The next morning, the Han Corporation headquarters pulsed with its usual rhythm—shuffling heels on polished floors, distant phone calls, the low hum of strategic warfare dressed in business casual. But today, something felt different. People whispered more. Doors opened slower. And every now and then, heads tilted just slightly in curiosity or suspicion.
Because today, Miss Jia Li had arrived.
She didn’t storm in or make a show. No grand entrance. No designer bag slung over her shoulder or heels clacking aggressively across the tiles. Just a tailored slate-gray suit, low kitten heels, and that ever-present, unreadable expression on her face. Calm. Polite. Impossibly poised.
Her hair was in a simple twist, a silver pen tucked through it like an afterthought. Pearl—the kitten—peeked out from the flap of her handbag every now and then like a mischievous stowaway, drawing the occasional amused glance.
Daniel watched it all unfold from the executive glass corridor above the main lobby, sipping his coffee with mild disdain. “She really brought the cat,” he muttered.
“Technically, emotional support animals are allowed in this building,” said his assistant scrolling through his tablet. “Especially if the board signed off on it.”
Daniel side-eyed him. “She is the board now.”
“Equal rank to you, Director.”
Daniel took a long, deliberate sip of his coffee. “You enjoying this?”
He gave him a thin, diplomatic smile. “I enjoy job security.”
Jia spent her morning doing something entirely unexpected—she listened.
She didn’t assert authority, didn’t interrupt anyone in the weekly briefing she attended with the department heads. She simply sat beside Daniel at the long boardroom table, nodding occasionally, taking notes. Occasionally, she tilted her head and asked questions—not aggressive ones, but unnervingly sharp ones. Questions that made junior managers shift in their seats. Questions that made Daniel narrow his eyes.
At one point, someone attempted to “explain things simply for her,” and Jia simply smiled and replied, “I appreciate the concern, but I already read the fiscal audits last night.” Then she recited a discrepancy in the numbers that had gone unnoticed for three months.
Silence followed.
Daniel didn’t even blink. “Looks like the newbie does her homework.”
Jia tilted her head toward him, voice soft. “I take competition seriously, puffy.”
He grit his teeth. “Stop calling me that.”
She only smiled wider.
By lunch, the office had entered a cold war of politeness. Jia walked the floors, meeting team leads, greeting interns, asking about ongoing projects as if she’d been there for years. Daniel trailed at a distance with Daniel’s assistant and another manager, watching her every move.
“She’s up to something,” he muttered.
Daniel folded his arms. “I don’t know. But she’s not here just to play consultant. Look at her. She’s memorizing layouts. Schedules. Staff names. She’s planning something.”
“She’s… working?”
Daniel glared at him. “No one works that hard unless they’re preparing a strike.”
Back at the Han mansion that evening, Jia sat on the veranda with her laptop and Pearl nestled against her elbow. The screen displayed a rotating digital mockup—a presentation. Behind it, spreadsheets. Reports. Staff profiles. She clicked and organized them one by one, eyes calm, expression unreadable.
She was building something.
Lucas ran by in a flurry of giggles, waving a bubble wand. “You look like a spy,” he said cheerfully.
Jia grinned. “That’s because I am.”
“Really?”
“Super top secret.”
He gasped, eyes wide. “Does Daniel know?”
Jia winked. “Not yet.”
From behind the curtains of the study window upstairs, Daniel stared at her from his desk, brows furrowed. Something about the way she sat there—calm, plotting—sent a weird chill down his spine.
Pearl looked up at him through the window and blinked.
He stepped back.
Later that night, Daniel headed to the kitchen for a glass of water. He almost tripped over something soft curled by the base of the stairs. Pearl.
The kitten yawned and stretched, then padded over to him.
“No,” he said quickly. “Don’t—don’t look at me like that.”
Pearl meowed.
Pearl butted her head against his shin.
Daniel stiffened like he’d been tasered. “Oh my God.”
He gingerly bent down, picked her up awkwardly with two fingers like she was made of uranium, and held her out at arm’s length.
She blinked up at him, utterly unimpressed.
Footsteps came from behind.
“You’re holding her like a cursed scroll,” Jia said, entering the hallway.
“She is cursed.”
“Aw. And here I thought you were bonding.”
Daniel gently handed Pearl over like she was a ticking bomb. “She tried to bite my sock.”
“She likes you puffy.”
Daniel looked personally offended. “Why?”
Jia smiled. “Maybe she sees the fluff under all your spikes.”
He stared.
She turned to go.
Upstairs, Jia locked the door to her room, pulled out a small leather folder, and opened it. Inside were some old documents. Her real mission.
She studied a familiar set of handwriting on an old letter. Her expression sharpened.
Phase One: Observation.
Complete.
Now it was time to begin.