Chapter 5 — Kissing the CEO by Mistake, Winning the Ideal Husband

I opened the folder—my heart went cold. This project was a notorious "cactus" in the entire industry. The previous team had spent half a year failing to make any headway, and she expected me to finish it in... three days?

Director Bai, this is...

What? Can't handle it? She arched a brow. If that's the case, the Shen corporation has no need to harbor useless people.

My hands clenched into fists. She was clearly trying to force me to resign. Very well. I took a deep breath and picked up the dossier.

Fine. I accept.

I spun around, slammed the door behind me, and walked straight out. The moment I returned to my desk, Qing sent me a message:

How did it go? Did that hag give you a hard time?

I briefly recounted everything. On the other end, she practically exploded: Leave it to me! I'll have my husband go talk to Mo Shen!

Don't. I immediately stopped her. This is my battle; I can handle it myself.

I did not want him to think I was incapable of managing such a small problem. Want to play hardball? Bring it on! I—Wan Lam—might be a salted fish just drifting along, but I am not spineless! It was just a proposal. I refused to believe I couldn't crack it! I rolled up my sleeves, opened my laptop, and the battle commenced. For the next two days, I practically lived at the office. Cup noodles and coffee became my elixirs of life. I scoured documents, analyzed the project, pored over case studies... yet still found no way in. The topic was like a dead knot, impossible to untie from any angle. My colleagues looked at me with pitiful eyes. Everyone knew that Snow Bai was deliberately tormenting me. Some even secretly placed bets on when I would throw in the towel. I gritted my teeth and endured, my physical and mental endurance hitting rock bottom. On the third night, I was the only person left in the entire office. Outside, the city lights twinkled like distant stars, while I remained trapped within four white walls, staring at a blank screen, my heart filled with despair. I rested my head on the desk, tears spilling uncontrollably. Was I really going to have to give up? Right at that moment—ding—an email arrived. Sender: Anonymous. I opened it with trembling suspicion. There was only a single attachment: a market research report. I downloaded it, opened it—and froze. Inside, using extremely concise charts and data, the document laid bare every single flaw plaguing the western cultural-tourism project, accompanied by an entirely fresh perspective. It acted like a master key, blowing open all the stagnant ideas trapped in my mind. Who was it? Who was helping me? I glanced around the empty office. I didn't let myself dwell on it any longer; quickly wiping away my tears, I threw myself back into work. My fingers flew across the keyboard, inspiration pouring out like a torrential waterfall. By the time dawn broke, a brand-new, flawlessly complete proposal rested neatly on my desktop. I stared at it as if looking at my own newborn child.

On the day of the presentation, the conference room was packed to capacity. Snow Bai sat at the head of the table, her eyes gleaming with the anticipation of watching me make a fool of myself. I stepped up to the podium, opened the slide deck, and began to speak. Every gaze in the room shifted gradually from skepticism to astonishment, and finally to profound admiration. When I uttered my final sentence, the room erupted into thunderous applause. Everyone rose to their feet, cheering for me. I knew—I had won. I looked at Snow Bai—her face had turned deathly pale, then mottled blue and green, like a ruined palette of mixed paints. She never imagined I could actually pull off a brilliant proposal in a mere three days. The meeting concluded, but I was asked to stay behind to discuss specific details with the senior executives. It was late into the night when I finally left the building. Mo Shen's car was parked quietly by the curb, waiting for me. I opened the door and climbed inside, too exhausted to utter a single word.

Extremely tired? he asked.

I nodded, leaning back against the seat and closing my eyes. He said nothing more, simply starting the ignition in silence. The interior of the car was peaceful, and I nearly drifted off to sleep. In a hazy fog, the car came to a halt—we had arrived at my apartment.

We're here, he said.

As I prepared to step out, my gaze caught a stack of files resting on the passenger seat. My breath hitched. The outer cover... it was identical to the report I had received that night. My heart skipped a beat. It turned out... it was him. He was the one who had helped me. I turned to look at his profile illuminated by the dim streetlights—his sharp, stern jawline and serious expression. Emotions surged violently within my chest. There was gratitude, elation at our hard-fought victory, and a trace of self-reproach for showing weakness and needing his assistance.

What are you staring at? he asked, sensing my gaze.

Mo Shen. For the very first time, I called him by his full name.

Hmm?

Thank you... for that proposal.

His hand paused on the steering wheel. Without turning his head, he replied indifferently, Our contract includes provisions for career assistance. It was always about the contract. Always about a transaction. Could this man never utter anything a bit warmer? Choking back my frustration, I shoved the door open and stepped out in a huff.

Wan Lam! he called out after me.

I turned back impatiently, What is it now?

Congratulations, he said, his deep eyes as clear as the stars in a midnight sky. You fought a magnificent battle.

Deep within his gaze flickered something I could not quite comprehend, shining like distant starlight.

The success of the proposal subtly shifted my standing within the company. My colleagues no longer looked at me with pity; instead, their gazes carried a hint of newfound respect. Although Snow Bai still harbored resentment, she no longer dared to make things difficult for me openly. My corporate life finally seemed to be falling into place. However, the battlefield of romance—the true tug-of-war—was only just beginning.

That evening, Mo Shen announced he was taking me to a gathering with some acquaintances. I had no desire to go, but bound by our contract, I had no right to refuse. I changed into the black dress he had sent over, applied my makeup meticulously, and arrived at the designated venue right on time. The party was being held at a private club on the top floor—brilliant lights, lavish attire, and the lingering scent of high-end perfume filling the air. Every attendee was a heavyweight in elite circles. Walking beside Mo Shen, I felt like Cinderella accidentally straying into high society.

Don't be nervous; just stay close to me, he murmured, leaning down close to my ear.

His hand rested naturally against my waist. The warmth of his palm radiated through the thin fabric, sending a subtle shudder across my skin. My face instantly grew hot beyond my control. As soon as we stepped into the grand hall, we became the immediate center of attention. Mo Shen was like a beacon of light—wherever he walked, all eyes naturally gravitated toward him.