"I heard that Young Master Ye has a new all-purpose secretary. I was curious who it might be—and look, it's Anya. Congratulations. I've tried to recruit her for ages with no luck." Yang Zekun's gaze swept lightly over Cheng Anya, carrying his signature affectionate indulgence.
Cheng Anya felt a lump in her throat, tinged with guilt. Honestly, this whole thing had been a big misunderstanding—she hadn't seen it coming either.
Ye Chen smirked. "Oh? So Young Master Yang didn't know?"
Yang Zekun smiled warmly. His expression held a jade-like purity, the kind of selfless gentleness only lovers shared. "Indeed. Anya always kept a respectful distance and refused to join Yaohua. I ended up losing a top talent for nothing."
His words were vague, but to Ye Chen, they pierced like needles. It was clearly a jab: Cheng Anya had refused to work at Yaohua to avoid mixing work and romance—and instead ended up at S.
In other words, he got lucky.
"Miss Cheng really is an excellent secretary. Whether it's business or personal, she provides top-tier service. Isn't that right, Miss Cheng?" Ye Chen's elegant smile twisted slightly under the bar's soft lighting. His deep eyes glinted with a seductive wickedness.
He bit down especially hard on the words personal and service.
You know how to provoke me? Well, don't think I can't disgust you right back.
Yang Zekun's gentle expression didn't change, as if Ye Chen had merely commented on the weather. But the slight tightening of his hand betrayed his restraint.
Ye Chen sneered inwardly. Cheng Anya's face wore her usual expressionless smile, but the flicker in her eyes gave away the fire burning inside.
Damn you, Ye Chen. Could you be any more of a psycho?
You make it sound like I've slept with you. Geez, even if I were starving or freezing, I'd never pick you. Ugh! o(╯□╰)o
She conveniently forgot that seven years ago, in fact, she had been starving—and did pick Ye Chen.
The battles between powerful men were always quiet, their moves hidden beneath polished smiles.
Ye Chen, having landed his blow, was in unexpectedly good spirits. The corners of his lips curled. "Yang, how about a drink?"
"Sure."
At the same time, both men reached out and rested a hand on Cheng Anya's shoulder. Two tall, commanding figures, two pairs of piercing eyes—an identical, suffocating pressure.
Cold. Overwhelming.
Even the ever-gentle Yang Zekun made a declaration of possession in that subtle gesture. When Ye Chen glanced his way, Yang Zekun slid his hand from her shoulder to her waist and guided her toward the bar.
Ye Chen watched their intimate retreating figures, his gaze darkening.
Cheng Anya felt like she was walking on pins and needles. Senior, what on earth are you doing?