth shut."

"You dare to threaten me?" Mark was like hearing a joke, "Don't forget that you used to be a gigolo in the Upper East Side!"

"Mark!" Amanda Zhang pulled his arm.

Michael walked around them and wanted to leave, but Mark grabbed his Brioni suit sleeve: "Want to leave? Have you asked me?"

Michael's eyes turned cold, and he shook his hand away violently - the enhanced power made Mark stagger back, and his Gucci watch almost flew away. "Get lost." His voice was low.

Mark was shocked by the coldness in his eyes, but he still said stubbornly: "You dare to touch me? Sophia will not let you go!"

Michael sneered and walked towards the Lincoln Continental. Watching his car disappear in the traffic on Fifth Avenue, Mark spat a cigarette butt on the ground: "Bah! Why are you pretending to be a Wall Street tycoon! Without Sophia, you can't even pay the rent in Queens!"

Amanda Zhang stared at the rear of Michael's car with a complicated look in her eyes - she saw the Patek Philippe 5270P on his wrist and the custom label of the Loro Piana suit. "That man just now, is he your ex-brother-in-law?"

"Isn't it!" Mark said disdainfully, "Michael Lin, he couldn't even afford Tiffany's imitations before!"

"He is the man I just said, who made 10 million in a few days." Amanda Zhang said slowly, observing Mark's expression.

"What?!" Mark's scream pierced the night sky, and he grabbed her arm, "Michael? That idiot made 10 million?!"

"His friend said it on the terrace," Amanda nodded, "and said he would take him to trade foreign exchange."

Mark froze in place, and the veins on his hands under the LV sweatshirt bulged. Impossible! How could a man who couldn't even fry a steak properly at Sophia's house make 10 million? His face flushed with jealousy: "He must be bragging! What does he know about US stocks?!"

"I don't think so," Amanda lifted her Prada headband, "His outfit must cost hundreds of thousands, and that Patek Philippe..."

Mark remembered the indifference in Michael's eyes, and felt choked up: "Even if he made money, what? The foreign exchange market will blow up his account in a minute! Wait, he will soon kneel down and beg Sophia to remarry!" He imagined Michael going bankrupt, and he felt better.

Amanda looked at his sour look and said nothing. She took out her mobile phone and sent a message to her trader friend on Wall Street: "Help me check Michael Lin, who is associated with Sophia Advertising and is suspected of holding 10 million US dollars in foreign exchange funds."

The neon lights of Fifth Avenue reflected her smiling face - if Michael really had great abilities, he would be much more interesting than Mark, who was just bragging. At this moment, Michael was driving past Wall Street, and the screen of his mobile phone lit up. The system prompted: "The time to build a position in Snow Dollar has come. It is recommended to buy 10 million US dollars." The corners of his mouth curled up, and the Patek Philippe moon phase dial on the steering wheel was pointing in the direction of the capital of the Snow Country.