The first day working together began before the sun was fully up.
Wanyin was at the kitchen island by 5:30 a.m., laptop open, coffee brewing. She had showered, dressed, armored herself in a charcoal suit and heels sharp enough to cut glass. She would not let him see her rattled.
Ye Beichen appeared at 5:45, hair still damp from his shower, shirt unbuttoned at the collar. He poured coffee without a word, leaned against the counter, and watched her work.
She ignored him.
At 6:15, he spoke. "We have the 8 a.m. with Marketing on the Q3 campaign. You lead."
She didn't look up. "I always lead Marketing."
"Not with me in the room."
She met his eyes then. "Then stay out of my way."
He smiled, small and dangerous. "Not possible."
The car ride was silent again, but the tension was thicker. Their driver navigated morning traffic while Wanyin reviewed notes on her tablet. Ye Beichen read the same report on his phone. Their knees almost touched when the car swerved. Neither moved away.
They arrived at the office at 7:35. Walked in together. The lobby buzzed. Employees pretended not to stare.
Her assistant, Li Xin, met them at the elevator with two coffees and a tablet.
"Morning, Director Gu. Mr. Ye." Li Xin's eyes flicked between them, curious but professional. "Marketing is ready in the main conference room. The board wants an update on the immersion program by noon."
Wanyin nodded. "Thank you."
Ye Beichen took his coffee. "Add a 2 p.m. with Legal to my calendar. Private."
Li Xin hesitated. "Yes, sir."
The Marketing meeting was brutal.
Wanyin presented the numbers—growth projections, market share, ROI. Flawless. She had prepared them herself at 2 a.m.
When she finished, the room waited for Ye Beichen.
He leaned back in his chair. "Impressive. But we're missing the emotional hook. Consumers don't buy data. They buy feeling."
He outlined a new angle—riskier, bolder, centered on authenticity. It was good. Too good.
The head of Marketing looked between them. "So… which direction?"
Wanyin's jaw tightened. "Mine is safer. His is flashier."
Ye Beichen's eyes met hers. "Safe doesn't win market share."
The room held its breath.
She smiled, cold. "Flashy doesn't survive board scrutiny."
They went back and forth for twenty minutes. Sharp. Professional. No one dared interrupt.
In the end, they compromised—her data backbone with his emotional overlay.
The team left looking shell-shocked.
In the hallway, he fell into step beside her.
"Well played," he said.
"You too."
They didn't speak again until lunch.
She ate at her desk. He appeared with takeout—sushi, again.
"You're predictable," she said.
"Only with you."
She took the box. "Stop doing that."
"Doing what?"
"Remembering things."
He leaned against her doorframe. "I remember everything."
Her phone buzzed. A text from an unknown number.
Looking forward to seeing you next week. – C.H.
Chen Hao.
Her hand tightened on the phone.
Ye Beichen noticed. Of course he did.
"Problem?"
"No."
He didn't push. Just left the sushi and walked away.
At 4 p.m., the board secretary appeared.
"Mr. Ye, your grandmother called. Dinner tomorrow. Miss Lin will be there."
He didn't look up from his screen. "Cancel."
"She insists."
"Tell her I'm busy."
The secretary hesitated. "She mentioned the merger with Lin Holdings."
Ye Beichen's voice went cold. "Tell her I said no."
The secretary left.
Wanyin pretended not to hear.
At 6:30, they left together. Same car. Same silence.
Back at the apartment, she went straight to the guest room.
He knocked twenty minutes later.
She opened the door.
"Dinner?" he asked.
"I have work."
He held up a bottle of wine. "One glass. Then work."
She should have said no.
She didn't.
They sat on the balcony, city lights below. One glass turned into two.
He didn't ask about the text.
She didn't ask about his grandmother.
But the silence was different now.
Less hostile.
More dangerous.
When she finally stood to leave, he said quietly, "Day one down. Twenty-nine to go."
She paused at the door.
"I'm still not sleeping with you."
He smiled, slow. "I know."
She closed the door.
Leaned against it.
Her heart was racing.
And for the first time in years, she wasn't sure if it was from anger or something else.