Part 2: When the Lie Got Teeth

Corporate offices have a particular smell. Coffee, printer toner, ambition. If you’ve ever worked in Manhattan long enough, you know it. It clings to your clothes. Gets in your lungs.

Xiangxiang noticed it the moment she stepped into Shen Group’s headquarters for her interview.

Marble floors. Glass walls. A lobby so polished you could check your lipstick in the reflection.

She adjusted the strap of her bag and told herself to breathe.

This was separate from the marriage. Entirely separate.

Her résumé had been submitted weeks ago. She’d earned this interview. No favors. No shortcuts.

She had no idea her husband owned the building.

Upstairs, in a corner office with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the Hudson, Shen Tuoyan was trying not to look at the security monitor.

He’d recognized her name the second HR forwarded the interview list.

Lu Xiangxiang.

He’d almost choked on his coffee.

Of all the companies in New York. Of all the design firms.

She’d applied to his.

Fate has a twisted sense of humor. Or maybe it’s just nosy.

Daniel stood by the desk. “Sir, should we—”

“No special treatment,” Shen said quickly. Too quickly. “She goes through the normal process.”

“Of course.”

He hesitated.

“Just… don’t let anyone sabotage her.”

Daniel blinked once. “Sabotage?”

“Office politics,” Shen said lightly. “It’s New York.”

The interview started well.

Too well.

Xiangxiang answered questions with quiet precision. Her portfolio—clean, modern, daring without being reckless—impressed even the stiffest panel member.

Until Mandy Meng walked in.

Mandy wore a pencil skirt sharp enough to cut glass and a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

“I’m Head of Creative,” she announced smoothly. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

Something about her tone made Xiangxiang’s spine straighten.

Mandy flipped through the portfolio.

“Hmm. You studied at RISD?”

“For two years,” Xiangxiang replied.

“And then?”

“I left.”

“Didn’t graduate?”

“No.”

Mandy tilted her head. “Interesting.”

The air shifted.

“Why should we hire someone who couldn’t finish what she started?”

The question wasn’t about education. It was about worth.

Xiangxiang kept her voice steady. “Because I learned what I needed. And because my work speaks for itself.”

A beat of silence.

One panelist nodded slightly.

Mandy closed the folder.

“We’ll be in touch.”

Which, in corporate translation, could mean anything from You’re hired to Don’t call us.

She was halfway down the lobby stairs when someone said, “Mrs. Shen?”

She froze.

Mrs.

She turned slowly.

It was Daniel.

Her husband’s assistant.

Her brain did a hard reset.

“I think you have the wrong person.”

Daniel smiled politely. “Mr. Shen asked that you wait upstairs.”

Mr. Shen.

Not Shen Lin.

Shen.

The surname landed like a dropped glass.

She laughed once, sharp and disbelieving. “That’s funny.”

Daniel didn’t laugh.

The elevator ride felt longer than it was.

When the doors opened, she stepped into an office that screamed power.

And there he was.

No hoodie.

No faded jeans.

Tailored navy suit. Silver watch. The kind of posture that doesn’t ask permission to exist.

Shen Tuoyan.

Her husband.

Her facilities manager.

Her… CEO.

For a solid three seconds, neither of them spoke.

Then she said very calmly, “You mop floors in Prada?”

He exhaled slowly. “I can explain.”

“Oh, I’m sure you can.”

The door shut behind her with a soft click that sounded suspiciously like a trap.

“You’re Shen Tuoyan,” she said. Not a question.

“Yes.”

“And you let me think you made eight thousand a month.”

“Yes.”

“And you let me marry you.”

“That part was mutual.”

She stared at him.

He had the decency to look slightly uncomfortable.

“I didn’t know who you were at first,” he said. “Not your family.”

She crossed her arms. “But you knew who you were.”

Fair.

He stepped closer—but cautiously, like approaching a wild animal that might bite.

“I didn’t want to be chosen for my name,” he said quietly. “You didn’t choose me for it.”

That made her hesitate.

Because it was true.

She had chosen him when she thought he was ordinary.

And he had chosen her when he thought she was just another designer with sharp eyes and a sharper tongue.

Still.

“You lied,” she said.

“I omitted.”

“That’s worse.”

He almost smiled. Almost.

“I was going to tell you.”

“When? Our fake anniversary?”

“At the company gala next month.”

She let out a breath that sounded like it hurt. “So you’d publicly reveal I married a billionaire without knowing it? That’s your idea of transparency?”

He winced.

Okay. When she said it like that, it sounded bad.

Because it was.

She didn’t storm out.

Which surprised him.

Instead, she sat down in one of the leather chairs and stared at the skyline.

“Are you going to fire me?” she asked flatly.

“No.”

“Give me special treatment?”

“No.”

“Then I don’t care.”

He blinked.

“You don’t?”

“I didn’t marry you for money,” she said. “And I didn’t apply here because of you. My career is mine. Your lie? That’s separate.”

He watched her carefully.

“You’re not angry?”

“I’m furious,” she said plainly. “But I’m not fragile.”

Something in his chest shifted.

Not guilt.

Respect.

She got the job.

Officially. Fairly.

Mandy wasn’t thrilled.

From day one, the tension was obvious.

Assignments that should’ve been collaborative somehow landed solely on Xiangxiang’s desk. Deadlines tightened mysteriously. Meetings were rescheduled without notice.

Petty. Strategic. Calculated.

Classic.

“Don’t take it personally,” a coworker whispered one afternoon by the espresso machine. “Mandy doesn’t like competition.”

“I’m not competing,” Xiangxiang replied.

The coworker gave her a look.

Honey. You exist. That’s competition.

Then came the VanHua contract.

A massive partnership. International expansion. Media coverage.

“Xiangxiang will present,” Mandy announced sweetly during the team meeting.

Alone.

Heads turned.

“That’s… unusual,” someone muttered.

“It’s a test,” Mandy replied. “Let’s see if she can handle pressure.”

Xiangxiang felt it immediately.

This wasn’t opportunity.

It was a setup.

The private meeting room at the Four Seasons was too quiet.

Zhao Yang—VanHua’s so-called decision maker—smiled in a way that made her skin crawl.

“You’re very young,” he said, leaning back. “Very ambitious.”

“I’m here to discuss design proposals,” she replied evenly.

He poured two glasses of whiskey.

“I prefer informal negotiations.”

She didn’t touch the drink.

His smile thinned.

“Don’t be difficult.”

“I’m not here for drinks.”

He stood.

Too close.

Her pulse quickened, but her voice stayed steady. “Please step back.”

He didn’t.

His hand closed around her wrist.

“Relax,” he murmured. “We can help each other.”

The air shifted from uncomfortable to dangerous.

She pulled her arm free. “I’m leaving.”

“You walk out,” he said coldly, “and the deal dies.”

She reached for the door anyway.

It swung open before she touched it.

Shen stood there.

No expression. Which was worse than anger.

Behind him, hotel security.

Zhao paled.

“Meeting’s over,” Shen said quietly.

No shouting. No dramatic speech.

Just controlled fury wrapped in a tailored suit.

Within twenty-four hours, Zhao Yang was under investigation for financial misconduct and harassment complaints that had apparently been gathering dust for years.

Dust Shen had just blown off.

That night, back in Brooklyn, Xiangxiang sat at the small kitchen table.

“You followed me,” she said.

“Yes.”

“You don’t trust me.”

“I don’t trust him.”

Silence.

The city hummed outside.

“You didn’t have to step in,” she said.

“Yes, I did.”

“Because I’m your employee?”

“Because you’re my wife.”

The word hung there.

Wife.

Not contract partner. Not arrangement.

Wife.

She looked at him for a long time.

“You can’t fix every problem with power,” she said quietly.

He leaned back. “I know.”

“Do you?”

A pause.

“…I’m learning.”

Days later, the real bomb dropped.

Company-wide design competition. Anonymous submissions. Winner leads the new flagship project.

Xiangxiang poured herself into it.

Late nights. Coffee stains. Music playing softly from her phone at 2 a.m.

She didn’t tell him what she was working on.

Didn’t want his influence.

Didn’t want doubt.

When presentation day arrived, her stomach twisted.

Mandy presented first.

And as the slides clicked forward, Xiangxiang’s blood ran cold.

It was her design.

Every line. Every detail.

Her breath left her body in a quiet rush.

When Mandy finished, applause filled the room.

“Elegant, innovative,” an executive murmured.

Xiangxiang stood.

“That’s mine.”

The room froze.

Mandy smiled thinly. “Excuse me?”

“That design is mine.”

“Do you have proof?” Mandy asked smoothly.

The trap snapped shut.

Xiangxiang’s laptop had mysteriously crashed two days earlier.

Files corrupted.

Backups gone.

She felt the floor tilt beneath her.

Then—

The conference doors opened.

Shen walked in.

Late.

On purpose.

“I do,” he said calmly.

All eyes turned.

He connected his tablet to the screen.

Up popped the original drafts—timestamped, stored on a secure server.

Her drafts.

“I reviewed this with her last week,” he continued. “In my apartment.”

Murmurs rippled.

Mandy’s composure cracked. “You’re biased!”

He clicked one final slide.

Hidden in the corner of the design: two tiny initials embedded in the structure itself.

L.L.

Lu. Lin.

Their names.

Proof no one else could’ve fabricated.

Security escorted Mandy out before she could argue further.

The room buzzed like a shaken soda can.

Shen didn’t look at anyone else.

Just her.

“You deserved better,” he said quietly.

For a second—just a second—she let herself feel it.

Not gratitude.

Not relief.

Something warmer.

Something more dangerous.

Because this wasn’t just a fake marriage anymore.

It was becoming a choice.

And choices?

Those hurt a lot more than contracts.