The elevator doors slid open with a soft sigh, releasing Wen Yuxi into the quiet, polished world of the top floor. Morning light spilled across the marble, catching on the gold trim and the glass walls that reflected her small figure back at her — neat blouse, steady steps, a white envelope pinched between her fingers.
Her resignation letter.
She'd rewritten it three times last night. Not because she doubted leaving — but because she wanted to leave cleanly, without looking back.
Two years as Li Zhenyu's assistant had taught her many things.
How to read a room.
How to survive on four hours of sleep.
How to keep her pride intact in a place where everyone bowed their heads.
And how to stand her ground in front of a man who didn't bend for anyone.
His office door was slightly open. That alone made her pause. He never left it open. Not even an inch.
She heard his voice before she saw him — low, controlled, the kind of voice that made people straighten their spines even through a phone line.
"No delays. If they can't deliver, I'll find someone who can."
Yuxi exhaled once, quietly, then pushed the door open.
Li Zhenyu stood by the window, the city stretching behind him in sharp lines and cold light. His suit was charcoal today, crisp enough to cut. He didn't turn when she entered, but she felt the shift in the air — he always noticed her, even when he pretended not to.
He ended the call and finally looked at her.
His gaze swept over her — quick, assessing, unreadable. But something in his eyes lingered a fraction longer than usual. She ignored it.
"You're early," he said.
"I needed to talk to you."
He nodded, already moving past her. "Good. I need you to accompany me to a dinner tonight."
"Dinner?"
"A partnership meeting. Formal. Seven. Wear something appropriate."
Her fingers tightened around the envelope.
"CEO Li, I—"
"I'll have Xu Wei send the details."
She stepped forward, blocking his path. "I'm not available tonight."
That made him stop.
His eyes lifted to hers, cool and steady. "You're my assistant. You're available when I need you."
"Not tonight," she repeated, voice calm but firm.
A beat of silence. Not anger — surprise. He wasn't used to being told no.
"What's the reason?" he asked.
She held out the envelope. He didn't take it.
Instead, his gaze moved from the envelope to her face, searching, reading, as if the answer was written somewhere in her expression.
Before she could speak, his phone buzzed on the desk. He glanced at the screen — and something in his expression tightened. Not annoyance. Something heavier.
He set the phone down slowly.
"Wen Yuxi," he said, voice lower than before, "I need your help."
She froze.
Li Zhenyu didn't ask for help.
He commanded.
He ordered.
He expected.
But he didn't ask.
"What kind of help?" she asked carefully.
He held her gaze, and for the first time since she'd met him, she saw something like hesitation flicker behind his eyes.
"I need a fiancée."
The envelope slipped from her fingers and hit the floor with a soft, final sound.