Chen Hao's last desperate move came at 3:17 a.m.
Wanyin's phone buzzed on the nightstand, pulling her from a light sleep. Unknown number. Video file.
She sat up, heart already racing.
Ye Beichen stirred beside her—no longer in the guest room; sometime in the last week the lines had blurred, and she had stopped pretending she wanted them sharp.
He reached for his own phone. Same message.
They played the video together.
Grainy security footage. The apartment building's private garage. Timestamped two nights ago.
Her and Ye Beichen arriving home late. Tired. Close.
He had his arm around her waist. She was leaning into him.
Then the kiss.
Not a small one.
The kind that happened when walls finally cracked. When hands found skin under coats in the elevator. When the door closed and everything held back for weeks came rushing out.
The video ended with them disappearing into the elevator, her back against the wall, his mouth on her neck.
The message attached:
Send this to the board, and your careers end.
Resign. Both of you.
Or I release it publicly.
You have 24 hours.
Wanyin's hand shook.
Ye Beichen took the phone from her, face unreadable.
"He had someone watching the building."
She nodded.
He set the phone down.
"We expected something like this."
"Not this."
He looked at her.
"It's us."
She stood, wrapped her arms around herself.
"If this gets out, everything I've built—"
"I know."
"They'll say I slept my way to the top. Again."
He stood, pulled her into his arms.
"They'll say what they want. But we have proof it wasn't for position. The program was strategic. Our work speaks for itself."
She pulled back.
"Proof doesn't matter when there's video of the CEO and his director—"
She couldn't finish.
He cupped her face.
"Then we take the power away from it."
"How?"
"We release it ourselves."
She stared at him.
"Are you insane?"
"No. We control the narrative. We say we fought it. We lost. We're human. We're together. The program worked—maybe too well."
She laughed, hysterical.
"The board will fire us both."
"Or they'll see strength. Two leaders who trust each other completely. Who make each other better."
She shook her head.
"You're dreaming."
"I'm not."
She stepped away.
"I need to think."
She went to the balcony.
Stood in the cold, wind whipping her hair.
He gave her space.
An hour later, she came back in.
He was at the kitchen island, coffee made, waiting.
She sat across from him.
"If we do this—if we release it—we lose everything or we gain everything."
He nodded.
"Your call."
She looked at him.
"I'm tired of hiding."
He reached for her hand.
"Then we don't."
They spent the morning drafting the statement.
Short. Honest.
Director Gu and I have developed a personal relationship during the immersion program. We fought it. We lost. We are committed to transparency and to Hengxin. Our work together has already delivered results. We believe personal happiness and professional excellence are not mutually exclusive.
They sent it to PR.
To the board.
To selected media.
By noon, it was everywhere.
Stock dipped.
Then stabilized.
Comments flooded in.
Some vicious.
Some supportive.
Finally, a CEO with a heart.
Power couple goals.
About time women stopped being punished for living.
The board called an emergency meeting.
They attended together.
Stood side by side.
The vote: program continues. No resignations.
They won.
Again.
That night, in the apartment, she poured wine.
He watched her.
"Nineteen days left," she said.
He smiled.
"Plenty of time."
She set the glasses down.
Walked to him.
Kissed him.
Not desperate.
Not hidden.
Just theirs.
Chen Hao's move had backfired.
He had given them the push they needed.
To stop fighting.
And start choosing.