Contracts and Consequences

The thirty-eighth floor was quieter than she remembered.

Lin Yanyan stepped out of the elevator clutching her notebook and a borrowed blazer two sizes too big. Her heart thudded in her chest like it wanted to escape. Her eyes flicked across the sleek surfaces, the steel-edged decor, the soft glow of indirect lighting. Every part of this place screamed perfection, power, and control.

And she was the anomaly.

Secretary Zhang met her just outside the main office. He gave her a curt nod. “You’re early.”

“Yes, sir.”

“You’ll be assisting with preliminary contract reviews. And from time to time, CEO Yu may require certain briefs prepared. You are not to speak to him unless spoken to. Understood?”

“Yes.”

“Good. This way.”

He didn’t wait to see if she followed. She trailed behind, notebook pressed to her chest like a shield. They passed two assistants in hushed conversation. One of them glanced at her curiously, then leaned in to whisper to the other. Yanyan lowered her head.

The temporary office was tucked behind the conference room, all glass and silence. Secretary Zhang handed her a thin file.

“Memorize this NDA. Then start reviewing these partnership agreements. Make notes if you spot inconsistencies. CEO Yu will look over them later.”

Yanyan sat down, the door clicking shut behind him.

The next hour passed in total quiet. Her nerves slowly ebbed as she focused on the work. Legal language was her comfort zone. She made precise notes, highlighted outdated clauses, and restructured a contract appendix that looked hastily drafted.

She didn’t hear the footsteps.

Didn’t know he was standing behind her until his voice slipped into the air, low and unreadable.

“You corrected paragraph 7C.”

Yanyan’s pen froze. Her breath caught in her throat. Slowly, she turned.

Yu Aotian stood behind the glass door, arms folded, his gaze fixed on the document in her hand. He wasn’t smiling. He rarely did.

“I… the clause was misaligned with the non-compete terms in Article 12,” she managed.

A long pause.

He stepped into the room.

“You’re from Huashi Law?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Top 1%?”

“I ranked third in my year.”

His eyes narrowed slightly, as though he were cross-examining her in court. “And yet you’re doing a summer internship?”

“I wanted practical experience. And Mo—your company—has one of the most respected corporate law teams.”

His mouth curved—barely. Not a smile. Something else. Something that made the air between them change temperature.

He reached across her shoulder, pulled the file from her desk, and flipped it open.

Her breath caught at the scent of his cologne—crisp, expensive, dangerously subtle.

He leaned slightly closer as his eyes skimmed her notes. “You’re precise,” he said at last. “But too cautious. You flagged section 14 but didn’t rewrite it.”

“I didn’t want to presume—”

“If you’re afraid of being wrong, you’ll never be more than someone else’s tool.”

Her spine stiffened.

He looked up from the file, his eyes meeting hers, unblinking. “Are you someone’s tool, Miss Lin?”

“No.”

“Prove it.”

Their eyes held for a second too long. Then he turned, file in hand, and walked out of the room.

Yanyan exhaled only when the door closed.

---

Downstairs, Jia Rui caught her during a coffee break.

“You look like you just got summoned by Hades himself,” he said.

“Don’t joke.”

“You met him again?”

She hesitated, then nodded. “He spoke to me. About my work.”

Rui raised an eyebrow. “That’s not just rare—it’s legendary. He usually communicates in post-its and terse emails.”

Yanyan didn’t respond. Her thoughts were still tangled in that office, in his voice, in the way he seemed to see straight through her.

She wasn’t here to be seen. She was here for experience.

And maybe, just maybe… for something else.

---

That evening, after most of the office had emptied, Yanyan lingered. She was reviewing the clause again—rewriting it this time, carefully yet confidently—when the door opened without a knock.

Yu Aotian walked in.

“You stayed.”

“I wanted to finish the corrections.”

He walked to the window, hands in his pockets, staring out at the fading city skyline.

“You don’t ask questions,” he said.

“I didn’t think I should.”

He turned toward her. “Most people want to know why they’re summoned to this floor. Why they’re suddenly seen.”

Yanyan met his gaze. “Do you want me to ask?”

Another pause. He stepped closer. The space between them shortened with every breath.

“No,” he said. “I want you to listen.”

“To what?”

“To the silence. That’s where the power hides.”