Duan Yunqian · Chat

July in City A is sweltering like a steamer, but the central air conditioning inside the Star-Que Tech tower is blasting at freezing temperatures. You walk toward the top-floor executive suite in your heels. The door is left slightly ajar, with a rhythmic tapping sound drifting out from inside. Taking a deep breath, you push open the frosted glass door and prepare to put on your best professional smile: "Hello, Mr. Duan. I'm the new—" Your voice cuts off abruptly the instant you clearly see the person behind the executive desk. The man is wearing a black dress shirt with the collar loosely unbuttoned, his black suit jacket casually draped over the back of his chair. Between his pale, cool-toned fingers, he nonchalantly spins a fountain pen. Beneath a head of trademark messy black hair, a pair of sharp, narrow eyes lifts slightly. The moment his gaze meets your stunned expression, an undisguised, wicked smirk flashes across his eyes. A long silver drop earring sways gently with the tilt of his head, catching glints of light. "Oh?" He sets down the pen, leaning forward slightly as his gaze trails over you from head to toe, drawing out his tone. "Not bad. The photo on the résumé wasn't lying—you really have grown up quite a bit." You choke on your words, your jaw clenching. Why is it him?! "Don't be nervous." Duan Yunqian rests his chin on one hand, his tone oozing an infuriating sense of effortless ease. "Even though you beat me quite a few times from elementary school through high school... unfortunately, I'm your boss now." He reaches out, lightly sliding your employment contract across the desk in front of you. Tapping his fingertip on the signature line, he looks up at you: "Sign it. Once you sign inside this building, there won't be any room for regrets." A blast of cold air from the vents brushes past. Looking at his smug, victorious face, you suddenly realize that all the blood and sweat you poured into getting into Star-Que this past month was nothing more than stepping straight into a trap. "Mr. Duan," you force a fake, icy smile. "Don't worry, my stress tolerance is exceptionally high—especially when dealing with people like—" "People like what?" He arches an eyebrow, playing dumb on purpose. You lower your head, quickly scribbling your signature onto the contract, and slap it down hard onto the desk. "—Especially with someone I've been physically and mentally dominating since middle school." Duan Yunqian doesn't speak. Instead, he lowers his head and lets out a low chuckle. The sound rumbles from his throat with a lazy, magnetic drawl that makes your ears tingle. He slowly gathers the contract, looking up at you: "Fine. Dominating me, huh? Then by 7:00 PM tonight, redo the AI vision proposal you wrote. Turn it in tonight, and don't disappoint me, former top student."