No one tells you that going to a summit takes as much effort to get ready as a party.
Maybe even more. Because at parties, the worst-case scenario is someone gossiping about your shoes. Here? It's journalists, investors, brand reps, and your emotionally constipated boss who could tank your entire career with one look.
So yes. I woke up three hours earlier.
My skin looked weirdly perfect—thanks, genetics—but my under-eyes? Unforgiving. Concealer, hello. I tried on five outfits before landing on a pastel coquette blazer with ribbon loops at the cuffs and a skirt Ningyao would've called "suspiciously sparkly for corporate wear."
It wasn't just about blending in. Or about the ginkgo mess two days ago.
It was… something else. Someone else.
Smug? Maybe.
Delusional? Absolutely.
But he's the type who could talk to you all day and still give nothing back. A polite smile, a nod—and you'd be left guessing what he was actually thinking.
Still, I whispered to the mirror, "You got this. You're calm. Mature. Professional."
Then I opened the door.
And of course, Xu Jinyu was already there. Suit crisp, tie undone, sleeves rolled.
His gaze flicked down my outfit—blink-and-you'd-miss-it, like he was checking for factory defects. Spoiler: not impressed.
"That bag has ruffles and rhinestones," he muttered. "You weren't supposed to turn out like this."
I planted a hand on my hip. "You gave me free will and a Wi-Fi password. What did you think would happen?"
The corner of his mouth twitched. Barely. Which, for him, was basically a laugh track. I tossed my hair and walked ahead, my skirt swishing like it was proud of me for clapping back.
Behind me, he exhaled. "At least try to look like someone representing a biotech company. Not… the mascot of a magical girl pop-up store."
I spun on my heel and grinned. "Oh? You wanna be the face of YSHT's beauty serum instead?"
"No."
"Exactly. Then let the bunny handle the sparkle."
"You are not a bunny anymore."
"Wrong," I chirped. "I'm everything a bunny would be if she had legs, height, and online shopping."
I swung my bag on purpose, rhinestones catching the light. He said nothing—probably dying of secondhand embarrassment.
Ningyao's voice crackled in through our comms:
"You two better not be causing a scene. The press is already here."
"Tell him that," I said sweetly.
"I'm not the one sparkling like a chandelier."
"Tell him that louder."
His mutter under his breath definitely sounded like "why me." He straightened his coat with military precision, as if buttoning up could shield him from my existence.
By the time we reached the double doors of the hall, the noise inside hit like a storm: camera shutters, perfume clouds, the heat of too many people in one space.
My bow clip slipped as I fixed it. He glanced back at me. "Do not flirt with me in front of investors."
I met his gaze. "Then stop sounding hot when you talk about anti-aging peptides."
He froze mid-step.
"I'll pretend I didn't hear that," he said tightly.
"And I'll pretend you didn't smirk," I breezed past, a glittery threat.
Inside, Rui Ming was already holding court, sharp as ever, reporters orbiting her like she was gravity. The cameras turned as soon as they spotted Jinyu beside me.
"Is the serum really proprietary?"
"Who's the girl with you?"
"A new ambassador? Test subject?"
I blinked, not sure what I'd say—something witty? Something unhinged?—but Rui Ming cut through like a blade.
"Miss Jiaxin is not available for comments," she said, cool and lethal. "Neither is President Xu. Today's focus is on innovation. Not speculation. If you continue, you'll be escorted out."
The press actually backed off. Power move.
I leaned in, whispering, "Okay, slay."
"Another outburst," she murmured without breaking stride, "and I staple your hem down."
Fair.
Jinyu stayed silent but inched away, as if distance might save him. I tugged his sleeve, whispering, "See? I'm great at media attention. You're welcome."
The vein in his jaw twitched. Close enough to victory.
Then—
"Xu Jinyu," a smooth voice cut through behind us. "Didn't expect you to arrive late."
Wu Zhaoyuan. Tailored charcoal suit, smile practiced for magazine covers. His eyes didn't linger on me or Jinyu. They went straight to Rui Ming.
The air shifted.
Whatever history they had—whether an unfinished conversation, or something sharper—sat between them, unspoken but palpable. Rui Ming's expression didn't change, but I saw the way her hand curled slightly at her side.
I elbowed Jinyu. "There's something going on between them," I whispered, barely containing a giggle. "The staring, the voice tone—you don't see it?"
"I'm choosing not to," he muttered.
Lame.
But then, his voice dragged me back. Low, steady, answering an investor's question with economic policy, market forecasts, historical trade trivia—like he had a secret brain file labeled Everything.
I was stunned. My eyes widened like one of those shocking K-drama twists Ningyao used to force me through.
"Nooo, it's just—" I caught myself grinning, flustered. "I've never seen you talk this much before."
He smiled, polite. But his eyes stayed unreadable.
And my brain? Betrayed me. Replaying his voice in slow motion, like I was in an investor summit, daydreaming about that.
Then Jinyu's phone lit up. One notification. Another. Three more.
[URGENT] Shipment detained at port
[ACTION REQUIRED] French distributor suspends contract
[CONFIDENTIAL] Yanchun launches 'youth serum' tomorrow
The subject lines stacked, each heavier than the last.
His hand froze mid-gesture. Investors still leaned in, listening—but for one second, his eyes darkened.
This wasn't just business.
This was war.
And for the first time since I'd met him, Jinyu cracked. His jaw tightened, knuckles whitening against his glass until it trembled—slight, almost imperceptible. Then it was gone, his mask snapping back into place.
But I'd seen it.
And that fleeting crack in his armor unsettled me more than all the headlines combined. Because when he reacts? You know it's bad.