CHAPTER 10
The vehicle comes to a stop in front of Tian Enterprises, and I take a deep breath. The skyscraper rises before me like a giant of glass and steel, reflecting the morning sun off its polished façade. The structure, a true masterpiece of modern architecture, blends elegant lines with a minimalist design and exudes a presence that commands respect from every angle. It's not just a building; it's a symbol of power, of success, of everything that until now had seemed beyond my reach.
Through the window, I watch the constant flow of people coming and going with the efficiency typical of major corporations: executives in flawless suits, women in high heels and designer handbags, high-level employees carrying leather briefcases and speaking into wireless headsets connected to the latest-generation smartphones. They all seem to know exactly where they're going, what they're doing, why they're here. I, on the other hand, feel like a fish out of water.
I shift slightly in my seat. My light blue dress and denim jacket make me feel far too simple, almost insignificant. I know it shouldn't affect me, and yet for the first time in a long while, I feel a sharp pang of insecurity. What am I doing here? How did I even get to this place?
"Miss Zhi, we've arrived," the chauffeur announces calmly.
I lift my gaze and meet the steady, impenetrable eyes of the man who has accompanied me from Shanghai. He's already out of the car and has opened the door for me with his usual near-military precision. His posture, rigid and disciplined, is that of someone awaiting orders I've never given. Who is he really? Why is he escorting me? The questions pile up, but I have no answers. All I know is that I must follow him.
I sigh again and step out of the car. I won't ask—I don't want to seem out of place or show just how disoriented I am, even if I am.
"This way, Miss Zhi," he says firmly, accompanying his words with a gesture for me to follow.
We head toward the lobby of Tian Enterprises, where opulence hits me full force. The black marble floors reflect the high ceilings and crystal chandeliers, which glow with a warm, expensive light. A signature scent—a blend of noble wood and fresh flowers—fills the air with a discreet but undeniable elegance.
Around me, receptionists take calls in multiple languages, speaking fluently about meetings, investment deals, and corporate strategies. Digital screens display financial performance graphs, while executives review documents on sleek, ultrathin tablets. This is not just an office building—it's the nerve center of something massive.
I follow my escort to the reception desk. He doesn't need to say a word. The receptionist—a woman in a perfectly tailored suit with a wireless earpiece—looks up as soon as she sees us. She looks at him first, as if she already knows him. Then her eyes land on me, and for a split second, I catch a flicker of surprise.
"Miss Zhi, they're expecting you," she says with a professional smile, though she doesn't quite manage to mask her curiosity.
Expecting? The word echoes inside me, but I have no time to process it. Before I can ask anything, the receptionist types something into her computer and, with an elegant gesture, points to the main elevator.
"Please proceed to the forty-seventh floor. They will receive you there for your interview."
I nod slowly and take the access card she offers.
"Thank you."
The man beside me remains motionless until I take the first step. Only then does he walk with me to the elevator. When the doors open, I turn instinctively, looking for him. But he's gone without me even noticing. Where is he? How did he vanish without a sound, without drawing attention? With those questions still circling in my head, I step in and swipe the card over the reader. The doors begin to close, and I cast one last glance at the lobby, hoping to see him appear. It reassures me to know that, for a few minutes, I'll have some privacy.
But just before the doors shut completely, a hand slips between them. They open abruptly.
A man steps in with a posture as relaxed as it is deliberate. His presence is almost physical—dense—as if the air shifts around him. I feel his gaze. It's not blatant or invasive, but it's intense. He's studying me.
I lower my eyes, uncomfortable without knowing why. The elevator numbers begin to climb slowly. I see his reflection in the polished steel walls. He looks like a man of power. He wears a dark suit, perfectly tailored. His black shirt, collar open without a tie, gives him an air of authority without stiffness. A Swiss watch gleams on his wrist; the leather strap catches the light as it moves. His cologne, expensive and subtle, leaves behind an unforgettable trace. Everything about him seems designed to leave an impression.
Forty-three.
He doesn't say a word.
Forty-four.
The air is thick.
Forty-five.
He's still looking at me. I can feel it.
Forty-six.
I clench my fists, uneasy.
Forty-seven.
The doors open with a soft sound. I remain still. I want him to step out first. He does. And for some reason I can't explain, I watch his back as he walks away. I force myself to shake my head and remember why I'm here. This is no time to get distracted.
*****
The elevator doors slide open smoothly behind me, and I take a step forward. I can still feel the presence of the mysterious man, as if his aura had left an invisible trace lingering in the air. And yet, I don't dare turn around to see if he's still there.
I've barely walked a few steps when a man in a dark suit approach with a professional expression, almost robotic in its precision.
"Miss Zhi?" he asks with a polite, firm voice, his gaze analyzing me as if evaluating every move I make.
"Good morning. Yes, that's me," I reply, doing my best to remain composed.
"Please, follow me," he adds without further explanation, turning and walking ahead with a steady, confident stride.
I follow him without asking questions, though my mind swirls with doubts like storm clouds gathering on the horizon. The surroundings project a disquieting perfection, as though every detail had been meticulously calculated to convey power and control. The furnishings, all clean lines and noble materials, exude modernity and sophistication. Even the soft murmur of employees barely filters through the glass walls, as if even sound were regulated here to preserve the calm.
We walk down a corridor and stop before a door of opaque glass. The man opens it with a precise gesture and signals for me to enter. I comply, stepping inside, and watch him leave without saying another word, vanishing with the same discretion with which he arrived.
The room is spacious, decorated with restrained elegance. The glass table at the center and the ergonomic leather chairs speak of efficiency and professionalism. There are no unnecessary ornaments—only a space designed to focus on what matters.
In front of me, two men are already seated. One, meticulous in appearance with perfectly aligned glasses, is carefully reviewing a stack of documents. The other, more relaxed, watches me with a subtle, almost calculated smile, as if measuring each of my movements.
"Miss Zhi, welcome to Tian Enterprises. Please, have a seat," the man with the glasses says, motioning to the chair across from them.
I sit down, trying to mask the tension that's settled in my body. The image of the man in the elevator still lingers in my mind, along with the sense that his gaze had known far more about me than it should. I shake off the thought and force myself to focus. This interview is what matters.
"My name is Li Xian. I'm the Director of the Technology Department," he says, adjusting his glasses with a precise motion. "This is Mr. Fang, Head of Human Resources."
Fang barely glances at me before turning his attention to a folder containing my printed résumé. He flips through the pages slowly, as if every piece of information required deep scrutiny.
"We're impressed by your background in cybersecurity," Li Xian says, breaking the silence. "We'd like to ask you a few questions before making a final decision."
I nod seriously. Everything still feels normal, though the solemnity of the room makes me feel as if I'm under a magnifying glass.
"Of course. I'm ready," I reply, trying to sound confident.
Then something shifts. Li Xian subtly taps a button on his earpiece. His lips tighten for the briefest moment before he asks the first question.
"Tell me, Miss Zhi, how would you respond to a real-time security breach if you detected a critical intrusion attempt on our servers?"
The question is direct, technical, and it puts me at ease. This—I know.
"The first step would be to isolate the threat to prevent it from spreading," I reply firmly. "Depending on the nature of the attack, I would reinforce the firewall or close vulnerable ports to stop any data leakage. Then I would trace the source through reverse analysis and..."
I continue confidently, laying out my strategy with the precision of someone who's dealt with real crises. This is my domain. Li Xian and Fang exchange a glance, and for a moment I sense they're genuinely impressed.
"Interesting," Li Xian says, though his tone suggests he's expecting more.
He taps his earpiece again and, without warning, shifts the conversation's direction.
"Miss Zhi, tell us... what are your plans for the future?"
I blink, thrown off. Weren't we discussing cybersecurity?
"Plans?" I repeat, buying myself a moment.
"Yes," Fang interjects, with a more informal tone. "We want to know more about you beyond the technical profile. Where do you see yourself in five years?"
The change in tone is abrupt, but I try to adapt without showing surprise.
"Well... Professionally, I hope to continue growing in the cybersecurity field and take part in innovative projects. Eventually, I'd like to lead my own team."
Li Xian nods, touching his earpiece again. Fang offers a polite smile, though something about his expression makes me suspect this question wasn't entirely spontaneous.
"And personally?" Fang adds.
I tense.
"Personally?"
"Yes. We like to get to know our employees more holistically. For example, where are you currently living?"
The air thickens. An alarm goes off in my mind. Something doesn't fit.
"In Shanghai," I reply cautiously.
"Interesting..." Li Xian murmurs, tapping his earpiece again. "If you were to get the position, would you be willing to relocate to Canton?"
I lace my fingers in my lap.
"If the offer justifies it, yes. I'm open to the possibility."
Fang scribbles something in his notebook and looks up with a smile meant to seem casual.
"Have you considered any specific area to live here?"
Since when do job interviews ask where you plan to live? I take a deep breath before answering honestly:
"I don't know Canton well enough to decide."
Li Xian exchanges a glance with Fang and taps his earpiece once more.
"Are you currently in a romantic relationship?"
My heart skips a beat. This time, I don't hide my surprise.
"Excuse me...? What does that have to do with my professional qualifications?"
Fang lets out a soft laugh and leans forward with a relaxed demeanor.
"Nothing, really. Just curiosity."
I meet his gaze without blinking. No. It's not just curiosity.
"I'm not in a relationship," I finally respond. "I was engaged, but the engagement was called off."
Silence. The air feels suspended. Fang nods, though for some reason he looks uncomfortable. Li Xian murmurs something I can't quite catch.
"And how do you feel about that?"
"I have no regrets. I'm fine. My life is perfect with Bo."
"Bo?" Fang asks, pretending nonchalance.
My expression hardens.
"Yes. Bo, my cat."
Fang blinks. Li Xian repeats softly, as if needing confirmation.
"Your... cat?"
"That's right. He'll be the only one moving in with me if I get the job."
Fang offers a faint smile and nods.
"Very well, very well."
But something shifts in the atmosphere. His posture relaxes, and the tension in the room dissolves suddenly, as if that absurd-sounding response had cleared up an unknown variable.
From that moment on, the interview continues with more conventional questions about my experience and skill set. Yet I no longer feel at ease. Something doesn't add up. Why so many personal questions? Why such an abrupt change in tone? And the most unsettling of all... who is on the other end of that earpiece?
When the interview ends, Li Xian and Fang rise with almost choreographed synchronicity. They don't offer a handshake or any gesture beyond a formal farewell.
"Thank you for your time, Miss Zhi," says Li Xian, his voice sounding more like protocol than genuine gratitude.
"You'll hear from us shortly," Fang adds, closing the folder with my résumé as if the decision had already been made.
I nod, trying to keep my composure, though inside, my mind is racing. Something about this has been far too strange. I walk out of the room without looking back, feeling their eyes on me until the doors close.
I walk down the hallway toward the elevator. My footsteps echo over the polished marble as the dim lighting casts an unreal glow, like I'm passing through a dream I can't wake up from. I press the button and wait, feeling the seconds stretch into silence.
The doors slide open... and there he is. The man from the elevator. The same one from before. He stands motionless, as if he's been waiting for me, though his expression reveals no clear intent.
I step in. The button for the ground floor is already lit. I stand in one corner, trying to maintain some distance, though his presence is impossible to ignore.
He says nothing. He doesn't move. He's just there. Upright, with that calm posture that exudes effortless authority. I don't feel fear. It's something more complex mix of security, of silent protection. As if his mere existence were an invisible shield.
The elevator begins its descent. The silence is thick, almost tangible, but not uncomfortable. It feels as though we both understand that words aren't necessary. I glance at him through the reflection on the polished steel: his impeccable suit, his relaxed yet alert demeanor... Everything about him seems crafted to command respect.
When the doors open, I step out with steady strides. The contrast between the opulence of the upper floors and the bustle of the lobby hits me full force. I head toward the exit, aware of the eyes on me. But no… they're not looking at me. They're looking at him. The employees, the visitors, even the security guards give him a subtle nod. No one speaks to him. No one dares.
My car is waiting. My supposed bodyguard straightens the moment he sees me, as if standing before a superior officer. He opens the door with military precision, and I step in without hesitation. The leather seat welcomes me—warm, flawless.
I look out the window. He's still there. Standing at the entrance, watching me. He doesn't move, doesn't smile. He simply watches, as if assessing something I have yet to understand.
My escort takes his place in the front passenger seat, and the chauffeur pulls away smoothly. We drive off as my gaze stays fixed on the rearview mirror. And there he is. Motionless. Watching us. Until, little by little, he fades from view.
But the feeling lingers. I still sense that something far bigger is moving around me.
Who is that man?
Why does he seem to be in control of everything?
And most unsettling of all… what does any of this have to do with me?
CHAPTER 11
The first ray of sunlight filters through the curtains of my room, casting a golden glow. I turn in bed, though my eyes are already open. I don't need an alarm: my body is programmed to start the day at the same hour, with the same discipline. Today, however, is not an ordinary day. Today is different.
I sit up calmly and slide my feet over the dark wooden floor, still cool to the touch. In front of me, the city of Canton begins to awaken. From this floor—one of the highest in my residence—the view is commanding: glass buildings reflect the dawn light, and the streets come alive with the rhythm of cars and pedestrians. Everything flows with clockwork precision. I, however, do not.
I rise and walk toward the bathroom. The fresh towels, perfectly folded, await me as they do each morning. The housemaid knows my habits down to the last detail—without needing instruction. The shower is set to the exact temperature I prefer. I step under the hot water and let the pressure massage my back, though my mind is elsewhere.
On Ling…
Since that night in Shanghai, my life has continued at its usual pace. I haven't missed a single investment, cancelled any meeting, or made a poor decision. But at the edges of every day, in the silence between emails and contracts, she has always been present. Like a persistent echo in my consciousness.
The moment I saved her. Her trembling body in my arms. The fleeting touch of her lips when I held her against the pavement. It all remains etched in my memory with maddening clarity.
Six months have passed. Six months watching from a distance, giving her space to rebuild her life. Six months of restraining impatience, calculating every move with surgical precision. Now, that time is over. The moment has come to bring her to me.
I lather my hair with force, as if I could wash away the anxiety lodged in my chest. It's not something I'm used to. I don't wait. I act.
And I already have.
Since deciding I wanted her in my company, everything has unfolded as planned. I ordered one of my men to travel to Shanghai and oversee her relocation personally. From the Human Resources call to the moment she boarded the plane—chartered exclusively for her—every detail was orchestrated with precision. Her flight, her stay at the Ritz-Carlton, the chauffeur who met her… All of it was my doing.
I close my eyes under the stream. Yesterday I received images of her arrival at the hotel. The look of wonder on her face, her eyes wide in disbelief as she saw the reserved suite. A little girl surrounded by marvels. Mine.
I step out of the shower and take the towel left for me. I dry myself with measured movements, letting the cool air finish the task. I walk into the dressing room and choose a perfectly tailored black suit. I button the shirt with no hurry and knot my tie with the ease of habit. Then, I select a watch from my collection—a limited edition Patek Philippe—and fasten it to my wrist.
While I finish dressing, I check my phone. My man at the Ritz has written:
Mr. Han, Miss Zhi has finished breakfast. She'll be leaving shortly for Tian Enterprises.
A chill runs down my spine. She's on her way.
It's ironic that this moment—planned down to the last detail—should stir in me an almost unbearable restlessness. But I'm going to see her.
I take my jacket and leave the room. In the hallway, the staff greets me with bows. I don't respond. My mind is elsewhere. On her.
I descend the staircase with a steady pace and find the security team waiting at the entrance. As every morning, they receive me with the same meticulous discretion. One of them opens the car door.
"Good morning, Mr. Han."
I give a silent nod and take a seat in the back. The interior, lined in black leather with wooden accents, smells of cleanliness and restrained luxury. The chauffeur starts the engine without needing instruction.
I watch the city through the window, my reflection superimposed on the landscape. Canton is my kingdom. An empire built on strategy and effort. Every building, every company, every street we pass bears my mark. And today, she will step into my territory.
I cross my hands on my lap and close my eyes for a few seconds. I wonder how she'll react when she sees me. Will she recognize me? Will she remember the man who held her that night? Maybe not. Maybe her memory buried that moment under layers of confusion and fear. It doesn't matter. She'll have time to remember me.
The car moves smoothly through traffic. With every passing minute, my pulse quickens. It's been years since I've felt this kind of anticipation: the silent expectancy of the inevitable—of what is about to happen and cannot be stopped.
When we finally stop in front of Tian Enterprises, I open my eyes. I look at the skyscraper. My skyscraper.
I inhale deeply and step out of the car. Outside, the city keeps spinning, but I can only think of one thing.
Ling, I'm coming to you.
*****
The sound of my shoes on the marble floors of Tian Enterprises is the only thing that echoes as I walk through the main lobby. Every step is firm, deliberate. There's no hurry, but no hesitation either. The building—my building—rises before me as a symbol of power and control. Here, every detail has been planned with precision; here, every person knows their place.
The moment I walk in, all eyes turn toward me. Everyone knows who I am. The nearest employees straighten instinctively; some bow their heads slightly, others lower their gaze, as if maintaining eye contact would be a sign of disrespect. No one stops me. No one dares interrupt. I hear formal greetings as I pass, but I don't respond. I don't stop. My mind is focused on one thing: she is here.
I look toward the elevators. I see her step into one. Urgency drives me forward. I run. Just as the doors begin to close, I press my hand between them. They open. And there she is. Now we're alone.
Silence settles. Thick. Tense. She feels it. I know because her breathing changes, because her body stiffens. She's realized I'm watching her. I say nothing. I don't look at her directly, but I don't have to. My presence fills the space.
Ling shifts, uneasy. She fixes her eyes on the digital numbers counting the elevator's ascent, but her posture is taut. She feels my proximity. The air between us grows heavier. There's no hostility, it's something else. Something deeper. I don't need to speak to be noticed, nor move a muscle for her to know I'm here.
The elevator climbs.
Forty-three.
Forty-four.
Forty-five.
She crosses her arms. An unconscious act of self-protection that will do her no good. I'm here, Ling. And this won't be the last time you feel this.
Forty-six.
She tightens her jaw. She knows I'm watching, even if I never turn my head.
Forty-seven.
The doors open. She doesn't move right away. She hesitates. And that amuses me. I wait. I want to see how she handles this moment of discomfort without yet knowing why she feels it. In the end, I'm the one who steps forward. I don't want her arriving tense to the interview.
I walk calmly to my office. My assistant, Lu Wen, is waiting at the door with a folder. I don't stop. He follows seamlessly with his usual precision.
"Mr. Han, Miss Zhi Ling has entered the interview room. The Human Resources team is ready."
I nod. From here, I have absolute control. I press a button and the security feed from the interview room appears on the screen at my desk. Now the real game begins.
I sit with purpose, fold my hands over the table, and watch. Zhi Ling is seated, wearing that composed and steady expression I've studied so many times in the photos I collected. She's strong. But today I intend to see how far that strength truly goes.
Li Xian and Fang are ready. So am I. I press the button on my earpiece.
"Li Xian, let's begin."
The first questions are technical. I need them to keep up the professional façade. She answers with confidence. Clear, precise. No hesitation. She's brilliant. I knew it that night in Shanghai, when she handled the crisis as if chaos couldn't touch her.
But this is not just an interview. Not for me. I press the earpiece again.
"Li Xian, shift the questions. I want to learn something about her personal life."
He complies without hesitation.
"Miss Zhi, what are your plans for the future?"
She's caught off guard. I smile slightly. She wasn't expecting that.
"Professionally, I hope to continue developing…" she begins, polite, though I'm not interested in that part.
"Ask her about her life outside of work."
Li Xian touches his earpiece, making it seem like his own idea.
"And on a personal level?"
She frowns. She's uncomfortable. I can tell. She doesn't want to talk about it.
"Where do you currently live?"
Her shoulders are tense.
"In Shanghai."
"If offered the position, would you be willing to relocate to Canton?"
I hold my breath. Come on, Ling. Say it.
"If the offer is worth it, yes. I'm open to moving."
Perfect. Fang makes a note. And I want to laugh. But one more thing remains.
"Ask her if she's in a relationship."
Li Xian hesitates for a second. Then he asks. My heart pounds.
She blinks, incredulous.
"I'm not in a relationship. I was engaged, but the engagement was canceled."
I close my eyes. I knew the answer, but I needed to hear it from her.
"Ask her how she feels about it."
She bristles. It's obvious.
"I don't regret it. I'm fine. My life is perfect with Bo."
My jaw tightens. Bo? My voice becomes a growl.
"Ask who Bo is."
"Bo?"
"Yes. Bo, my cat."
The sigh Fang lets out is almost comical. I lean back in my chair and exhale. A cat.
The interview continues, though I've stopped listening. I have her. When she walks through those doors, Zhi Ling will already belong to my world.
And I won't let her go.
*****
From my office, I watch as the interview ends. Ling rises with the same confidence she had when she arrived, though there's something different in her expression now: she's unsettled. Perfect. Exactly what I intended. I never meant to merely assess her skills—that was evident from the moment I first saw her at TecnoNova—but rather to see how she would respond when pushed out of her comfort zone. I wanted to witness her face the unexpected. And she passed.
But what intrigued me most wasn't her intelligence or her poise. It was her cat. Bo. Just hearing that name made me exhale with a mix of relief and satisfaction. For a fleeting moment, I feared it belonged to someone else, someone who might stand in my way. But no. Bo is just an animal. And if that's the only "man" in her life, I have no competition.
I switch off the screen and rise. It's time to see her leave.
I adjust the cuffs of my suit as I walk toward the private elevator, keeping my composure despite the agitation I haven't felt this strongly in years.
When I step out, I spot her. Ling hasn't noticed me yet. Her mind is still caught in the tangle of questions they threw at her; her furrowed brow and pensive expression give her away. She walks toward the elevator with her head lowered, lost in thought. And then—she sees me.
She inhales deeply. She's trying to steady herself, to process everything she's just experienced. I watch her from the corner of my eye, with the subtlety of someone who's learned to read people without drawing attention. And I know: she can't shake the feeling that something doesn't add up. And she's right.
When the doors open on the ground floor, she hurries out, as if the outside air might clear the discomfort clinging to her. I follow. My steps are calm, deliberate. I don't get too close, but I never lose sight of her. I'm the shadow she hasn't discovered yet.
Ling moves toward the exit, and the employees watch her. They bow their heads, greet her with respect. She frowns. Does she sense it? Does she realize she's receiving a recognition not granted to just any candidate? Of course she does. Though she says nothing. She walks steadily to the entrance, shoulders tense, gaze fixed on the car waiting for her.
And there is my man. His posture is flawless; he stands at attention as if before a high-ranking officer. He is loyal. He answers only to me. As I stop at the door, I see him give a slight nod, confirming that everything went according to plan. Ling doesn't notice. She has no idea he's not there for me.
The chauffeur opens the rear door and she gets into the vehicle without a word. My man takes his place in the front passenger seat and the car glides forward smoothly. Through the tinted glass, I watch her tilt her head and gaze out, as if still trying to make sense of everything that's happened.
Our eyes meet. For a moment, she sees me. I don't know if she's fully aware, if she truly registers that she's looking at me, or if her mind is still drifting and her gaze has simply landed on me by chance. But I don't look away. I don't, because I want something inside her to register this moment. Because, though she doesn't know it yet… Her fate is already in my hands.
CHAPTER 12
The light of dawn filters through the curtains, bathing the living room in golden hues. I stretch in bed, feeling the softness of the Egyptian cotton sheets against my skin. I still haven't grown used to waking up here, in this apartment that feels as though it was pulled from a dream. Every morning, when I open my eyes, I have to remind myself that this is real.
Bo is already awake, curled up in his little bed by the window. He watches with detached calm as the first rays of sunlight illuminate the polished wooden floor. His grey velvet bed has his name embroidered in gold letters, and beside it rests a white ceramic bowl with the same inscription. The first time I saw it, I thought it was a curious coincidence. Now, I simply accept it as part of the strange stroke of luck that brought me here.
I sit up slowly, letting my gaze sweep across the apartment. It's more than I ever imagined: a little paradise in the heart of Canton. Every corner seems to have been designed with a clear purpose—comfort, style, and functionality. The living room is spacious, with linen sofas in neutral tones and a tempered glass coffee table with walnut wood accents. A sophisticated and modern design, without the impersonal coldness of luxury hotels.
For a few seconds, I stand before the enormous window that takes up almost the entire wall of the living room. From here, the city unfolds like a canvas of light and shadow in constant motion. I cross my arms and smile faintly. The spaciousness, the harmony of the colors, the perfect balance between modernity and warmth...
I glance around and feel as though this apartment was designed by Steve Leung, the renowned interior designer whose contemporary style blends Western elegance with the essence of Asian luxury. But it can't be. How could it be possible? How could I be living in a place like this for such a ridiculously low monthly rate?
I shake off the thought and force myself to focus on what matters: today is my first day at Tian Enterprises.
I walk to the kitchen, as spotless as the rest of the home. Black marble countertops, state-of-the-art appliances, and a breakfast bar with leather stools. Everything in its place, as if it had barely been used. I open the refrigerator and find a carefully arranged selection of fresh fruit, yogurt, and bottles of mineral water.
"What do you think, Bo?" I murmur as I pour myself a cup of freshly brewed coffee.
Bo blinks slowly and stretches with the majestic indifference only cats possess. He doesn't seem impressed by the apartment, or by his own luxurious little bed, or the personalized food bowl. To him, the only thing that matters is that we're together.
The coffee is hot, strong, and perfect. I take a sip while glancing at the clock on the wall. It's time to get ready.
I head to the bedroom and open the wardrobe. Everything is neatly organized, with more space than I need. As strange as it feels, the layout seems tailored exactly to my needs. Without overthinking, I choose a simple yet elegant outfit: an ivory silk blouse and beige straight-cut trousers. I don't want to stand out too much on my first day.
When I finish getting dressed, I pause in front of the mirror. The makeup is flawless. The reflection that looks back at me is that of a woman ready to begin a new chapter in her life. I don't know what awaits me at Tian Enterprises, though something inside tells me that nothing will ever be the same again. I pick up my bag, give Bo one last look, and gently stroke his head.
"Be good," I say with a smile.
He watches me with his large green eyes and curls back into his bed, as if he understands that an important day lies ahead. I close the apartment door and take the elevator down to the lobby. As I step outside, the morning light greets me along with a scene that's already become familiar. The black car is parked right at the entrance, spotless, waiting. The chauffeur has already exited the vehicle and opened the rear door with precise timing. And next to him, the same man as always.
He watches me for a moment, as if assessing whether everything is in order. No words, no unnecessary gestures. Just that constant presence, that aura of discipline and authority. I say nothing. I don't question it. I simply get into the car and let them take me to my destination.
*****
The elevator stops at the top floor with a soft, discreet sound. The doors open and, the moment I step forward, I find a man already waiting for me.
"Good morning, Miss Zhi," he greets, his tone precise, neutral, not a single inflection out of place. His movements are measured, his posture impeccable. He observes me with an expression that conveys neither friendliness nor coldness—only absolute efficiency. "I'm Lu Wen, Mr. Han's personal assistant."
His name echoes in my mind. I've heard of him in the corporate world, though I've never seen him in person. Lu Wen is no mere assistant—he's the shadow of the most powerful man at Tian Enterprises.
"Good morning," I reply politely, unable to shake the feeling that I'm a little out of place.
"If you would kindly follow me, I'll show you to your office."
My office?
The word lingers in my mind as I follow him down the corridor. The last time I was here, the floor buzzed with activity: meetings held in glass-walled rooms, executives speaking in hushed tones… but today, there's only silence. The offices that once bustled with movement now sit eerily empty.
A faint chill runs down my spine. Where is everyone? I shake off the unease and keep walking, though questions swirl in my mind like leaves in the wind. This job change has been too easy, too perfect. Did I make a mistake accepting something I don't fully understand?
Before my thoughts spiral further, Lu Wen stops in front of a door made of frosted glass. He opens it with a fluid motion and steps aside, allowing me to look inside.
And my eyes widen.
For someone who's spent her career in the tech world, this office is a paradise. State-of-the-art screens cover one of the walls, ready to connect to any server in seconds. A minimalist desk made of dark wood and glass houses a dual-monitor setup and a laptop that, without a doubt, has been customized. To the side, a high-end ergonomic chair designed for long workdays. The shelves are lined with books on cybersecurity, artificial intelligence, and business management. Everything feels tailor-made.
There's even a high-end coffee station, and on a small shelf, a potted plant with white flowers. Almost too perfect.
"Miss Zhi, I hope it meets your expectations."
His voice reaches me while I'm still trying to process the room.
"I like it. I like it a lot," I reply, trying to sound neutral, though my heart is pounding in my chest.
Lu Wen nods calmly.
"In your desk, you'll find today's agenda. I'd appreciate it if you reviewed it thoroughly and were prepared at every moment," he says in the same unchanging tone—professional, precise, almost mechanical. "It is imperative that everything proceeds meticulously."
I approach the desk and rest my gaze on a black leather folder stamped with the Tian Enterprises logo.
"Of course," I say, though only one question hammers in my mind: What the hell is in that agenda?
Lu Wen observes me for a second longer, as if expecting me to voice a question. I have thousands. But I won't ask any.
"Then, have a good day, Miss Zhi."
He departs with a measured nod and leaves. I wait until the door closes before exhaling the breath I didn't realize I was holding. I run my hand across the desk's surface—the cool, smooth texture grounding me in the present. Am I dreaming?How is it possible that everything changed so drastically after Rui left? I close my eyes briefly and let out an ironic smile. Perhaps, from the moment I lost him, my true happiness began.
I shake my head and focus on the agenda. I open it carefully, as if it were a fragile manuscript. I flip through the pages until I reach today's date and then—
What?
The first task is to meet with the owner of the company?
The name Han Qiang stands out like a printed warning. Why? A wave of nerves washes over me. I glance at the clock. Barely five minutes left until the meeting. My heart is beating violently. I stand, gripping the agenda as if it were the most precious object in the entire company, and step out into the hallway. I know Mr. Han's office isn't far—Lu Wen pointed it out when I arrived.
I freeze after only ten steps. Am I really this close to the Supreme himself? I take a deep breath and raise my hand to knock calmly, ready to introduce myself to the man who controls my salary. But just before I touch the door… my hand trembles.
CHAPTER 13
Reclining in my leather chair, I let my fingers drift slowly over the folder resting on the desk. I don't need to read the name printed on the upper tab; I know it all too well. Zhi Ling. Two syllables that have echoed in my mind since that night. The documents contain information that, in theory, shouldn't concern me: technical data, performance reports, evaluations of her work. But every line, every word, brings me a little closer to her. I've followed her from afar, watched how she rebuilt herself, how she became a woman who needed no one. And that — that very thing — is what made me want her even more.
I glance up at the clock on the wall. Two minutes left. I lean forward and adjust the cuffs of my shirt with precise movements. The gold cufflinks gleam under the light: a detail anyone else might overlook, but not me. Today, though, even these small rituals of control fail to calm me. For the first time in years, I feel something dangerously close to impatience.
Three soft knocks at the door interrupt my thoughts.
"Come in," I reply, my voice firm, measured.
The doors open. And there she is.
God…
I knew she would come, I knew I would see her, but her presence hits me with unexpected force. It's not just her clothes — though that simple outfit carries undeniable magnetism — not even her posture, upright but cautious. It's her.Zhi Ling. The woman who's haunted my thoughts, the one who has defied my expectations time and again.
She recognizes me. She knows I'm the man from the elevator, the one who stood silently beside her. She knows, even if she hasn't yet placed me on that night or the day she saved the company.
She walks with measured steps, though her body reveals a tension that does not go unnoticed. The trousers trace her curves with natural elegance, and the ivory silk blouse caresses her skin like a whisper. But it's her face that holds me captive: those lips — the same that brushed against mine in a fleeting touch — and that gaze, hovering between curiosity and restraint.
"Mr. Han, good morning," she says politely, though her tone can't quite conceal her caution.
"Have a seat, Miss Zhi," I say, gesturing to the chair across from me.
She obeys. Sits with her back straight and places her planner on her lap. Her hands rest on the leather cover, as if that object could offer her stability in an environment that clearly unsettles her.
Silence settles between us, thick, heavy with expectation. I let it linger on purpose, savoring each second I can observe her without interruption. Her lashes barely flicker, her breathing is steady, but the rigidity of her shoulders betrays her. She wants to know why she's here. She wants answers.
But I rarely offer answers before playing with the questions.
"Have you settled into your apartment?" I ask casually, as if we were discussing something trivial.
Ling blinks. That fraction of a second of surprise tells me she didn't expect the question.
"Yes, Mr. Han. It's a very… cozy place," she replies, choosing her words carefully.
I smile, satisfied. Of course it is. I designed it to be that way.
"I'm glad to hear it. We're fortunate to have you with us. Your former supervisor, Mr. Fu, had nothing but praise for your work."
She stiffens for a moment, though she hides it well. She doesn't know how to interpret my words. And I like that.
"I'm pleased to know Mr. Fu spoke well of me," she replies with a slight nod. "I'll do everything I can to live up to expectations."
"I have no doubt you will."
I close the folder with a sharp motion and lace my fingers together over the desk.
"Tell me, Miss Zhi," I go on calmly, leaning toward her just slightly, "have you handled many cyberattacks?"
I know this is her domain, which is precisely why I ask.
She straightens, finding confidence in the question.
"In my previous company, I faced several. I resolved them all."
I give a faint smile — the kind that tends to unsettle people who don't know how to read it.
"Then I suppose we're safe under your protection, aren't we?"
"I'll do everything in my power, sir."
"Good. That's reassuring."
She slides her fingers along the edge of her planner; I watch in silence, letting a half-smile escape.
"I see you brought your planner."
"Yes," she answers quickly. "Mr. Lu told me to follow every instruction to the letter."
"Exactly. You'll be responsible for protecting our systems…" I pause, giving her room to draw her own conclusions, "but when there are no incidents, I'll need you to also take on the role of my secretary."
The silence that follows is delicious. I can see her eyes searching for understanding, her mind processing each word, her body tensing. Her lips part, but she doesn't answer right away; confusion wraps around her completely.
"Excuse me?"
"You heard me, Miss Zhi. I need a part-time secretary. And you fit the profile."
"Why… me?"
A good question. I lean back in my chair, enjoying the moment.
"Do you have any objections?"
She hesitates. Not because she's refusing — but because she wasn't expecting this, though the answer is obvious.
"No, sir. None."
"Excellent. In that case, return to my office at eleven. We have a meeting to attend."
"Of course."
She rises with her planner in hand, nods formally, and walks toward the door. I watch her carefully, committing every detail to memory: the way she walks, the stiffness in her shoulders, that blend of resistance and obedience she doesn't yet know already belongs to me.
When the door closes behind her, I exhale with satisfaction — because the plan has begun.
CHAPTER 14
A notification pulls my eyes away from the documents. I glance at my phone: it's a message from Lu Wen.
"Miss Zhi, you must be at the building entrance by 10:55."
I rise from my seat and take the folder containing the company documentation. I've memorized a few key details, though not all of them; I barely had time. I take a deep breath, trying to focus, and leave the office to walk the few steps that separate me from the man who runs everything. I hear him speaking on the phone and move silently, following the instructions to the letter.
The elevator doors open and I step inside. Instinctively, my eyes turn to the door where I expect Mr. Han to appear, but he doesn't. For a moment, I allow myself a breath of relief.
I descend the forty-seven floors trying to process the fact that I'm now acting, at least partially, as his secretary. I've never done anything like this. What exactly am I supposed to do? Handle everything he needs? Isn't that what he already has an assistant for?
When I reach the lobby, I head toward the exit, unaware that several eyes are fixed on me. Maybe I'm already getting used to it, but what awaits me at the building entrance leaves me speechless. Mr. Han's car is parked right in front of the door: sleek, black, elegantly designed, radiating authority. You don't have to be an expert in luxury cars to know it's exclusive, tailor-made for a man who leaves nothing to chance. Beside it, Lu Wen is waiting for me.
I take a step forward, convinced I should sit in the front seat, as any secretary would, but just as I'm about to open the door, Wen's voice stops me.
"Miss Zhi, please take the back seat."
I freeze.
"But I…"
"The back," he repeats with that impeccable politeness that leaves no room for argument.
I don't understand the logic behind that protocol, but the tone he uses makes it clear there's no point in questioning it. I step back and move toward the rear door. Before I can reach for it, a bodyguard opens it for me. I blink, confused, and step inside with caution.
The interior of the car wraps me in an atmosphere of opulence. The leather seats are soft, ergonomic, crafted for absolute comfort. The air is infused with a mix of premium leather and expensive cologne — intoxicating, discreet, unforgettable.
I'm still trying to process everything when a presence shifts the balance.
Han Qiang.
I see him emerge from the building. He doesn't walk — he moves forward. His bearing is calm, commanding, deliberate. Every step radiates an authority that needs no words, even the way his jacket clings to his frame seems choreographed.
The chauffeur rushes to open the door and gives him a slight nod. Han Qiang doesn't acknowledge him; he doesn't need to. Respect walks ahead of him.
When he gets in the car, his mere presence transforms the atmosphere. He says nothing, makes no gesture. He simply settles in with natural elegance, as if I weren't there — and he does it on purpose. I know it.
It's not just the way he leans back or the neutral expression on his face, but his refusal to even glance at me, as though his attention were elsewhere — though it isn't. He's fully aware I'm here. And that makes it worse.
A wave of insignificance crashes over me. I feel small beside him. I try to keep my back straight and my shoulders firm, feigning a confidence I don't truly feel. He still doesn't speak.
The only sound is the engine starting and the constant hum of the air conditioning. The silence is a battlefield, and he owns it.
Then Han Qiang clears his throat. It's a minimal gesture, but Lu Wen reacts instantly. He turns from the front seat and speaks to me.
"Miss Zhi, did you review the documents you found on the desk?"
His firm voice rescues me from the discomfort. I'm grateful for the question.
"Yes," I reply with a slight nod.
"Good. Since today is your first day, you only need to observe how a high-level meeting is conducted."
"I will," I answer calmly — or at least with the appearance of calm.
But inside, my heart is pounding with a force I can barely control. Han Qiang still doesn't look at me. I still don't know if he's silently evaluating me, or if, to him, I simply don't exist.
The car glides through the city. Through the window, I watch buildings and streets pass by, though I retain none of it. My mind is trapped in a single thought: I'm stepping into his world… and I don't know whether that terrifies me or draws me in.
*****
The car stops in front of an imposing skyscraper, similar in structure and design to Tian Enterprises, though less majestic. The door opens and Lu Wen steps out first. As I go to open it myself, a bodyguard moves ahead of me and does it before I can touch the handle. I'm still not used to this.
As I step out, I take in the building with careful attention. It's a convention center with modern architecture, made of glass and steel, reflecting the city in its massive windows. I have no time to admire it further because, on the other side of the car, Mr. Han has already stepped out with his usual calm and command. The chauffeur offers him a slight bow before closing the door behind him.
Several people at the entrance pause when they see him—not because he demands it, but because his presence demands it. The power he radiates is undeniable.
He walks forward without saying a word, with that unshakable confidence that always surrounds him. I follow in silence. Lu Wen walks beside me, and the bodyguards move like a choreographed sequence, with the precision only experience can teach.
Upon entering the lobby, the atmosphere shifts. Everything in the place—the people, their tailored suits, the luxury watches gleaming on their wrists—conveys one idea: power. I try not to dwell on how out of place I feel.
A receptionist, dressed in a perfectly pressed black suit, greets us with a brief bow.
"Mr. Han, welcome. The conference room is ready."
He nods and continues walking.
We proceed down a white marble corridor flanked by polished columns, as though we were in an art gallery rather than an office building. Each step echoes through the sterile calm of the space.
When the doors to the room open, the first thing I sense is the air of authority. A rectangular glass table dominates the room, surrounded by executives who look like they've stepped out of a financial magazine cover. Some adjust their ties with nervous hands, others leaf through papers as if fearing an unexpected question.
Everyone rises the moment Han Qiang enters. The hum of conversation dies instantly as he crosses the threshold. He's not a man who goes unnoticed.
I'm directed to take a seat along the side, next to a woman who seems to be another executive's secretary. From here, I have a clear view of Mr. Han as he takes the head of the table with the ease of someone who never needs to assert himself—he already commands the space.
An assistant turns on the projector, and the first slides of the merger appear on the screen.
"We may begin," Han Qiang says, his voice deep and measured.
One of the executives, a man in his fifties with perfectly styled gray hair and a custom-made suit, speaks up.
"Mr. Han, we've reviewed the terms of the proposal. Overall, we agree on the key points, but there's some concern regarding the share distribution."
Qiang doesn't respond immediately. He leans back in his chair, laces his fingers on the table, and fixes his eyes on the man. The silence stretches. One second. Two. Three. The executive begins to shift uncomfortably in his seat.
"Go on," he finally says, his tone more command than invitation.
"We'd like to renegotiate the percentage. We believe an equal distribution would benefit both parties."
Han Qiang gives a slight smile, utterly devoid of warmth.
"Equal?"
"Yes, we think a fifty-fifty split would be the fairest."
"Fairest?" he repeats, still with that same serene but razor-sharp expression.
The air in the room grows heavy. No one dares to speak.
"Allow me to remind you, Mr. Zhao, that it was I who saved your company when it was on the verge of collapse. I was the one who provided the capital to keep it afloat. And now you expect us to share control equally?"
The man swallows hard.
"It's not about control, Mr. Han, it's about…"
"It is precisely about control," he cuts in, his calm verging on threatening. "Do not mistake courtesy for weakness, Mr. Zhao. And if you think I'm going to hand you half of something that already belongs to me, then you've misunderstood the nature of this deal."
Another executive, younger, clears his throat and leans forward slightly.
"Mr. Han, we understand your position, but our shareholders…"
Qiang raises an eyebrow.
"Your shareholders?"
The man nods, a bit pale.
"They need reassurance."
"They had it when they signed the initial agreement. And now you want to renegotiate. Tell me, Mr. Li, do you understand what a contract means?"
Silence.
"Because if you're unclear, we can simplify things," he adds. "We cancel this meeting and let your company face the consequences on its own."
The younger man opens his mouth to reply, but shuts it again immediately.
Zhao frowns, and after a few agonizing seconds, he sighs.
"There's no need to cancel the meeting. We accept the terms."
Han Qiang holds his gaze a moment longer, then slides a document across the table.
"These are the final terms. There will be no renegotiation."
Zhao takes the document with tense fingers. He knows there's no other way.
"I understand…"
"Excellent," Qiang replies, rising to his feet. "Then let's proceed with the signing."
The rest of the meeting unfolds with the same relentless logic. Every word he speaks is precise, every look calculated. There is no room for doubt, no space for concessions.
And I, who've remained silent this entire time, only now realize I haven't blinked once.
It's hypnotic.
Han Qiang is not merely a businessman.
He's a strategist.
A man who leaves nothing to chance.