Lin Jiayi slipped the last document into a folder and glanced up at the clock on the wall—8:45 p.m. She was the only one left in the office, the fluorescent lights casting a sterile glow over the empty workspace. She adjusted the collar of her blouse, her fingertips brushing against the small rose-gold button at her clavicle—the one she had deliberately chosen for today.  

 

The elevator chimed, and her spine straightened instinctively. The sharp click of dress shoes against marble echoed closer, each step sending a jolt through her nerves. She took a deep breath and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear.  

"Working late?" A low voice came from behind her.  

 

Lin Jiayi turned, nearly tripping over her chair. Standing before her was Cheng Yuan—no, right now, he was “Mr. Cheng”, dressed in a charcoal-gray three-piece suit she’d never seen before, his tie impeccably knotted, his gaze sharp and controlled behind gold-rimmed glasses. He carried a black briefcase she recognized, yet in this moment, it felt like a symbol of authority.  

 

"Mr. Cheng," she said, rising to her feet, her voice trembling slightly more than she intended. "I was just finalizing the materials for tomorrow’s meeting."  

 

Cheng Yuan—“Mr. Cheng”—nodded slightly and stepped closer. The faint scent of cedar and something darker, more dangerous, lingered around him. "Let me see," he said, his  fingers brushing the edge of the folder as she handed it to him.  

 

She noticed he was wearing the cufflinks she’d given him, their muted sheen catching the light. The realization made her pulse skip.  

 

"The figures  on page nine need to be double-checked," he said, his tone businesslike yet carrying an unfamiliar edge. "Come with me to the conference room."  

 

The door shut with a heavy thud. Lin Jiayi stood at one end of the long table, watching as Cheng Yuan methodically undid his suit jacket and took the seat at the head. He gestured for her to sit, then pulled a folder from his briefcase—one she’d never seen before.  

 

"As my new assistant," he began, adjusting his glasses, the lenses obscuring his eyes, "there are certain…  special  responsibilities you’ll need to be aware of."  

 

A flush crept up the back of her neck, spreading to her ears. She crossed her legs, the sleek black pencil skirt tightening around her thighs. "I’ll do my best to meet your expectations, Mr. Cheng," she said softly, letting just the right amount of nervousness slip into her voice.  

 

Cheng Yuan leaned forward suddenly, resting his elbows on the table. The movement wrinkled the pocket square she had ironed for him last week. "First," he said, his voice dropping an octave, "you’ll need to keep track of all my meetings— including  the informal ones."  

 

"Informal?" she blurted before catching herself. His eyebrow arched slightly, and she quickly corrected, "I mean—could you clarify which meetings would be considered informal, Mr. Cheng?"  

 

A ghost of a smirk played at his lips. He stood and circled the table toward her. Her heartbeat pounded so loudly she was sure he could hear it. When he stopped beside her chair, she caught the faint trace of his cologne—and something warmer, more familiar beneath it.  

 

"Like this one," he murmured, his fingers resting lightly on the back of her chair. "We’ll need to discuss your…  duties  after your probation period.  Privately. "  

 

She looked up, meeting his heated gaze through the lenses of his glasses. For a moment, she forgot to breathe. He reached out, tilting her chin up with his knuckle—a touch that was professional in its restraint, yet burned against her skin.  

 

"Coffee," he said abruptly, withdrawing his hand. "Black, no sugar. As my secretary, you should remember these details."  

 

She blinked, a faint dizziness washing over her. The line between roleplay and reality blurred. "I’ll prepare it right away," she said, starting to rise, but his hand pressed lightly on her shoulder.  

 

"No rush," he said, his fingers lingering half a second too long. "Finish reviewing this first."  

 

He handed her the folder. Inside was a single sheet of paper, bold letters printed across it:  

 

”My office. Ten minutes.“ 

She bit her lip to stifle a smile. When she looked up again, her expression was perfectly professional. "Understood, Mr. Cheng. I’ll bring… *a full report* with me."  

 

He nodded and turned toward the door. Just before leaving, he paused. "Oh, and Miss Lin?"  

 

"Yes?"  

 

"Your blouse." He glanced back, the chain of his glasses glinting in the light. "The second button is undone."  

 

The door clicked shut. Lin Jiayi looked down—the rose-gold button had indeed come loose, revealing a sliver of skin just below her collarbone. Heat flooded her cheeks as she fastened it, her fingers trembling against her racing pulse.  

 

Her phone buzzed on the desk. A message from Cheng Yuan:  

 

"Enjoying your new role, Miss Lin?"

 

She bit her lip and typed back:  

 

"Mr. Cheng’s standards are stricter than I expected."  

 

The reply came instantly:  

 

"Looking forward to your performance. Remember—my office is soundproof." 

 

She set her phone down, smoothing her skirt and hair. The woman in the mirror wore a standard office ensemble—a white blouse tucked neatly into a black pencil skirt, the very picture of professionalism. Only she knew what lay beneath—the lace lingerie she’d spent all afternoon picking out, its delicate friction against her skin with every breath.  

 

Lin Jiayi picked up the folder and notepad, walking toward Cheng Yuan’s office. The hallway lights stretched her shadow long, the click of her heels echoing in the empty building. When she reached the door, she took a deep breath and fully stepped into her role.  

She knocked, her voice clear and composed.  

 

"Mr. Cheng, I’m here to deliver my report."