Lu Zhiling drew her freshly printed work ID from her bag, her smile delicate but firm. “I’m here to collect the key card for the President’s office.”
The lively chatter in the secretariat died instantly. Every head turned, eyes widening in shock.
President Bo has arrived? Lu Zhiling swept her gaze across the room. Her eyes eventually landed on Linda, who remained glued to her seat. Linda didn’t bother to stand; she sat with her chin tilted high, her makeup sharp enough to draw blood, her expression a mask of icy disdain.
Lu Zhiling didn’t wait for an invitation. She walked directly to Linda’s desk, standing close enough to be an intrusion. She didn’t speak immediately, only maintaining a pleasant, silent smile that carried a heavy, suffocating weight of authority.
With a sharp, bitter scowl, Linda yanked open her drawer, snatched the key card, and thrust it toward her.
“Thank you.” Lu Zhiling took the card with a polite nod. After a few steps, she paused and turned back. “Please inform all department heads: there will be a general meeting in twenty minutes. Also, I require this year’s financial statements and all current project proposals delivered to my desk immediately.”
“…” The room gasped in unison. “Twenty minutes?” someone stammered.
“Yes.”
“This is ridiculous!” Linda stood up abruptly, her chair screeching against the floor. “You can’t just demand these things on the spot. We’d have to scramble to every department. There’s no time!”
Lu Zhiling’s gaze remained tranquil as she met the woman’s glare. “President Bo waited several days before making his appearance. I assumed that, given your supposed professionalism, you would have used that time to prepare the documents a new CEO obviously requires.”
The other secretaries shifted uncomfortably, avoiding her eyes. “We… we understand. We’ll get them.”
“I won’t!” Linda snapped. “We’re here to work, not play guessing games for a boss who can’t be bothered to show up.”
“Linda, is it?” Lu Zhiling read the name tag and let out a soft, pitying hum. “Since your professional capacity is clearly insufficient for the demands of this office, please report to the finance department. You’ll find your severance pay waiting for you.”
“You’re firing me?” Linda’s face contorted, her voice rising to a shrill peak. “I am Mrs. Yu’s personal secretary! You have no right!”
“I have every right,” Lu Zhiling said without a shred of hesitation. “You are being terminated for gross incompetence.”
“Don’t you dare be so arrogant!” Linda shouted, her face turning an ugly shade of red. “Mrs. Yu holds the majority shares. Bo Wang is just a temporary placeholder. No one touches me unless Mrs. Yu says so!”
“Oh? Then by all means, call the police,” Lu Zhiling smiled gently, as if offering a cup of tea. “Shall I write the number down for you?”
Without another word, she turned her back on the shouting woman and walked away.
“Stop! Explain yourself! Mrs. Yu will be back, and you’ll be nothing!”
A moment later, four burly security guards entered the office. They were “polite” but immovable as they escorted the screaming Linda toward the exit. The rest of the staff didn’t dare breathe. Within seconds, the office was a hive of frantic activity—phones ringing, printers whirring, everyone desperate to meet the twenty-minute deadline.
Lu Zhiling swiped the key card and entered the President’s suite.
As the door clicked open, she heard the chime of the elevator across the rotunda-style hallway. The doors slid back to reveal a phalanx of bodyguards. In the center was Bo Wang. He looked devastatingly casual, his suit jacket open, his shirt unbuttoned at the collar—a look that was less “executive” and more “dangerous predator.”
Across the distance of the hall, his dark eyes locked onto hers.
Lu Zhiling held the door open and bowed her head slightly, a playful spark in her eyes. “President Bo, your office is ready for you.”
In that vast, cold building, her eyes saw only him. She stood there as if her entire purpose was to wait for his arrival.
“…”
Bo Wang’s lips curled into a slow, predatory smirk. He strode across the hallway toward her, leaving his men at the door. Inside, the office was cavernous and sterile. Lu Zhiling had seen to it that every trace of Yu Yunfei—every photo, every stray document, every lingering scent of perfume—had been scrubbed away.
“Come here.” Bo Wang sat behind the massive desk, leaning back with a lazy, dominant grace.
As she approached, he reached out, his long, calloused fingers brushing against the name tag pinned over her heart. “President’s Secretary. Did you print this yourself?”
“I wanted to be by your side,” she whispered. “I needed a title that allowed me to follow you everywhere.”
She reached to retrieve the tag, but Bo Wang’s hand closed around it instead. With a sharp tug, he pulled her toward him, forcing her to stumble forward. She braced her hands on his shoulders to keep from falling into his lap.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, her breath hitching.
Bo Wang looked up at her, his gaze intense enough to burn. “Just looking at my secretary.”
“…”
She pressed against his shoulders, straightening her posture and changing the subject. “You think the office is clean? Look at this.”
Bo Wang tossed a small black device onto the desk. Lu Zhiling picked it up and began to walk the perimeter of the room. The device beeped incessantly—over a dozen times.
Bo Wang crossed his legs, a mocking arch to his brow. “Yu Yunfei wasn’t running a company; she was running a reality TV show.”
The room was honeycombed with 360-degree surveillance and hidden microphones.
“I’ll have the guards sweep them all out later,” Lu Zhiling said. She checked her watch. “It’s time for the meeting. Where is your tie?”
“Forgot it,” he said, not sounding the least bit sorry.
Lu Zhiling sighed. She had spent an hour choosing his ensemble this morning. She reached into her large handbag and pulled out a box. Inside was a silk tie in a deep, midnight hue.
“Today is your first day,” she said firmly. “You have to be perfect.”
“…”
Bo Wang didn’t reach for the tie. Instead, he rose from his chair, looming over her. He lowered his head until their noses almost brushed, his heavy, warm breath fanning across her lips.
He was a Young Master; he expected to be served.
Lu Zhiling didn’t fight it. She turned up his collar, draped the silk around his neck, and began to work the knot. Her fingers were nimble, brushing against his throat with every movement.
Bo Wang watched her intently. Suddenly, his hand shot up, stopping her mid-motion. He gripped the half-finished knot, his voice dropping to a chilling, possessive whisper. “I didn’t know you were an expert at tying men’s ties.”
“…”
“How many men have you dressed like this?”
Lu Zhiling blinked, bewildered by the sudden flash of jealousy. “I used to tie them for my eldest brother. On his first day at the our company, I taught myself from a tutorial so I could give him the tie as a gift.”
“Just him?”
“No,” she answered truthfully, unaware of the landmine she was stepping on. “I did it for my grandfather, my father, my second brother’s graduation, my third brother’s birthday, my fourth brother’s competition, my fifth brother’s first date, my sixth brother’s hearing after a fight… and that was it.”
“…”
Bo Wang did the math. He was the ninth.
His expression soured instantly. He reached up, violently ripped the tie from his neck, and threw it across the room. “I’m not wearing it.”
“What kind of family is this? A goddamn breeding farm?” He growled, stalking toward the door.
The meeting was a graveyard.
Only four department heads had remained in the city, and they sat huddled together at the far end of the massive table, clutching their water glasses as if they were life preservers.
The silence was deafening.
Bo Wang sat at the head of the table, looking like a “high-class scoundrel” in a pair of sharp, rimless glasses. He hadn’t said a word for an hour. Instead, his phone was propped up on a stand, blaring a gory horror movie. He tapped a slow, rhythmic beat on the table—thump, thump, thump—synchronized with the screams on screen.
Lu Zhiling sat beside him, equally silent, focused entirely on the documents in front of her.
Finally, one manager couldn’t take it. “Mr. Bo… I need the restroom.”
Bo Wang didn’t look up. As the man reached the door, a bodyguard blocked his path and placed a cheap, floral-print spittoon [A Tan Yu: An old-fashioned, often gaudy ceramic pot] on the floor.
Bo Wang reached out and covered Lu Zhiling’s eyes with his hand, staring at the screen as a chainsaw revved. “Go ahead,” he said casually to the manager.
“…”
The man slunk back to his seat, trembling. “I… I think I can wait.”
Another hour passed. The movie ended with a villain’s maniacal laugh echoing through the room’s high-end speakers: “If you’re going to do it, wipe out the entire family! Leave no survivors!”
The four managers turned white, cold sweat soaking their shirts.
Bo Wang finally set his phone down. “Secretary Lu, the files.”
“Yes, Mr. Bo.”
He flipped through them lazily. “General Manager Huang… twins, a boy and a girl. Very lucky man.”
Huang nearly fell off his chair, his heart stopping at the implied threat.
“Manager Chen… I see your wife is an artist signed to this firm. You certainly like to keep it in the family.”
Chen’s face went slick with sweat.
“Manager Xiao… Hetian Road. Nice neighborhood. I’ve been there.”
By the time he finished, the four men looked like they were facing a firing squad.
Lu Zhiling stood up, placing a stack of proposals in the center of the table. “These are the projects for the next quarter. In your professional opinions, which ones are the most viable?”
Normally, they would have fed him a line of “unlimited potential” fluff. But now?
“Mr. Bo,” Huang stammered, “to be honest… these are mostly garbage. Poorly drafted, no vision.”
“Oh? So you submitted ‘garbage’ for me to sift through?” Bo Wang smiled, the light glinting off his glasses.
“No! Mine is perfect!” they scrambled, snatching their papers back. “I guarantee a profit!”
“Excellent,” Bo Wang purred. “Then I trust you’ll have no problem earning double the projected figures.”
The men looked like they had been handed a death sentence. They had already inflated the numbers to look good; doubling them was impossible.
“President Bo, double is…”
“Secretary Lu,” Bo Wang interrupted, looking at her with a dark, satisfied glint. “Order a ‘family-style’ feast for these gentlemen. We can’t have them leaving their desks until the work is done. They’re so dedicated to the company, after all.”
The four men slumped, broken. They realized then that Bo Wang wasn’t just a thug—he was a nightmare who knew exactly where to twist the knife.
Lu Zhiling looked at them and almost laughed. It wasn’t the “proper” way to run a meeting, but with these vipers, Bo Wang’s brand of terror was the only language they understood.