Chapter Eleven: Acting Normal (Badly)

The office air conditioning hummed low, but Shen Jiawen still felt too warm.

She sat stiffly at her desk, fingers frozen over her keyboard. Across the floor, the rest of the department buzzed in polite murmurs and click-clacking keys. Business as usual. But not for her.

Not after what happened on that desk.

Not after she screamed the name "Zeyan" loud enough that the walls probably filed a complaint.

She shifted in her chair, trying not to wince. Every movement reminded her of him—his hands, his mouth, the way he'd whispered, "You're mine."

Her face flushed just thinking about it.

Focus, Shen Jiawen. Data sheets. Not desk sheets.

"Jiawen," Lin Xiaoyu's voice piped up from the next cubicle. "Are you okay? You're typing formulas into a blank Word document."

She blinked. Sure enough, her screen showed:

=SUM(Lust + Confusion)

Perfect. Just perfect.

"I didn't sleep well," she said quickly, minimizing the document.

Xiaoyu leaned over the partition, smirking. "Didn't sleep, huh? Sounds suspiciously like someone had a good night."

"Not funny."

"Come on. You look like you've seen a ghost. Or a really hot one-night stand."

Jiawen straightened. "It wasn't— I mean— It's complicated."

And tall. And broody. And currently sitting in the top-floor executive office with a view of the city and, presumably, zero guilt about what happened.

Her phone buzzed.

Lu Zeyan:

Meeting room 3B. Now.

Jiawen stared at the message like it might catch fire.

She typed back:

I'm busy.

The reply came in two seconds flat.

So am I. Be late at your own risk.

Her heart did a backflip. She pushed away from her desk with the grace of a stiff robot.

3B was empty. For now.

She stepped inside, carefully closing the door behind her. The blinds were drawn. The room was silent.

Then—

The door clicked again.

Lu Zeyan walked in like he owned not just the company, but gravity itself. Black suit, no tie, sleeves rolled. His eyes swept over her, pausing at her neckline before locking onto her face.

"You didn't reply to my last text," he said coolly.

"I'm not your assistant."

"Good. Because I don't pay my assistants to kiss me like that."

Jiawen flushed. "This is a workplace."

His brow lifted. "You didn't seem to mind that yesterday."

"That was a mistake."

He took a slow step forward. "Mistake?"

Jiawen backed up instinctively, only to find herself trapped between the wall and his presence. "You were my client."

"Still am."

"Exactly why this shouldn't be happening."

"Too late," he said, voice low.

She glared. "You can't just summon me like this."

He leaned in slightly, voice dipping to a whisper. "But you came."

Her breath caught. Dammit, why did he always do this? Flip the script with just a few words?

"Lu Zeyan—" she started.

"Zeyan," he corrected. "You called me that when you came on my desk. Don't pretend now."

She wanted to melt into the floor.

Instead, she straightened. "If this is how you plan to conduct client relations, maybe you should find another analyst."

He studied her, unreadable. "So you're walking away?"

"Maybe I should."

A pause. Then, quietly: "Would that make you feel safer?"

She blinked. The question caught her off guard.

He wasn't smiling anymore. Not smirking. Just… watching her. Like he actually cared about her answer.

"I don't know," she admitted, voice small.

Another silence stretched between them, thick with tension and unspoken things.

Then, finally, he stepped back. "Go back to your desk."

She blinked again.

"That's it?"

"For now."

He turned, adjusting his sleeves. "But Shen—"

She looked up.

"If you're going to run, make sure it's not because someone told you you weren't enough."

She froze.

"Especially if that someone wasn't me."

And with that, he was gone.

Back at her desk, Jiawen stared at her screen again. The Word document now simply said:

=Error

She sighed.

Yes, that about summed up everything.

End of Chapter Eleven.