I3:30 A.M. — The Weight of Exhaustion
It was 3:30 in the morning.
Anya Lu's vision blurred as the numbers on the screen began to overlap. Four hundred pages were finally complete, but the remaining hundred loomed before her like an impossible mountain. Her fingers continued to move mechanically over the keyboard, driven more by fear than strength.
Her eyelids grew heavier with every passing second.
The steady rhythm of typing slowed… then stopped.
Her head tilted forward, resting dangerously close to the keyboard, and within moments, exhaustion claimed her completely. She fell into a deep, dreamless sleep, her hands still hovering near the keys, as if unwilling to let go of her task.
The office floor was silent.
Then—
The faint sound of leather shoes echoed through the empty corridor.
Zain Yan stepped out of his private cabin.
His sharp eyes immediately noticed the glow of a single desk lamp in the otherwise dark office. He paused, irritation flickering across his face. No one was supposed to still be working at this hour.
As he approached, his steps slowed.
Anya was asleep.
Her posture was awkward, her body curled slightly over the desk, strands of hair scattered across her face. The fierce anxiety she usually carried was gone, replaced by a fragile, almost childlike calm.
Zain stopped beside her.
For a moment, he simply stood there, watching.
Then, quietly, he exhaled.
He reached out and gently brushed the loose strands of hair away from her face. His touch was light—careful—as if afraid she might disappear if he wasn't gentle enough. For the first time, the cold sharpness in his eyes softened.
Only for a second.
He pulled a chair over, sat beside her, and turned to the computer screen.
One hundred pages remained.
Without hesitation, Zain placed his fingers on the keyboard.
They moved fast—precise, ruthless, efficient. The same hands that signed billion-yuan contracts now typed relentlessly through legal clauses and business projections. His expression remained unreadable, but there was an urgency in his movements.
Before dawn broke over Shenzhen's skyline, the final page was completed.
Five hundred pages.
Perfect.
Zain saved the document, printed it, arranged the file neatly, and placed it carefully on the desk beside Anya. He stood, glanced at her sleeping form one last time, and walked away without a sound.
☀️ Morning Panic — 8:30 A.M.
"8:30?!"
Anya jolted awake, her heart pounding violently against her ribs.
"Oh no—no, no, no!"
She jumped to her feet, panic flooding her veins. Her eyes darted to the desk, and that's when she saw them.
Two identical black files.
One was the completed project.
The other was her waste file—filled with rough notes, practice pages, and late-night doodles drawn during moments of frustration.
Her breath caught.
"There's no time," she whispered, grabbing one file at random.
She slung her bag over her shoulder and sprinted toward the elevator.
📈 The Boardroom Explosion
The boardroom on the 50th floor was already full.
Major investors from Shenzhen and Beijing sat around the long glass table, murmuring among themselves. The air was heavy with expectation.
Zain Yan sat at the head of the table, composed and commanding. His presence alone silenced conversations.
"Miss Lu," he said without looking up, extending his hand.
"The file."
Anya approached, her steps unsteady.
Her hands trembled as she placed the file into his grip.
Zain opened it and handed it to the assistant to connect to the projector.
The screen lit up.
And then—
Silence.
Not a single financial chart appeared.
Instead, the screen displayed a large, poorly drawn cartoon.
Zain Yan.
With exaggerated sharp eyebrows.
A devil's tail.
Horns.
And bold handwritten words splashed across the page:
"THE COLD-BLOODED WOLF."
For a second, no one breathed.
Then—
A few investors exchanged glances.
Someone coughed.
Someone else chuckled.
Laughter slowly spread around the room, awkward but unstoppable.
Qian, standing at the side, dropped his head into his hand in pure despair.
Zain's face drained of color.
Slowly—very slowly—he turned his head.
His gaze locked onto Anya.
She felt like the ground beneath her feet had vanished.
"I'm dead," her mind screamed. "I'm absolutely dead."
He leaned forward slightly, his voice so low that only she could hear it.
"Miss Lu…"
"Is this your new creative business model?"
Her knees nearly gave out.
"I—I—sir—this—"
The room buzzed with whispers, eyes flicking between the screen and the trembling girl standing before the most powerful man in the room.
Zain closed the file.
The sound echoed like a gunshot.
"Meeting adjourned for ten minutes," he said calmly.
The investors froze, then quickly stood and exited, curiosity burning in their eyes.
The doors shut.
Only Zain and Anya remained.
He stood.
Walked toward her.
Each step felt like a countdown.
"Bring the correct file," he said coldly.
"And Miss Lu…"
He leaned closer.
"…pray that the real project is as impressive as your artwork."
Anya swallowed hard, tears stinging her eyes.
She had never been more terrified.
Or more aware—
That the most dangerous man she had ever met had saved her once…
And now held her entire future in his hands.