The interview had started hours ago, but the room still smelled faintly of fresh paper, coffee, and nerves. The first person that walked in looked far too comfortable — legs crossed, shoulders loose, smiling like this was a friendly chat instead of a company interview.
I asked my usual questions, my voice calm, practiced.
"Why New Hope?"
If they were interning for another branch or department, I'd switch it up — "Why Wen Group?"
Then the follow-up. "And what can you do?"
I kept my tone friendly, approachable even. The kind of smile that didn't quite reach my eyes but was warm enough to keep the tension out of the room. It was part of the game — make them feel safe, then look for the slip.
By the end of the first week, I felt like the world was quietly judging me. Every meeting, every gaze, every polite smile from the staff carried that thin veil of skepticism that people reserve for women who climb too high, too fast.
If not for Liu Dai Fei — my assistant, my sanity, my only ally in this crowded office — I might've already locked myself in my office and stayed there. She handled half the interviews, brought me lunch when I forgot to eat, and still somehow kept her lipstick intact.
Then something unexpected happened.
It started as a small delay — a break that wasn't scheduled, a moment of silence that shouldn't have been there. I was kind of glad, though. I needed it. I leaned back, savoring the taste of my lukewarm coffee.
But Dai Fei's face told a different story. Serious, sharp — the kind that instantly erased any sense of rest.
"What is it?" I asked.
"Mr. Rong is here," she said, arms crossed.
"Rong?" I frowned. "Why?" I set my cup down.
"His niece is here. And somehow... his mistress."
I blinked. "What?"
She didn't answer right away. Instead, she pulled a file from the stack she'd been holding and slid it across the table. "Look at this."
I gave her that look — the one that said I've had enough drama for today, but I opened it anyway. I flipped through the pages, half-heartedly at first. Then I froze. The deeper I read, the tighter my grip became, until my fingers started to ache.
"What the fuck is this?" I hissed.
"That's what I'm telling you."
Inside the file was a pattern — a deliberate one. Names. Transfers. Projects that didn't match the reports. Transactions masked as charity. Data that had been swapped between departments and then erased.
"Data exchange?" I muttered.
"Exactly."
Apparently, Mr. Rong would make surprise visits under the excuse of 'inspecting departments.' He'd pick up files, threaten subordinates into silence, and then… nothing. They'd disappear, or the projects would be reassigned.
"What happens next?" I asked.
"That, I don't know," Dai Fei replied, her voice quiet.
"How many are involved?"
"Three, maybe four."
"And how many are already working under false identities?"
"That's what Dave is finding out."
Dave.
That man was a mystery wrapped in a hoodie and coffee stains. He had more reasons to betray me than anyone else in this building — but he hadn't. I found him years ago, begging on the streets, half-starved, half-broken. Paid his debts. Gave him a roof, a job. Not a visible one — he preferred the quiet corners.
He ran a department that didn't officially exist. Dug into people's lives, exposed secrets they thought were buried. No one knew he worked for me, except Fei-Fei. Sometimes he'd drop by my office under the pretense of delivering food, smiling like any delivery man. But I knew better.
"Loyalty matters more," he'd once told me.
And I believed him.
If he ever turned his skills on me, everything I'd buried would come crawling into daylight. But he hadn't. He hunted the ones who wanted to destroy what I'd built.
"What should we do?" Fei-Fei asked.
"We play dumb," I said. "Tell Dave to stay invisible. Keep every single document. I'll call for a board meeting when it's time."
She nodded, bowed slightly, and left.
By the time the interviews resumed, I was already mentally exhausted. But we kept going. The next few candidates came and went — some too confident, others too timid. Then No. 230 was called in.
Li Chenrui.
He walked in like he belonged in the room — crisp white shirt, light gray suit that wasn't flashy but well-fitted, dark hair brushed back neatly. A navy-blue tie, simple watch. He didn't look rich, but he looked intentional. Like he planned every thread.
He bowed lightly before sitting. "Hello, I'm Li Chenrui."
Polite. Composed.
"From your resume," I began, "you could've applied directly to the Wen Group Corporation. Why New Hope?"
He looked straight at me, his gaze unwavering. "You."
I blinked. "…Me?"
"That's new," I said, forcing a light laugh. "Others say things like 'family,' 'dreams,' or 'a new challenge.' Yours is— well, blunt."
He didn't smile. "Honesty saves time."
I glanced at his resume again. "You studied at Tsinghua Elementary, then graduated from Peking University?"
"That's correct."
"All through scholarship?"
"Yes."
"That's impressive."
"Thank you. I'm flattered."
I watched him for a few seconds. Not a trace of nervousness. Just calm, steady confidence.
"If you were hired at Wen Group, with your credentials, where would you want to be placed?"
He thought for a moment. "Anywhere is fine. But I'd prefer to work by your side."
"My side?" I asked, amused. "Why?"
"To listen well."
"…What?"
Then he said, almost casually, "You slapped me before. Remember? Or have you forgotten?"
My mind went blank. Then it hit me — the charity gala four years ago. The rude boy I'd slapped for yelling at the old man whom I supposed was his father, just for caring.
I leaned back, staring at him. "You're serious."
"Very."
"And you thought bringing it up during an interview was a good idea?"
"I read the rules. I haven't broken any. You said you value honesty. I'm giving you that."
The audacity. But… he wasn't wrong.
"If I made you my secretary," I said slowly, "and slapped you in front of the whole office, you wouldn't be embarrassed?"
He smiled faintly. "Not at all. I'd consider it an honor. Because I know you wouldn't do it without reason. Just like last time."
"You're delusional," I muttered, shaking my head.
"Maybe," he said softly, "or maybe I just understand you better than most."
I stared at him a little too long before snapping his file shut. "You really think this is some kind of soap opera?"
He chuckled. "No. Just honesty."
After a few more questions, I dismissed him. He bowed again and walked out.
Fei-Fei leaned in, muttering under her breath, "That boy fears nothing."
"No," I said quietly, "he really doesn't."
And as the next candidate entered, I found myself still thinking about him — that confident tone, that impossible gaze.
Somehow, I had the feeling that Li Chenrui wasn't just another name on a file.
He was going to be trouble.