Fourteen hours.
That was how long they'd been working.
The office lights had dimmed twice and reset automatically. Coffee cups littered the table. The city outside the glass walls was dark again—another night sliding into place.
Chen Le Xin leaned back in her chair, rubbing her eyes. "This isn't adding up."
Liu Kai Ying didn't look up from her laptop. "Which part?"
"All of it," Le Xin said, pushing her screen toward her. "I rebuilt the financial model twice. The numbers stabilize—then collapse again."
Kai Ying scanned the data quickly.
Too quickly.
"You're missing a variable," Kai Ying said.
Le Xin bristled. "I'm not."
Kai Ying's fingers moved across the keyboard. "You are. Vendor dependency B-seven."
Le Xin frowned. "That was removed."
Kai Ying stopped typing.
Slowly looked at her.
"It was," Kai Ying said. "Six hours ago."
Le Xin's blood went cold.
She spun her screen back toward herself.
The dependency was there again.
Active.
"What the hell," Le Xin muttered. "I locked that path."
Kai Ying was already standing. "Someone reopened it."
"That's not possible without admin—"
Kai Ying's phone buzzed.
She answered instantly. "Xiao Lan."
A pause.
Her expression darkened.
"…Yes. I see it," Kai Ying said. "Freeze all access logs. Do not alert IT."
She ended the call.
"They rerouted permissions," Kai Ying said. "Cleanly. Whoever this is knows the system."
Le Xin exhaled sharply. "Zhao Ming."
"Or someone working with him," Kai Ying replied.
Le Xin stood abruptly. "This is targeted. They're not just sabotaging the project—they're exhausting us."
Kai Ying met her gaze. "Then we don't make mistakes."
Le Xin laughed once, bitter. "Easy for you to say."
Kai Ying stiffened. "Say that again."
"You don't crack," Le Xin said. "You don't miss things. You don't get blamed."
Silence snapped tight between them.
Kai Ying's jaw clenched. "You think this doesn't fall on me?"
Le Xin didn't answer.
She turned back to her screen.
That hurt more.
Two hours later, the server crashed.
Not fully—just enough to corrupt the audit trail.
Le Xin stared at the error message in disbelief. "You've got to be kidding me."
Kai Ying swore under her breath.
"That was deliberate," Le Xin said. "A soft crash. They didn't want alarms."
Kai Ying nodded once. "They're buying time."
"For what?" Le Xin snapped.
Kai Ying looked at the clock.
"For the board to lose patience."
As if summoned, Kai Ying's phone rang again.
She didn't answer immediately.
She looked at Le Xin first.
Then picked up.
"Yes," Kai Ying said. "We're aware of the delay."
A pause.
"I asked for forty-eight hours. We're still within—"
Her expression hardened.
"…No," she said flatly. "Termination now would be irresponsible."
Another pause.
Le Xin watched her closely.
Kai Ying wasn't angry.
She was controlled.
That was worse.
"I'll take responsibility," Kai Ying said. "But you'll give us the time."
She ended the call and set the phone down carefully.
"They're pressuring you," Le Xin said quietly.
Kai Ying didn't deny it. "They want a scapegoat."
Le Xin's throat tightened. "Me."
Kai Ying looked at her sharply. "No."
The single word was absolute.
Le Xin held her gaze.
For a second, neither spoke.
Then Kai Ying turned back to the screen. "We need another twelve hours."
Le Xin scoffed. "That'll go over well."
"I'll handle the board," Kai Ying said. "You handle the rebuild."
Le Xin hesitated. "You trust me with that much?"
Kai Ying didn't look up. "I wouldn't be standing here if I didn't.
Le Xin swallowed.
Then nodded. "Okay."
Three hours later, the third sabotage hit.
This one was personal.
Le Xin opened a file and froze.
Her name was on it.
A flagged performance report—dated two years ago.
Her failed first major project.
Her breath caught.
"They're pulling my history," Le Xin said hoarsely. "They're planting justification."
Kai Ying was beside her instantly. "That file was sealed."
"It isn't anymore."
Kai Ying's expression went cold in a way Le Xin had never seen.
Not controlled.
Not calm.
Dangerous.
"They crossed a line," Kai Ying said.
Le Xin laughed shakily. "Welcome to my life."
Kai Ying turned to her. "That project—"
"Don't," Le Xin snapped. "Not now."
Kai Ying stopped herself.
Then said quietly, "You deserved better than how that ended."
The words hit harder than any accusation.
Le Xin looked away. "Save it."
But her hands were shaking.
Kai Ying noticed.
She said nothing.
Instead, she took over the system audit without a word, fingers moving fast, ruthless.
"This isn't just Zhao Ming," Kai Ying said minutes later. "Someone higher cleared this."
Le Xin's eyes widened. "You're saying—"
"I'm saying this was approved," Kai Ying finished.
The implication hung heavy.
Six a.m.
The sky outside lightened slowly.
They hadn't slept.
Le Xin slumped back in her chair. "We can't finish by eight."
Kai Ying stared at the rebuilt framework. "We're close."
"Close isn't enough," Le Xin said. "They want blood."
Kai Ying was silent for a long moment.
Then she said, "Then we give them proof."
Le Xin frowned. "Of what?"
"Of sabotage," Kai Ying replied. "And motive."
Le Xin straightened. "You have something?"
Kai Ying pulled up a hidden log. "I mirrored the system six hours ago."
Le Xin stared. "You did that without telling me?"
"Yes."
Le Xin's voice sharpened. "You don't trust me?"
Kai Ying finally looked at her.
"I trust you," she said. "I don't trust anyone else."
The tension snapped again—different this time.
Not rivalry.
Not peace.
Something unstable.
Le Xin exhaled slowly. "Okay. What's the plan?"
Kai Ying's eyes hardened.
"We finish the rebuild," she said. "Then we walk into that boardroom and force them to look."
Le Xin's lips curved faintly. "You're serious."
"I don't bluff," Kai Ying replied.
Le Xin nodded once. "Neither do I."
They turned back to their screens.
Side by side.
Exhausted.
Cornered.
Still not friends.
Still not allies.
But now?
They were facing the same enemy.
And whoever thought breaking Chen Le Xin would weaken Liu Kai Ying—
Had badly miscalculated.
---
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