March 19, 2026.
The sun reflected off the glass of the skyscraper, blinding Well for a moment. Well stood at the towering entrance of the skyscraper, his fingers trembling as he adjusted his silk tie for the tenth time. This was the job of Senior Project Manager, blood and sweat from years of overtime and sleepless nights.
"Woahh." Well yawned and stepped into the grand lobby. The air was filled with the scent of expensive cologne and fresh floor wax. All around him, men in tailored suits hurried by, their footsteps echoing on the polished marble. He felt like a soldier entering the battlefield. "Relax. You've handled something bigger than day one," he whispered, wiping his damp palms on his pants.
He headed for the 15th floor. As soon as the elevator doors opened, the high-pitched hum of a multimillion-dollar corporation greeted him. Farah from HR was waiting, her eyes scanning her tablet. She gave him a professional but distant smile.
"Welcome, Well. You're right on time. Let's go to the main boardroom immediately. The board has held an emergency briefing. The new chairman will arrive today to take over operations," Farah said, walking so fast that Well had to double his pace to keep up.
As they walked through the open office, Well felt the curious glances of his new colleagues. Some regarded him respectfully, some with cold stares. He ignored them, his mind already racing with project deadlines and budget reports. But as soon as they reached the heavy oak doors of the boardroom, the atmosphere changed. The air became heavy. Tense.
The double doors opened.
Click. Click. Click.
The sharp sound of high heels echoed through the silence of the room, hitting the marble floor like a rhythmic, predatory heartbeat. All conversation stopped immediately. The senior directors, men twice Well's age, stood erect. Well turned, expecting to see a gray-haired corporate tycoon.
His heart stopped. His lungs suddenly refused to take in oxygen.
Standing there, in a sharp black blazer that hugged his curves with deadly precision, was Vivian Zhang. Her long, dark hair was pulled back into a sleek, cool ponytail. Her face was an elegant masterpiece—and cold.
"Huh, I know, but it couldn't be her?" Well whispered to himself.
Vivian walked to the head of the long mahogany desk, her gaze sweeping across the room like a cold winter breeze. When her eyes finally locked. Well, there was no spark of recognition. No warmth. No anger. Just a vast, terrifying void of professional indifference.
"From this moment on," Vivian's voice came, clear and authoritative, "I am the CEO of this firm. My rules are simple: absolute discipline, maximum profit, and zero emotion. If you can't handle the pressure, my secretary will prepare a letter of resignation for you."
The room was silent. Well felt as if the floor beneath him was tilting.
Vivian looked straight at him, her eyes as sharp as shards of glass. "Mr. Well, I've reviewed your file. I believe you are our new Senior Manager. I expect your first project audit at my desk at 5 p.m. sharp. Don't be late. I will not tolerate excuses from my staff." "Yes ma'am," Well nodded slowly.
The meeting ended as abruptly as it had begun. The directors scrambled to follow her out.
As Vivian walked past, the scent of jasmine perfume that she was used to smelling seemed familiar. It was the scent she had always smelled when she was with her ex-wife that had divorce him.
Well sat in his new office chair, staring blankly at the darkened computer screen. His hands were shaking. He had come here to rebuild his career, to start a new life away from the ruins of his marriage. But the new CEO who had glared at him just now seemed familiar.
Well looked at the clock. 9:45 a.m. He had seven hours until he had to face her again in his private office. Seven hours to figure out how to survive working so that he wouldn't fail on his first day at work. Is the woman secret CEO wife or someone else?