Chapter 28: The Office After Everyone Leaves
The message came at 7:43 p.m.
Shen Yuqi had already changed out of her work clothes, hair loosely tied, phone balanced against her shoulder as she helped her mother set plates on the table.
Her phone vibrated once.
Then again.
She glanced at the screen—and froze.
Li Wei:
There's an issue with the Zhonghai contract. Are you still nearby?
Her heart skipped, not from excitement, but from instinct.
"Yes," she typed back quickly, even though she wasn't. "I can come."
She didn't explain. She didn't hesitate.
Ten minutes later, she was back on the street, coat pulled tight against the evening breeze, city lights reflecting off wet pavement. By the time she reached the office building, most floors were already dark.
The elevator ride up felt longer than usual.
When she stepped out, the familiar office looked different—quieter, shadows stretching across desks, the hum of machines louder without human voices to soften it.
Li Wei's office light was on.
She knocked.
"Come in."
He was standing, jacket off, sleeves rolled up, phone pressed to his ear. He gestured for her to wait, eyes focused but calm.
She stood near the desk, hands folded, taking in the scene—the loosened tie, the scattered documents, the faint crease between his brows he usually hid well.
When he ended the call, he exhaled slowly.
"Thank you for coming back," he said.
"Of course."
He gestured to the chair opposite him. "Sit."
She did.
"The legal team flagged an inconsistency in Clause 14," he continued. "It's subtle, but if it goes through like this, Zhonghai gains more control than agreed."
Yuqi leaned forward, scanning the document. Her expression shifted from neutral to focused.
"They altered the wording after the last revision," she said. "Just enough to look harmless."
"Yes," Li Wei said. "I wanted a second set of eyes."
She paused. "You didn't trust the legal team?"
"I trust them," he replied. "I trust you differently."
The words were simple.
They lingered.
Yuqi lowered her gaze to the page, suddenly very aware of the quiet between them.
They worked without speaking much after that—she cross-referenced older drafts, he made calls, his voice low and controlled. Occasionally, he'd ask for a file; she'd pass it over. Their hands came close once, almost brushing.
Almost.
She noticed he drank his coffee black. He noticed she chewed on the end of her pen when thinking.
Time slipped.
At some point, she realized how late it was.
"It's past ten," she said softly.
"I know."
"You could have handled this tomorrow."
He didn't look up. "Zhonghai wouldn't have waited."
She nodded. That made sense.
Still, she hesitated. "I don't mind staying. Just—don't feel obligated to keep me."
He finally looked at her then.
"I didn't ask you to stay because I felt obligated," he said. "I asked because you notice things others miss."
Her fingers stilled on the keyboard.
"That's… a lot of trust," she said carefully.
"Yes."
Again—no elaboration.
They finalized the revisions near midnight.
When she sent the updated file, the tension in the room eased slightly, like a knot loosening.
Li Wei leaned back in his chair.
"Well done."
She smiled—not brightly, not fully—but genuinely.
"Thank you."
There was a pause. Not awkward. Just quiet.
"You should go home," he said. "I'll arrange a car."
"I can take the subway."
"It's too late."
She hesitated, then nodded.
The ride down in the elevator was silent. Comfortable. Charged in a way neither of them acknowledged.
At the building entrance, the car waited.
Before she got in, she turned.
"President Li."
"Yes?"
"You didn't need to defend me today," she said. "In the meeting."
"I know."
"Then why—"
"Because when someone questions your work," he said evenly, "they question mine."
Her breath caught—not romantically, but deeply.
"I see," she said.
As the car pulled away, Yuqi looked back at the building once.
The office lights were still on.
At home, she lay awake longer than she expected.
Not thinking about romance.
Not about ambition.
But about how, without realizing it, she and Li Wei had begun to occupy the same quiet space—where trust was forming, slowly, carefully, without promises.
And once formed…
It wouldn't be easy to undo.