When the new CEO arrived to take office, a group of young female employees waited in the hallway to greet him. He stopped right in front of me and murmured in a low voice: "I want to come in." My face instantly burned. Once, on a narrow, cramped mattress, his breath had been scalding hot as he held me, whispering his hoarse pleas over and over again. And that was his favorite thing to ask. 1 Everyone’s eyes darted toward me. I froze. The tall, broad-shouldered man standing before me looked past me with a flat gaze, gesturing to the space behind my back. "Excuse me, could you step aside?" It was only then I realized I was blocking half the doorway. My face flushed, and I quickly took two steps back. Asher Vance gave me a polite nod and walked into the executive office, his expression completely unreadable. I went to the breakroom to make a cup of coffee. Did he recognize me? Or did he not? That phrase… Was it intentional? Or just a coincidence? I turned my head and looked at my reflection in the glass cabinet doors. It reflected a vague, unremarkable 33-year-old woman. A short, practical bob. Dull makeup. Thick, black-rimmed glasses. Because I had been called away while digging through dusty archive boxes, I was still wearing a ratty, oversized gray cardigan that was pilling at the sleeves. Compared to the wild, radiant girl from that crazy road trip a few years ago… I looked like a completely different person. … It was a coincidence. I finalized my conclusion. 2 When I returned to the office, two of my young subordinates were chattering excitedly about the new boss. "He is way too gorgeous! If you didn't know better, you'd think he was an A-list actor! If we knew the new boss was this hot, we wouldn't have fought the corporate buyout at all!" "I heard he's only 28. He built a successful startup and then took over his family’s empire. He is literally a billionaire romance novel brought to life! Oh my god, I have to post about this!" "Stop drooling, it's embarrassing…" "Even Claire, our strict, uptight Finance Director, was so starstruck she literally blocked the door! Why can't I drool? Hey, why did you kick me—" I walked toward my desk, my face expressionless. "No gossiping on company time." The two girls instantly went dead silent, practically burying their heads in their desks. The sharp click-clack of high heels approached from down the hall. Chloe Harper walked in. As always, her makeup was flawless, her designer skirt suit perfectly tailored. She slammed a stack of receipts down on one of the junior accountants' desks. "Why were the Marketing Department's expense reports rejected?" The recent grad shrank back, stammering out an explanation: "Ch-Chloe, these don't comply with the new expense policy. Anything exceeding the budget by 50% needs the General Manager's signature—" Chloe interrupted her impatiently. "We in Marketing are out there on the front lines busting our asses for this company, and you guys just sit comfortably in the office all day trying to figure out how to drag us down, is that it?" I looked up and spoke in a cold, even tone: "Chloe, the new financial reimbursement policy was issued weeks ago, and we held a dedicated training session for it. If you don't understand it, go back and review the handbook. If you have a problem with it, take it to upper management. Do you think raising your voice in my department makes you right?" Chloe turned to look at me, blinked, and put on an exaggerated look of sudden realization. "Claire, you're not… using your position to settle a personal vendetta, are you?" I pushed up my glasses, meeting her gaze dead-on. "What personal vendetta could we possibly have?" She let out a light, airy laugh. "I guess I'll just have to let Mark come down and tell you himself. After all, you two used to be married." 3 Mark Preston showed up very quickly. Chloe softly called out, "Mark," before biting her lower lip and staring down at her shoes, playing the part of the poor, bullied victim perfectly. "There's no need to make things so difficult for a young girl." Mark frowned slightly, looking at me. His tone was as casual as if he were discussing the weather. Yeah, I was very familiar with this scene. Before Mark and I divorced. He had said similar things to me many times. We were married for three years. After he was promoted to Marketing Director, his relationship with his assistant, Chloe, became highly ambiguous. I asked him to transfer her. He thought I was being archaic and ridiculous. "You sit in an office all day doing nothing. In Marketing, we have to socialize and look out for each other. It's totally normal. You don't have to be so threatened by a young girl!" Once, he got drunk at a networking event. I drove to pick him up, and Chloe eagerly hopped into the backseat to "take care" of him. While I was driving, she let out a sudden, short gasp. When I got out to check, her short skirt was flipped halfway up her thighs, exposing a blinding amount of skin. I am a person with a very low tolerance for drama. I was too lazy to catch them in the act, and too tired to argue. I just filed for divorce. Mark had been full of sarcasm. "Claire, if you're trying to use this little threat to keep me on a leash, you picked the wrong strategy. I don't respond to ultimatums." "You're a divorced woman in her thirties, boring and completely rigid. You think you can find a man with even half my qualifications? If you do, I'll get on my knees right in front of the office building!" We finalized the divorce papers quickly. Unfortunately, we still worked at the same company. We saw each other every single day. He and Chloe were practically attached at the hip. He often intentionally coddled her right in front of me, always stepping up to defend her. His excuse was always: "She's in my department, of course I have to protect her." I knew my colleagues whispered about me behind my back, marveling at how much I could tolerate. Why didn't I just quit? If it had been the me from a few years ago, I definitely would have felt too humiliated and disgusted to stay. I would have packed my bags and left. But I was 33 now. Age had given me a certain grounded strength. I had worked my ass off to become the Director of Finance. Why should I be the one to quit? Besides, they were the ones who should be embarrassed. Not me. Right now. Mark tilted his head slightly, looking at me with that familiar, mocking smile. "Constantly dragging a young girl into our personal issues is pretty pathetic, don't you think?" I kept my face entirely blank. "Following company policy is making things difficult for her? Did I write the company's financial policy specifically to target her? Mark, is your brain starting to rot?" He stared at me for a few seconds, then suddenly laughed. "Fine. We'll let the new CEO make the call at the executive meeting tomorrow. But Claire…" He lowered his voice, his tone laced with a smug, victorious delight. "Using these cheap tricks to try and get my attention and win me back… honestly, it's a little pathetic." 4 The next day, at the executive meeting. When Asher Vance walked into the conference room, everyone unconsciously sat up a little straighter. I studied him from behind the thick lenses of my glasses. He had a tall, commanding posture and sharp, striking features. As he took his seat, the unbuttoned edge of his suit jacket brushed the table, revealing the crisp folds of a white dress shirt tucked into his waist. The wild, broken boy I once knew had grown into a formidable, inscrutable man. He listened to Mark's presentation for the Marketing Department. His hands rested casually on the table. He nodded occasionally, his expression completely neutral. Without any warning. He suddenly turned his head and looked right at me. I didn't have time to look away. My heart instantly skipped a beat. But it seemed like just a casual glance, and he quickly looked away. "About this expense report from the Marketing Department." His voice wasn't loud, but the conference room immediately fell dead silent. "Make an exception. I'm approving it." Chloe immediately shot me a triumphant, mocking look. After the meeting, Mark stopped me, a lukewarm smile playing on his lips. "Rules are dead, people are alive. You've lived to this age and you're still so rigid and inflexible. Haven't you suffered enough for it?" I clutched my files and looked at him. "Mark, you getting rejected by me is the standard process. The CEO making a special exception is also the standard process. You're a department director; is that concept really so hard for you to grasp?" He scoffed. "Claire, between us…" "Director Davis." A voice cut in from behind. Asher Vance stood in the middle of the hallway, hands in his pockets, his face devoid of any extra emotion. "Come to my office." My chest tightened. In the CEO's office. Asher and I were separated by a massive, imposing mahogany desk. "The Finance Department bears the brunt of the pressure when implementing new policies. Friction during the transition period is inevitable. You need to manage the boundaries well." His tone was flat and strictly professional. It was purely a superior addressing a subordinate. He gave me a few more directives. His pace was steady, his logic flawless. He gave off an aura of mature, unapproachable distance that was completely different from the young man in my memory who always spoke to me with a hint of reckless desperation. The knot in my chest loosened. "Understood, Mr. Vance." His secretary came in to deliver tea. He looked down, opened a drawer, took out a blue velvet box, and slid it across the desk toward me. I didn't move. The secretary smiled and said, "Director Davis, this is the welcome gift the CEO is giving to all the department heads. It's a luxury fountain pen. Everyone else has received theirs; you're the last one." Asher took a sip of his tea, his long, pale fingers tapping lightly against the top of the box. "Want it?" He murmured those two words softly. Maybe it was because he had just taken a sip of hot tea, but the words sounded almost breathless, slipping through his lips wrapped in a damp heat. A familiar shiver swept down my spine. My mouth suddenly felt very dry. 5 Want it? Stella, want it? Five years ago, on a scorching desert highway in the Mojave. My memories with Asher Vance spanned a brief, intense six months. It was a complete physical entanglement. Growing up, I was the perfect, rule-following good girl. My dad was a middle school teacher, my mom an elementary school teacher. In everyone's eyes, I was obedient, quiet, and low-maintenance. The classic "perfect daughter." But only I knew the truth. I was cowardly, timid, and completely lacked a backbone. I just echoed whatever other people said. I was terrified of conflict, terrified of disappointing anyone, terrified of taking a single wrong step. It was suffocating. I hated myself more and more. So, at 28, I made the most rebellious decision of my life. I quit the job that was slowly killing me. I permed my boring, straight hair into wild, voluminous waves. I ditched my thick glasses for contacts, and bought a suitcase full of floral sundresses and crop tops… I rented an RV and hit Route 66 by myself. And on that endless stretch of desert highway, I picked up Asher Vance. He was 23 at the time. He had crashed his motorcycle and was sitting alone by the side of an empty, desolate road. He looked defeated and reckless, a dark, heavy gloom clouding his eyes. Like a trapped, wounded animal. I pulled over, pulled my sunglasses down with my index finger, and yelled out with a bright smile: "Hey! Need a ride? I can give you a lift!" He gave me a silent, hard stare of rejection. He stood up, limping, and started pushing his wrecked bike down the road. I hit the gas and drove off. But not long after, I turned around and drove back. He still ignored me. I drove at a crawl right behind him, teasing and warning him: "Kid, I'm really not a bad person. Just trying to do my good deed for the day." "It's gonna storm soon. You wanna get soaked out here?" "I heard this stretch of the highway is haunted…" He suddenly stopped. He turned to look at me, his face deadpan. "You talk way too much." "So are you getting in or not?" I smiled, my eyes crinkling. He got in. I knew he was going through the absolute darkest moment of his life, but I didn't ask a single question. Who goes out into the desert alone if they aren't running from something? I drove with the windows down, screaming into the wind with my arms wide open. I pulled him to lay side-by-side with me under a blanket of stars, talking absolute nonsense. We spent an entire day helping a local rancher look for a lost sheep. I made him undercooked campfire stew in the cramped kitchen of the RV. Under an open sky where nothing had to be defined, I naturally morphed into the exact opposite of the "Claire" persona. I was free, passionate, and fearless. I was a fun, slightly feral woman who went by the name "Stella". My smile was always bright; my voice was always loud. I was saving him. And I was saving myself. Slowly, the light returned to Asher’s eyes. His smiles became clearer. When he looked at me, his initial cold distance morphed into a burning, intense focus. I discovered that beneath his gloomy exterior was a defiant, brave, and resilient young man. Asher was the person I wished I could be. On a night illuminated by endless stars, in the dead silence of the desert, we squeezed onto the RV's tiny, narrow bed. It happened so naturally. Like sleeping when you're tired, or drinking when you're thirsty. The most primal desires melted into the raw wilderness. There was no age, no status, no past. Only scorching skin and heavy breathing. All the rules were crushed. Desire was infinitely magnified. Joy was infinitely magnified. We were addicted, completely unable to pull ourselves out. Like two kids who had tasted sugar for the very first time, we desperately consumed it, constantly begging for more. He loved using his index and middle fingers to trace a slow path up my body, stopping at specific spots, his voice impossibly hoarse. "Stella, I want to come in." "Can I?" "Can you take one more?" "Let's try…" On that road trip, we drove and stopped, wandering together for six months. One evening, the sun was setting, and the world was bathed in a soft, golden glow. I sat by the window with him, sharing a slightly burnt grilled cheese. "Stella, wait for me for one year. Once I handle my family's mess, I'll move to your city to find you. Okay?" His expression was incredibly serious. "Absolutely not," I laughed it off. "Why not?" "I'm five years older than you. I can't afford to wait. Plus, huge age-gap romances never end well. By the time I have gray hair, you'll still be in your prime. I'll turn into a paranoid, jealous housewife. I'll pass!" I spouted absolute nonsense, just like I always did. He froze. He looked stunned. I couldn't help but laugh. "Fine, tell me what you even like about me first." He thought about it, then answered solemnly: "I like that you're so wild and free. You're fearless. You live exactly like yourself." I looked down and took a bite of the sandwich. A few days later. In a small border town, I left a note on the counter. And I ran away. The person in his eyes. It wasn't me. We were just two gusts of wind colliding on a journey, tangling together for a brief moment in a specific environment, at a specific temperature. Eventually, we had to blow in opposite directions. I went back to my home city. I put my glasses back on, cut off my wild curls, and zipped myself back into safe, sensible suits. I went back to being the Claire everyone expected me to be. 6 I thought about it for a long time. Trying to judge whether or not he had recognized me. Five years of zero contact. A brief six months together. On the very first day of that trip, when I decided to completely cut ties with my old self, I had used a fake name. When renting the RV, the rental guy said he had an employee discount. He told me to just pay him directly and rent it under his name. I agreed just to save time. Two years ago, I slipped on the stairs and broke my nose. I had some minor reconstructive surgery. Even my old college friends barely recognized me afterward. In short. Whether it was my appearance, my vibe, my identity, or my name… I was completely, fundamentally different from the "Stella" he knew five years ago. There was no way he recognized me. As for those vague, double-meaning phrases? If I thought about it logically in the context of a corporate office, it was totally normal dialogue. I was just projecting. … My judgment was correct. For the next stretch of time, everything was perfectly normal. I reported financials to Asher regularly. He would occasionally call me into his office to discuss operations or question a budget detail. My interactions with him… Were completely restricted to the appropriate boundaries of a CEO and a Finance Director. Professional, polite, and distant. I slowly got used to it. During meetings, I could confidently argue with him over data without any emotional baggage. When someone made a joke, I could laugh along comfortably. I told myself that that hot, fleeting road trip was just a brief exception where we both escaped our normal lives. Like a tornado. When it hits, sand flies and rocks tumble, filled with intense passion. But when it passes, it dissipates instantly, fading until it's like it never existed at all. One day. I walked into the office and saw a young girl standing there. Long, straight black hair, a white sundress. Pure and pretty. She introduced herself politely: "Hello, Director Davis. My name is Lily Shaw. I'll be interning at the company for a while, so I wanted to come say hi." I nodded politely. She gave a shy smile and left. Two of my subordinates immediately rushed over to gossip. "Claire, whatever you do, do not offend her! We just asked her who referred her for the internship. She said it was the CEO's brother! Turns out, she's an orphan the CEO's family adopted. She grew up with him." "I finally get why the CEO is in the Seattle branch instead of the New York headquarters! He's here to pave the way and protect his little sister!" "Oh my god, I am such a sucker for the adopted-sibling romance trope! And they look so good together!" "Right?! I ship them so hard..." The two girls kept whispering, their voices dropping lower. I looked down at my brand-new blazer. Somehow, a smear of red ink had gotten on the elbow. I thought about it for a second. I dug out that pair of baggy, oversized gray cardigans and slipped it on. That afternoon, Asher called me to his office. I saw Lily again. She was sitting on the sofa drinking juice, chatting softly with Asher. The sunlight from the window hit her, highlighting her youthful, vibrant beauty. Asher waved me over. After briefly introducing Lily's background, he said, "She currently has two options. One is the Marketing Department, the other is Finance. Given that Marketing involves a lot of networking and drinking, I want her in your department." I listened carefully. Trying to figure out if he wanted me to genuinely mentor her, or just let her coast through the internship. "What do you think?" He paused, then suddenly looked up, his eyes locking onto mine: "Can you take one more in?" I froze. That familiar, electric shiver washed over me again. His expression was totally normal, as if he were just having a standard operational discussion. I suppressed the violent pounding of my heart and answered quietly. "…I can." "Good. Let's try it out." His gaze drifted away, calm and unreadable. 7 Lily started working in the Finance Department. She was pretty, generous, and, combined with her status as the CEO's sister, she quickly became a favorite around the office. She greeted everyone wherever she went. When my subordinates asked if the CEO came to the Seattle branch just for her, she gave a bashful, girlish smile. "I don't know. My brother is the type of person who never says anything, even when he does a lot. I had mentioned to him before that I wanted to intern here in Seattle, but I didn't expect him to move here first." The two juniors swooned, letting out excited squeals. It startled me. One day, I went to Asher's office to report on operations. As soon as I walked in, I stopped dead in my tracks. He had dyed his hair platinum blonde. Throughout the meeting, he spoke with his usual calm demeanor. But I couldn't stop my eyes from darting to his hair, wondering if I was hallucinating. When I returned to my office, the three girls were huddled together, buzzing with excitement. Lily looked particularly thrilled, her cheeks flushed. "The other day, I was having dinner with my brother, and I told him I've been playing this new video game, and I really, really liked the male lead who has white hair…" The two juniors dramatically gasped and looked at the ceiling. "The plot is advancing exactly as predicted!" "Honestly, the CEO dyed his hair like that, and he actually pulls it off perfectly!" I didn't know what they were so excited about. Basically, as long as they didn't screw up the actual work, I didn't really restrict what they did. Work days are always long and boring. Seeing them laugh and chat so freely… to me, it felt like something from a distant lifetime. Because of a new company initiative, I had to interact with the Marketing Department a lot more. Mark and Chloe had been shameless before, but now they were blatant. They deliberately touched each other, whispered intimately, their eyes full of heavy flirtation. I reacted with complete apathy. Oddly, Mark seemed to get angry about it. I didn't understand what his problem was. I didn't care when we were married, why would I care now? Mark and I had originally met on a blind date. Later, we realized we actually worked for different branches of the same corporate umbrella. He proactively confessed that he had been in four serious relationships before me. He said we were all adults, and everyone had a past. He asked me how many times I had been in love. I said once. He was shocked. "You're 30, and you look this good, and you've only dated once?" Actually, for the first two years of our marriage, he was very good to me. It made me think that agreeing to my parents' pressure to go on that blind date wasn't the worst thing in the world. He used to boldly promise that he would work hard to become the Marketing Director so he could be my shield. He said that when the time came, no one in the company would dare target me. Who would have thought that today, he became someone else's shield. And the person he was targeting, was me. To ensure my department's work proceeded smoothly, I started cultivating a strict, cold demeanor. I wore drab, aging clothes, lowered the pitch of my voice, and kept my tone devoid of emotion. The younger colleagues gradually started keeping their distance. I became the person they whispered about. The rigid, humorless "old finance lady." … Bright, cheerful laughter echoed through the room. I touched my own face. Thank god Asher didn't recognize me.
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