I am the most tragic rich young master of the new century, because my butt had barely touched my chair when another work task arrived.
“Young Master You, could you please buy us some afternoon tea?”
I just f***ing ran downstairs to grab over a dozen express parcels for a lady in the office.
What kind of successor-in-training receives this kind of treatment in his own company?
I do. And I have my dad, my future wife, and my future wife’s “hardcore fan” to thank for this; the three of them together created my current miserable fate.
The words “Holy sh*t” were at the tip of my tongue, but I bit them into pieces and swallowed them back into my stomach.
I certainly won’t be defeated by such minor hardships and obstacles.
Even though I desperately want to start a rebellion right now, one must endure what ordinary people cannot to achieve great things.
Looking at my future wife’s hardcore fan Classmate Hao Lili clutching an exquisite coffee cup and leaning against the glass door with a wicked smirk just watching me, I sprang up from my seat with a whoosh.
Turning to the neighboring desk where my name had just been called, I asked Brother Wang politely and considerately:
“Brother Wang, how are you planning to arrange the afternoon meal on your end?”
As I spoke, I pulled out my phone.
Meituan delivery would do; surely this couldn’t stump me.
But before I could even unlock my screen, Brother Wang’s regretful voice entered my ears.
“Young Master You…”
I almost roared out: Please, don’t. Ever since I reported to this department, I haven’t been treated with a shred of politeness by my colleagues.
The title “Young Master You” is definitely a form of irony directed at me. If my dad hadn’t personally brought me to the company not long ago, I would certainly think I had accidentally walked into a rival company.
Why are the colleagues around me so unfriendly? Every dirty and exhausting job in the department is handed to me.
Especially after I failed to suppress my inner impulse and accidentally cornered my future wife in the restroom for what was intended to be a “friendly exchange.”
The attitude of the colleagues around me since then has been as disrespectful as it gets. Most importantly, they are quite respectful in their language, but their behavior… tsk, tsk, tsk.
It’s hard to put into words.
It seems my wife is a man of great ambition; with this kind of control over the department’s personnel, it wouldn’t be impossible for him to actually stage a coup and seize power.
Of course, I didn’t just want to be a hooligan; I considered myself quite polite and civil.
I didn’t start getting handsy on the very first day we met.
It was the second day after my dad left. Having finally caught sight of Mo An going to the restroom alone, I quietly followed behind him.
Then, when he entered a toilet stall, I squeezed in with a whoosh.
To my surprise, Mo An, who was clearly startled by my sudden movement, saw it was me, and his face quickly settled into a calm expression.
“Is something the matter?” His tone was extremely flat.
I don’t know how he managed to ask if something was the matter with such a calm face. In order to find him, I had practically turned Shanxi upside down.
I had forced a complete U-turn on my own sexual orientation and accepted it without a second thought.
The result? After someone spent a night of pleasure with me, they ran away before I could even say I wanted to take responsibility.
He didn’t give me a single chance to hesitate.
I pointed a finger at my face. “You don’t recognize me?”
Mo An paused for a moment, then answered in an ordinary tone: “I know you.”
At least he answered “I know.” Otherwise, I really don’t know if I would have squeezed that beautiful, slender neck of his with my hands.
However, things rarely go the way I imagine. Just as I was preparing to give him a piece of my mind about how irresponsible even “abandoning after starting a mess” was to leave without saying goodbye, Mo An spoke again.
“You are the eldest Young Master of the You family, the eldest son of the Chairman of You Corporation?”
Pfft. At that moment, I felt like a background extra in a play who just received his “lunch box” (died); a sharp knife had been plunged straight into my chest.
I nearly spat out a mouthful of old blood.
Restraining the pain of the veins throbbing around my temples, I asked, refusing to give up:
“And what else?”
Mo An crossed his arms and stared at me seriously for a moment before asking:
“Young Master You, what exactly are you trying to say?”
That flat tone and distant gaze made me lose my restraint.
In a fit of impulse, I didn’t want to have a proper chat anymore. Since you don’t remember, I don’t mind making you imagine just how close we once were.
I grabbed one of his wrists and pinned him against the wall. He didn’t struggle, just looked at me, waiting for my next move.
Suppressing the urge to kiss him, I confirmed once more:
“You really forgot me?”
I stared intently into his eyes. This time, I finally saw a flicker of emotion in his gaze that was different from his usual look.
It carried a trace of fragility and embarrassment.
Of course, it was only for a split second.
So that was how Mo An felt about our passionate and romantic night.
I had unilaterally believed that the night wasn’t an ordinary one for either of us.
Even though Mo An was quite enthusiastic due to the drugs, it was obvious he wasn’t particularly experienced. Neither was I.
When two inexperienced people have their first time together, the ending is inevitably a bit “tragic” (messy/intense).
“Is… is that so important?”
By now, while I was on the verge of a breakdown, Mo An changed his attitude again and spoke coldly.
The strength in my hands increased involuntarily as I moved closer to his face to question him.
“That… that was my first time. How could it not be important?”
I felt a bit embarrassed saying this, and I could clearly feel my neck and ears starting to heat up.
This “child-asking-for-candy” behavior made me look not at all mature or steady.
Having been roared at by me, Mo An was visibly stunned.
The two of us stood in a cold confrontation, neither speaking.
Just as I was about to say something more, there was a sound from outside the restroom.
Then came the sound of footsteps accompanied by a discussion.
One man said in a very low voice: “Hey, I wonder what the Chairman means by this move? Does he not trust our Manager Mo?”
Another person responded softly: “Sigh, we should discuss high-level affairs less. Just do our own jobs well.”
“True…”
The two stopped talking, but because someone had come in, Mo An tugged at his hand.
I refused to let go, continuing to pin him there.
Thinking that Mo An didn’t want anyone to know the two of us were in a stall together like this, he spoke in a low voice.
“Let go of me first.”
My “stubborn bull” temper flared up for some reason. Facing Mo An’s indifference, I felt a trace of grievance.
Like a petulant child, I spoke willfully:
“I won’t.”
Mo An didn’t say anything more, and so the two of us stood there, facing each other.
Our limbs were entangled, and our chests were pressed tightly together.
The feeling of our breaths intertwining in this moment, in this narrow space, gave me a peculiar sense of intimacy.
The irritability in my heart was somehow soothed.
Fortunately, he is by my side now. Everything else can be taken slowly. What’s the rush?
I cautioned myself this way.
After the people outside left, Mo An moved again in an attempt to get me to release him.
During the time I was searching for Mo An, I could face the “glitz and glamour” of nightlife with composure.
I don’t know how, but just because Mo An squirmed a little, I actually became quite “excited” (aroused).
But between making a fool of myself and letting go, I unhesitatingly chose to continue.
Afraid of scaring him, I warned him awkwardly: “Don’t move.”
“Then let go of me.” His tone was as flat as could be.
“Will you run?” I asked, not feeling very reassured.
This childish question of mine actually made Mo An laugh. A single smile transformed his distant and cold face, making it look absolutely delightful.
Then I froze on the spot as I heard him say: “Where could I possibly run to?”
My face also began to heat up. Then, as if my hands were holding a “hot potato,” I immediately let go of Mo An.
I stepped back a bit, but as soon as I did, I missed that feeling of leaning against him and immediately took a step closer.
“I like you.”
I confessed just like that, headfirst something I hadn’t expected myself to do.
But saying I liked him felt like a particularly easy thing to say; I wasn’t bashful about it.
After all, not a few people around me knew I was going crazy for him.
This time, it was Mo An’s turn to be stunned. He just leaned against the partition and stared at me.
His eyes didn’t reveal any specific emotion; it was hard to say what it represented it seemed like surprise, or perhaps indifference…
After a long time, Mo An spoke: “Why?”
What do you mean “why”? How should I know why?
I just thought he was exceptionally beautiful at our first meeting, and he caught my eye. Seeing him again later, that feeling remained the same.
He wasn’t originally gay; if it had been any other man that day, he might not have necessarily been able to get an erection.
But in that situation, when it happened, he had done that thing without much hesitation.
Afterward, he even felt a bit fortunate, thankfully it was him.
If I really had to trace the “why”? I’m truly not quite sure.
Probably just like “a turtle looking at a mung bean” we just caught each other’s eye.
And then, every time I see him, I like him a little more.
Just now, I clearly felt my adrenaline spike and my heart accelerate, and the confession just slipped out naturally.
I thought for a long time and didn’t know how to express these feelings in my heart. Moreover, seeing Mo An looking so puzzled, I got anxious and just blurted out:
“Liking is just liking. Why does there have to be so many ‘whys’?”
Mo An has a pair of very beautiful eyes; it was these eyes that snatched my soul at our first meeting.
At this moment, I saw myself in his eyes, standing there like a total idiot, with my neck and face red looking truly stupid.
Then, I didn’t expect Mo An to slowly move closer to me. He touched my face with the back of his right hand. Just as I wanted to place my hand over his, Mo An suddenly spoke.
“Is it because you’ve never played with a man before?”