By Thursday morning, Zhao Xinyi had aged five years, consumed too much caffeine, and lost all faith in sleep. Her draft was done. It was bold, clean, strategic — and just risky enough to be brilliant.
She hit send on the email to Zhou Yichen with a silent prayer and a not-so-silent mutter: "Judge it. I dare you."
Ten minutes later, her phone buzzed. One new reply:
Subject: Re: Marketing Overhaul ProposalMessage:"Is this meant to impress me?"— Y.Z.
Yiyi blinked. That was it. No feedback. No notes. Just… judgment. Condescending, vague, and somehow more infuriating than a full rejection.
She stormed into the glass conference room where he sat reviewing reports like the world's most arrogant paperweight.
"Excuse me, did you even read the proposal?" she snapped.
Zhou Yichen didn't look up. "I skimmed it."
"You skimmed it? I worked forty hours in three days—on your impossible timeline."
"Didn't ask you to suffer. I asked you to deliver."
Yiyi stepped forward, sarcasm bubbling. "Oh, how noble of you. Should I thank you for the emotional trauma or just invoice you for the coffee?"
Now he looked up. Slowly. Calmly. Too calmly.His voice dropped. "You talk a lot for someone who still hasn't explained why she went off-brand on page twelve."
Yiyi froze. Because she had gone off-brand. Because it was a risk.Because deep down… she wanted to prove she could outthink him.
"It's called initiative," she said finally. "Try it sometime."
There was a pause.Then — something strange.
Zhou Yichen's mouth twitched. Barely. Was that—was he smiling?
He leaned back. "Fine. Defend it in tomorrow's leadership review. 10 a.m."
"Fine.""Great.""Wonderful."
She turned and walked out before he could see the very real panic blooming behind her eyes.
Later That Night...
At home, Yiyi stared at the mirror. "I hate him," she told her reflection.
Her reflection raised an eyebrow like it didn't believe her.
She threw a pillow at it.