The next morning, the street outside my apartment was quiet. No expensive black car waiting. No man with unreadable eyes leaning against the hood.
For the first time in days, I could breathe.
I took the bus like usual — packed between half-asleep salarymen and students scrolling through their phones, the familiar stench of cheap perfume and damp jackets filling the air. I almost smiled.
How sad is that? Finding comfort in something as miserable as public transportation.
At least, for a short while, I could pretend everything was normal again.
When I arrived at the office, I walked straight to my usual desk in the open space. The same dusty keyboard. The same dying plant I kept forgetting to water. The same pile of post-its that screamed unfinished tasks.
But before I could even turn on my computer, my manager appeared beside me — awkward smile, hands behind his back like he was about to announce a funeral.
"Lin Hua, good morning! Uh, the direction made some changes. You've been… reassigned."
"Reassigned?" I frowned. "To where?"
He cleared his throat. "You'll be working under Vice President Liang Yichen from now on. Effective immediately."
Of course.
I didn't need a psychic to see that coming.
I sighed, forced a polite smile, and started packing my things into a cardboard box — my mug, my pens, a small photo of me and my college friends. I ignored the curious looks from my coworkers, their whispers rising like buzzing flies.
As I walked away, I heard someone mumble, "Wow, must be nice to have connections with the upper floor."
Connections.
If only they knew.
Room 206 was on the executive floor — quiet, polished, smelling faintly of leather and money. When I pushed the door open, I froze.
It wasn't a room. It was an entire world.
Soft lighting, a massive desk made of black marble, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city, and a private coffee machine that probably cost more than my rent. There was even a sofa set and a little reading corner with neatly arranged books.
I put my box down on a small secondary desk near the corner. That must be mine — the commoner's spot.
Then, the door opened.
Yichen walked in, wearing a dark grey suit that fit too perfectly to be casual. Behind him followed two people: a tall man with sharp glasses and a cold stare, and a young woman in heels and red nails, graceful enough to belong in a commercial.
"Good morning," Yichen said simply, his tone clipped and professional.
The two behind him nodded politely at me.
"This is Zhou Yue," he said, gesturing to the woman. "My secretary. And this—" he turned to the man "—is Zhang Wei, my assistant."
I nodded stiffly. "Nice to meet you."
"And," he added, glancing toward the door, "Lin Hao will handle your accounting reports directly. You'll be part of my unit from now on."
I blinked. My unit? That sounded dangerously close to my possession.
He continued, "We'll have a meeting in one hour. Don't be late. Zhou Yue will send you your assigned tasks and training documents."
Then, just like that, he turned away.
I crossed my arms. "Wait—what about my contract? You said I'd be working with you, but I never signed anything new."
Before Yichen could respond, Zhou Yue stepped forward, her voice cool and soft like ice water. "It'll be sent by email, Miss Lin. Mr. Liang wouldn't forget such an important detail."
Her lips curved slightly. Not quite a smile — more like devotion disguised as professionalism.
It annoyed me.
"Right," I muttered. "Of course he wouldn't."
Yichen looked up at me briefly, eyes unreadable again, then dismissed everyone with a nod. The room emptied fast.
And I was left alone with the echo of my own irritation.
...
Zhou Yue later came to my desk, her perfume floral but strong enough to sting. She handed me a tablet.
"These are your tasks. Mr. Liang expects weekly progress reports. You'll also assist with proposal editing and client presentations."
"Got it," I said, forcing a smile.
She lingered for a moment, glancing at me from under her lashes. "You're… quite close with Mr. Liang, aren't you?"
I froze.
"Close?"
She tilted her head innocently. "He usually doesn't hire anyone personally."
"Oh," I said flatly, pretending to look at my computer screen. "I'm just… efficient."
Her smile was polite. "Of course."
And then she left, her heels clicking like punctuation marks on my growing irritation.
The meeting came sooner than expected. We all sat around the long, oval table — Yichen at the head, his presence heavy but calm.
He was explaining something about market expansion strategies, his voice deep and steady. Everyone was focused, nodding like obedient students.
Everyone except me.
Because all I could see was the way Zhou Yue looked at him.
Attentive. Admiring. Soft.
And the way he occasionally leaned toward her when she spoke — quiet, listening, his expression a little less cold.
It shouldn't have bothered me. It really shouldn't.
But my stomach twisted anyway.
Why did he drag me into this fake marriage if someone like her existed right there? Perfect posture, perfect voice, perfect everything. She belonged here. I didn't.
I caught myself tapping my pen too loud, earning a few glares. I stopped, embarrassed.
When the meeting ended, everyone started packing up. Yichen's gaze found mine for a second — just a second — but I looked away before he could read whatever storm was crossing my mind.
By evening, I was ready to go home.
The sky outside was already tinted orange, and most people had left. I was organizing my files when I heard his voice behind me.
"Dinner."
I turned around. "What?"
He was leaning against the doorframe, jacket off, sleeves rolled up. That effortless kind of elegance that made people stop breathing for no reason.
"Let's have dinner together," he said simply.
"No."
He blinked. "No?"
"I'm tired," I said, gathering my bag. "And unlike you, I don't have a driver or a butler waiting to serve me at night. So I'll pass."
His brows knit slightly. "You didn't eat lunch."
I glared. "Were you watching me?"
"I just noticed," he replied calmly, as if stalking was part of his job description.
"Well, stop noticing," I snapped, brushing past him.
He didn't move, didn't block me, didn't argue. Just stood there, silent, letting me go.
I felt his eyes on me until the elevator doors closed.
Inside the elevator, my reflection looked back at me — messy hair, dark circles, heart racing for no logical reason.
What's wrong with you, Hua? I whispered to myself.
This isn't real. None of this is real.
And yet… it's starting to feel way too real.