I slowed when I passed Jinyu's office. He was at his desk, sleeves rolled up, pen balanced loosely between his fingers as he read something on the screen. Morning light slanted across his profile, sharpening every line, and—ugh. No wonder Ningyao always said he had "idol potential."
I pulled out my phone, quick as a thief. Click. One more, just in case.
The second I had it, I sent it straight into the intern groupchat with:
"oml boss is fine as shit today 😛😛"
I was half-grinning at the chaos already blowing up my notifications when a shadow fell across me.
"Enjoying yourself?"
OH HELL NAH. NOT HIM NOTICING. BYE ☠️.
I froze. Slowly, I looked up. Jinyu was standing right there, expression unreadable—except for the tiniest curve tugging at his mouth.
My phone nearly slipped from my hand. "…Well, is it wrong to take a picture of something that looks good?" I tried to rizz my way out.
He didn't answer right away. Just tilted his head, eyes narrowing slightly, like he was dissecting both me and my excuse. Then he leaned closer, voice dropping low enough that goosebumps chased down my arms.
"Careful. If the something finds out you're sending its picture around, it might start charging royalties."
I pursed my lips, speechless.
But he was already walking past me, calm as ever, while I stood there burning like my phone had exploded in my hands.
Walking into HQ the next morning felt different. Not in a new-shoes or better-lip-tint way. Different in the oh no, people are whispering as I pass way.
The building's marble floors gleamed under the overhead lights, glass walls reflecting polished silhouettes as people moved through the space. YSHT's signature perfume faintly lingered in the air—crisp, floral, almost imperial. Normally I found it comforting. Today, it felt like the walls themselves were watching me.
It wasn't subtle either. The office floor had its usual hum of typing and ringing phones, but underneath it, threads of gossip tangled together.
"—she actually said that in the boardroom?"
"I heard it myself. Bold move. Maybe too bold."
"Well, she did pull off that Virtual Red Envelope stunt. Morale's been up since."
"Still… taking on sanctions isn't like handing out carrots. What if she makes us a bigger target?"
I adjusted the bow on my sleeve and kept walking, pretending my heels didn't click louder than they usually did. My bunny ears weren't here anymore, but my instincts were, and they told me every glance felt sharper than usual.
For once, though, it wasn't just pity or suspicion. Some looks lingered a little longer, curious. Respectful, even. Like they weren't sure if I was insane or if I'd just done what they'd all secretly wanted to: speak up when the room froze.
Not that I'd admit it out loud, but… yeah, it kind of made my chest puff up. Just a little.
And then I caught it, one of those tiny shifts in the air you only notice if you've been a bunny for most of your life and survival depends on sensing tension.
Rui Ming had just stepped out of the elevator, heels clicking like they were setting the tempo of the whole office. Immaculate as always, crisp suit, expression that could silence a room without a word.
From the other hallway, Wu Zhaoyuan appeared.
The temperature dropped a degree, I swear. He wasn't even supposed to be here, but there he was—polished, unreadable, carrying that aura of someone who already knew the ending of a conversation before it began.
The two of them locked eyes.
It wasn't dramatic. No one else even seemed to notice. But to me, it was like watching two blades glance off each other, just enough to test the sharpness.
He gave her a clipped nod. "Still standing with them, I see."
Her reply was smooth, instant. "Still pretending you stand alone, I see."
And then they walked past each other like nothing had happened. No theatrics, no sparks. But the current they left behind? Sharp enough to make my shoulders twitch.
…Okay, so maybe I wasn't the only one turning boardrooms into dramas.
The whispers returned as Rui Ming and I sat together, shoulder-to-shoulder over my chaos of sticky notes and messy Word docs. Her side of the desk looked like a Vogue spread—neat files, crisp margins—while mine looked like stationery Armageddon.
"Why is PR sitting at her desk?"
"Looks serious. Is this… a project?"
"Didn't she… say something in the boardroom?"
I pretended not to hear, pen scratching harder across the page. My instincts were twitching, but if speed could prove I deserved Rui Ming's attention, then fine—I'd write like lightning.
And then Jinyu passed by.
Except this time, he didn't keep walking. He pulled out the empty chair beside me and sat down.
At my desk.
The gossip wasn't even whispers anymore, just low enough to be deniable if caught. Someone across the floor actually choked on their coffee. A senior director muttered something about "protocol" under his breath, but didn't dare finish the sentence once Jinyu settled in.
Jinyu didn't care. He just set his cup down right on my chaos of notes like it belonged there, scrolling through my half-finished doc with the maddening calm of a man who didn't notice he was detonating my social life.
"Your citations are sloppy," he said, nudging my laptop closer. "This one's from a translation blog, not the original report."
I sputtered, reaching for the mouse. "I was going to fix that—"
He didn't move his hand. Just tapped the trackpad once, elegant fingers steady. "Intentions don't make a report airtight. Proof does."
My ears—well, the ones I didn't have anymore—burned.
Rui Ming, amused, finally cut in. "Most CEOs don't edit exposés with their assistants."
"Most assistants don't pitch exposés in boardrooms," he replied smoothly.
My cheeks flared, caught between mortified and glowing. His eyes flicked to me again, softer now. "Keep your fire," he said quietly, low enough only I could hear. "Just make sure you don't burn yourself with it."