Before the company's annual holiday party, we had a raffle. I won the grand prize three times in a row: "Dinner with the CEO." I immediately traded this "garbage" to a supplier. In exchange for two crates of premium King Crab. The HR manager, Jenny, looked at me with heartbreak: "Riley, do you even want to advance in your career? Do you want to make money?!" I comforted her: "Even corporate slaves have principles. I can't earn dirty money that makes me 'unhappy'." Jenny looked behind me, eyes wide with horror: "C... C..." Me: "See? As long as you understand!" I turned around and locked eyes with the CEO, Ethan Sterling. 1 It wasn't just him. Standing behind him were the stiff-backed General Manager, the Vice President, and a row of department heads who didn't dare breathe... Awkwardness washed over me. I didn't know how much of that conversation they heard. Trying to hide the evidence, I subtly used my foot to kick the styrofoam box of King Crab further under the table. But the box was huge. It got stuck halfway, one corner still stubbornly exposed. I squeezed out a professional smile: "G... Good afternoon, leaders!" Ethan didn't speak. He just nodded at me, his expression indifferent. His reaction was so flat it gave me the creeps. Did he... not hear me just now? He didn't get angry. But his executive assistant glanced over the desk and frowned at the styrofoam box by my feet. Clearly thinking fresh seafood didn't belong in the office. Before the assistant could scold me, the silent Ethan suddenly spoke. His voice was low and magnetic, emotionless: "You won?" My scalp tingled. I nodded: "Yeah!" Ethan raised an eyebrow. His gaze circled my face before landing slowly on the two boxes: "Is that... your prize?" I could feel my manager, Mr. King's murderous gaze burning a hole in my back. But there was no hiding it now. "No." I took a deep breath and answered honestly: "I traded for it. King Crab." Ethan didn't let me off the hook. He pressed on: "What was your original prize?" I shrank back, my voice getting smaller: "Um, a coupon for... dinner with..." "Oh?" Ethan's tone lifted. "How many?" I held up three fingers, gesturing shakily: "Th... three." The silence in the room was deafening. Behind him, the GM and VP gasped. They looked at me like I was a warrior about to be executed. Trading three "Dinner with the CEO" coupons for crab? Whose feral child escaped the asylum?! The assistant frowned deeper, about to speak. But Ethan suddenly twitched the corner of his mouth. He took a step forward, looked down at my precious crab boxes, and said with a mix of disbelief and disdain: "Three tickets, and you only got two boxes?" I froze, instinctively replying: "Huh? These are top-tier female crabs, full of roe, really expensive..." Ethan's lips seemed to hook up for a split second before flattening again. A look of "you can do better" flashed in his eyes. Finally, he gave me a cool glance and delivered his verdict: "A bit little." Leaving those three words behind, he put one hand in his pocket and walked away with his long legs, not looking back as the crowd swarmed after him. 2 The entourage left in a grand procession. But the atmosphere got weirder. Trying to ease the tension, I turned to the pale-faced Jenny: "When he said 'a bit little,' did he mean I should go ask for two more boxes?" Jenny looked at me like I was insane and dropped one sentence: "Tuck your tail and hide tonight!" I honestly couldn't tell if "a bit little" meant what I thought it meant. Just as I was debating whether to text him to test the waters, someone knocked on my cubicle wall. "Riley, come to my office." Mr. King stood in the aisle, holding his thermos. His slightly puffy eyes looked at me with "pity." In the office, Mr. King took a slow sip of tea, spat out a leaf, and sighed deeply. "Riley, I'm so disappointed in you." He shook his head, speaking earnestly: "It's good for young people to have personality, but you can't be brainless. You think joking with the boss in public makes you special? In the boss's eyes, that's disrespectful. That's lacking boundaries." I retorted: "I wasn't joking, and he wasn't mad." "Not mad?!" Mr. King raised his voice, interrupting me with a "you're so naive" look: "A man of his status wouldn't argue with a junior employee on the spot! That's called class! But just because he didn't explode doesn't mean it's over." "Didn't he say 'a bit little'? He's pointing at me, saying the people I manage are shallow and unpresentable." He put down his cup, leaned forward, and looked serious: "You caused me huge trouble, but as your direct supervisor, I can't watch you ruin your future over this." "Just now, to save you, I swallowed my pride and begged Admin to get you a seat at the main table for tonight's gala." I froze, instinctively rejecting: "What? Main table? Can I not go..." Sit with Ethan? I can't eat freely then. Torture! And Admin is weird. Usually, they make Mr. King wait three days for a reimbursement. Why are they so nice now? Giving a seat at the big boss table? Seeing my attitude, Mr. King frowned, looking heartbroken at my "inability to be helped": "Why are you so ungrateful? Half the company would kill to show their face at the main table! I risked my old face to get you this chance to redeem yourself, and you don't want it?" He stood up, patted my shoulder, and gave me a speech that gave me goosebumps: "Comrade Riley, the workplace isn't your home. If you mess up, show the right attitude!" "Tonight, sit next to the boss. Be smart. Pour wine, make toasts. Find a chance to sincerely apologize and smooth over the crab incident." "As long as the boss drinks your toast, this page is turned. Understand?" Looking at Mr. King, moved to tears by his own generosity, I swallowed my refusal. Fine. Admin already changed the seating. Refusing now is useless. 3 The gala started with festive excitement, but I felt like I was in a different dimension. I stiffly sat at the very end of the main table. Ethan sat at the head. Three VPs separated us. The VPs were laughing nervously, trying to please him, but his expression remained impassive. He toyed with his wine glass, his eyes occasionally drifting to the plate of boiled shrimp in front of me that no one dared touch. I pretended not to notice, counting the peanuts on my plate. What are you looking at?! Want me to peel shrimp for you? Keep dreaming. Just as I was about to sneak a bite of cold appetizers to pad my stomach, Mr. King at the next table started winking at me furiously. He was like a human LED screen, broadcasting on loop: Go! Toast! Do you want to get fired? I played blind. Mr. King got anxious. During a quiet moment, he suddenly stood up with his glass, shouting loudly: "Chairman Sterling! Riley was insensible today. She's young and impulsive, and she offended you. She's thin-skinned, but she regrets it deeply." Every eye in the room focused on us. I almost choked on a peanut. Mr. King gave me no chance to react. He took charge, smiling fawningly: "Riley, why are you spacing out? Hurry up and toast the Chairman, apologize to him!" Great. He put me on the spot. Under everyone's gaze, I took a deep breath, picked up my glass, and stood up helplessly. "Ch... Chairman Sterling." I looked at Ethan, trying to look sincere: "I was immature today. I toast this to you. Please... drink as you wish." Ethan looked up at the glass I extended. His brow furrowed visibly. "Manager King." Ethan didn't take my glass. Instead, he slammed his own cup heavily onto the table. Thud. The sound made Mr. King flinch. Ethan, who had just been clinking glasses with the VPs, looked straight at Mr. King and lied without blinking: "I'm allergic to alcohol." 4 At this point, even an idiot could see Ethan was unhappy. Very, very unhappy. Ethan didn't wait for Mr. King to react. He threw his napkin on the table. "Carry on." He dropped a cold command to the GM and walked out. In that moment, Mr. King, who hadn't even drunk yet, turned dark red. He turned around trembling, popping two heart pills, afraid he'd pass out. Once he caught his breath, he pointed a shaking finger at me, too angry to speak, and stormed off. Watching his furious back, I sighed internally. I really wanted to tell him: Old King, is it possible he just didn't want me to drink? But I didn't dare. I was afraid if I said it, Mr. King would have a stroke on the spot. 5 The gala ended late. When I got home, Ethan pulled me into a "deep exchange" of marital affection, leaving me severely sleep-deprived. Passing the pantry, I remembered he probably skipped breakfast, so I grabbed him an iced Americano and a whole wheat sandwich. Coincidentally, Mr. King saw this as he walked in. Watching the assistant take the coffee from me, he wore a gratified smile that said, "I knew you were ambitious." I ignored him and went to my desk. Just as I settled down to slack off and write a proposal, my phone buzzed. "Bring me lunch later, and a coffee." Seeing the message from "Manager King," my brain short-circuited. I replied: "Are you talking to me?" Instant reply: "Who else? You're the freest in the group." I laughed in anger. I had the most cases in the group, and he called me free? Ethan didn't even order me around like this. Who did he think he was? I typed furiously: "Can't do it. I'm here to do planning, not be your maid!" He didn't expect the usually submissive sheep to fight back. He exploded, tone rude: "Didn't you bring it for the Chairman? What, my rank isn't high enough to order you?" I took a deep breath, deciding to help regulate Mr. King's blood pressure: "That's my husband. What, you want to join our marriage?" Silence. I looked up through the glass partition. Mr. King stared at his phone for a full ten seconds, head tilted. He slowly took off his glasses, rubbed his temples, and gave me a look that was incredibly complex and heavy. Then he waved me over: "Riley, come to the small conference room."
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