For the rest of the afternoon, Shen Jiawen did her best to act normal.
Not that she knew what "normal" meant anymore—not after she had cried out Lu Zeyan's name with her legs wrapped around his waist on a glass desk.
She typed reports. Answered emails. Drank coffee. Ignored Xiaoyu's wiggling eyebrows and not-so-subtle questions.
She did not, under any circumstances, open the group chat with her college friends. One meme and she'd spiral.
By the time 5 p.m. came, her nerves were fried. She stood up, grabbed her tote, and speed-walked to the elevator like a woman possessed.
Almost there.
Just as the elevator dinged open, a familiar voice stopped her cold.
"Going somewhere?"
Her spine stiffened.
Lu Zeyan.
He was standing behind her, dressed in that infuriatingly perfect suit, one hand in his pocket, the other holding a phone he clearly hadn't been using.
"I have a yoga class," she lied.
"Cancel it."
"I paid for the whole month."
"I'll reimburse you."
She turned. "That's not the point."
He took a step closer. "You've been avoiding me all day."
"I've been working."
His gaze dropped to her lips. "So have I."
Her breath caught.
He stepped into the elevator with her, silent, close, like a shadow in Armani. The doors closed, trapping them together. Their reflections in the mirrored walls were dangerously intimate.
Jiawen cleared her throat. "You shouldn't… keep pulling me into side rooms like this. People will talk."
He tilted his head. "Let them."
"I won't be able to work if people think I'm sleeping with the boss."
"Isn't that what you're doing?"
Her eyes widened. "Zeyan—"
"I'm not asking for excuses, Jiawen." His voice softened. "I'm asking for honesty."
She looked away.
"I don't know what this is," she said finally. "And I don't know what you want from me."
His jaw tensed. "I told you. Everything."
"I'm not yours to claim like that," she whispered.
He didn't reply.
When the elevator doors opened, she expected him to follow her out.
He didn't.
"Have a good evening, Shen," he said instead.
Just "Shen." Not "Jiawen."
No lingering stares. No finger brushing her wrist. No teasing smirk.
It was… chilling.
Two days passed.
Two full days with zero texts, no office summons, no brooding billionaire barging into her life like he had a permanent key to her emotions.
Jiawen hated how much she noticed.
Worse, she hated how her heart jumped every time her phone buzzed—only to sink when it wasn't him.
He said he wanted everything.
So why did he suddenly disappear?
She wasn't supposed to care. She wasn't supposed to miss him.
She was doing fine. Normal. Stable. Independent.
…Until she stepped into the office pantry on Wednesday morning and heard her name.
"She's intimidating, that's what she is," someone was whispering behind the coffee machine.
"I heard she handled Lu Zeyan's account personally. Director Tang lets her present without even reviewing her slides."
"She's fast-tracked for a department head role, right? Someone called her a 'quartz tiger'—whatever that means."
"It means don't piss her off," someone else chuckled.
Jiawen froze, cup halfway to the dispenser.
"Still… no one climbs that fast without getting some extra help."
There was a pause.
"I mean, she's gorgeous. And she's always getting pulled into closed-door meetings with the CEO."
Jiawen stood still, the cup trembling slightly in her hand.
"She probably deserves where she is," one of them added, a little too quickly. "Still… you can't blame people for noticing."
She stepped back from the doorway before they saw her and returned to her desk, her face blank but her mind storming.
She stepped back from the doorway before they saw her and returned to her desk, her face blank but her mind storming.
So this was why he backed off. Maybe someone said something. Maybe he was protecting her.
Or maybe he just got bored.
Her phone buzzed.
Lu Zeyan:
Meeting. 10 a.m. Conference Room 6. No excuses.
Her hands trembled slightly as she typed back:
Understood.
Conference Room 6 was warm and quiet. The blinds were drawn again. Deja vu, except now her armor was back up.
She stepped inside, clutching her tablet like a shield.
He didn't look up when she entered, just continued tapping on his screen. His suit today was slate gray, subtle and sharp. Everything about him screamed polished detachment.
"Close the door."
She did. Quietly.
When he finally looked at her, something unreadable passed through his expression. Then it was gone.
"I've finalized the valuation sheets you requested," she said, sliding the tablet forward.
He didn't look at it.
"I heard what people have been saying about you."
She froze.
"They're wrong," he added.
"That's not the point," she said stiffly. "There shouldn't be anything to talk about."
"I can make it stop."
"How? By sending a memo that you didn't sleep with me again this week?"
His jaw clenched. "That's not what this is."
"Then what is it, Zeyan? Because you said everything, and then you said nothing. I don't know what I'm doing here."
Silence.
And then, unexpectedly, he stood and walked around the table until he was in front of her.
"You're here," he said quietly, "because I can't stop thinking about you."
Her breath hitched.
"I tried," he continued. "I stayed away. I let you walk out of that elevator without touching you. Do you know how hard that was?"
She didn't answer.
"Do you want me to stop?"
She looked up, eyes burning. "I want to know you're not going to run hot and cold whenever it's convenient for you."
His hands found her waist. "I won't."
"Then why did you disappear?"
He hesitated. "Because I wanted you to come to me. And I hated how much I wanted that."
Her breath caught.
"Zeyan…"
His voice was rough. "I've never done this before, Jiawen. I know how to buy companies, manipulate markets, fire entire boards. I don't know how to… ask someone to stay."
She softened.
He leaned closer, forehead brushing hers. "But I'm asking."
Her hand came up, resting over his chest. His heart was pounding like hers.
"I'm scared," she whispered.
"So am I," he admitted.
A long pause.
Then her lips curled upward. "You're not very good at this, Mr. Lu."
He gave a wry smile. "Are you offering lessons?"
"I charge per session."
"Fine. I'll pay in advance."
Their lips met—this time slower, more certain. Not a war. Not a mistake. Not a mistake at all.
End of Chapter Twelve.