The morning sunlight spilled through the floor‑to‑ceiling windows, scattering across the polished surface of Lin Shengxia's desk. The warmth on her skin did little to chase away the chill in her heart.
Her phone remained silent, the screen blank. Gu Zekai had not called.
Xiao Ke stood quietly by the door, fidgeting with the edge of her notebook. "President Lin, the media's going wild. Reporters are swarming downstairs. Do you want me to block the comments section?"
Shengxia gazed at the faint steam curling from her cup. "No need. The more they talk, the less interesting it becomes."
Her calmness unsettled everyone around her. Even Xiao Ke sensed it—the sharper the storm outside, the quieter Lin Shengxia became.
The office phone rang. Secretary Chen's voice crackled through the line. "President Lin, President Gu's assistant is here. He says President Gu would like to see you."
The faint tremor in Chen's tone revealed everything: the company might have been safe for now, but Shengxia's personal storm had just begun.
"Let him wait in the conference room," she said, standing and smoothing the creases in her skirt.
***
When she arrived, the assistant immediately stood up. "President Gu is on his way. He asked me to deliver this first."
He handed her a single envelope—white, heavy‑papered, sealed with the Gu Corporation emblem. Shengxia paused before taking it.
"Thank you."
Inside was a contract—termination of partnership.
Her pulse quickened, but her expression did not flicker. Each line of type burned into her eyes as the words *'effective immediately'* stared back at her.
So, this was how Gu Zekai intended to sever their ties—no confrontation, no explanation, just a clean cut.
Footsteps echoed behind her. She didn't need to turn around to know who it was.
"President Gu seems impatient," she said lightly, turning to face him.
Gu Zekai stood at the doorway, his black suit immaculate, his gaze like tempered steel. "Impatience isn't the word. I simply learned not to waste time on people who hide too many secrets."
Her lips curved faintly. "And yet, you came anyway. That doesn't sound like someone who's moved on."
His eyes darkened, but he said nothing.
The silence between them was sharp enough to cut air.
"I thought," Shengxia continued, "that business and personal grudges shouldn't mix. But then again, perhaps I overestimated you."
"That depends on whether you see what you did today as business," he said coldly. "Or vengeance."
For a moment, the mask slipped from her composed face. Then she reached into her drawer, drew out a pen, and signed the termination contract in one fluid motion.
"As you wish, President Gu."
Her pen left a deep indentation on the page—a wound that wouldn't fade easily.
When she looked up again, her smile was faint but firm. "But remember this: you're the one cutting ties. Don't regret it."
Gu Zekai's jaw tightened. "Regret? You think too highly of yourself."
He turned, the wind from his movement rustling the papers on her desk.
When the door closed behind him, the office fell into a suffocating silence.
Shengxia's hand still rested on the envelope. The contract was signed, but the words *'these two slaps are interest'* echoed faintly in her mind.
Debt repaid, but not yet settled.
Because some debts cannot be measured in business terms—nor settled with a signature.