I was slacking off in the office pantry when I stumbled upon a cry-for-help post. The OP claimed I was trying to seduce him every single day. [How far will a female subordinate go to climb the corporate ladder? When presenting proposals, her eyes practically spin sugar threads.] Looking at the blurry photo attached, showing the corner of a desk, I almost spit out my hot coffee. The scratch on that desk, and that chipped mug—no matter how you looked at it, it was my workstation. This blogger went by the handle "Structural Mechanics Fanatic." In his post, he complained that when his female subordinate presented proposals, she used the blueprints to hide half her face while smiling, calling it pure workplace seduction. I thought to myself, this guy is really overthinking it. I only hid behind the blueprints because I wasn't confident in my proposal and was afraid of breathing in the boss's face. Who the hell was trying to seduce him? To test this guy, I deliberately changed my outfit the next day. I wore a black pencil skirt with an edge cut so straight it looked like it was done with a scalpel. I also tied my long hair into a high ponytail, completely exposing the back of my neck. I knew the designers in our company all had OCD when it came to "precision lines." Sure enough, before my coffee even finished brewing, the post updated. 1 [This woman is playing a high-level game. She knows I have a thing for precision lines, so she deliberately dressed like this today and exposed her neck. Is she trying to challenge my self-control?] The blogger even attached a photo, taken from a high angle, capturing my shadow as I bent over by the printer. I stared at my phone, stunned. That shadow was definitely mine. The angle of the skirt in the light was indeed sharp, but I genuinely wasn't trying to challenge anyone's self-control. I clicked into his profile, intending to dig up who this guy actually was. His profile used to be entirely about architectural mechanics and material textures—all specialized jargon I couldn't understand. But from a certain day onward, the tone completely changed to complaints about a "female subordinate." [There's a girl in the company, her eyes sparkle, and she greets me with a smile, while other colleagues hide when they see me. What's going on?] A netizen replied: [She likes you, obviously.] He replied: [Our company forbids office romances.] He added: [In an architect's eyes, there are only precise proportions. This kind of seduction is useless against me.] Yet, yesterday's post had over five thousand likes. [The female subordinate keeps seducing me, affecting my drafting. What should I do?] He wrote a long paragraph underneath, claiming that the frequency with which my fingertips brushed over the matte blueprints during presentations perfectly replicated his habitual points of force application, and that I was inflicting "aesthetic poisoning" on him. Reading this, my suspicion immediately zeroed in on Arthur. His photos frequently featured a custom-made German fountain pen and a specific angle of a building spire outside the window. I had only ever seen that pen on the desk of Arthur, the founder. And that specific angle outside the window could only be captured from the two adjacent top-floor offices belonging to Arthur and Mr. Sinclair, the big boss. They even shared the same assistant team. Could it be that Arthur, the handsome boss who was usually as cold as ice and always kept a straight face, was secretly such a narcissistic drama king behind our backs? To thoroughly verify this, I planned to introduce another "experimental variable." The next day, I didn't wear that sharp black skirt, switching back to the most ordinary white button-down and blue skirt. This basic outfit couldn't possibly be misconstrued as seduction, right? That day, Arthur happened to call a brief meeting. Not long after the meeting ended, the OP blew up again. [This woman's methods are incredible! Dressing with such visual deception!] I replied to him using my burner account: [How is this basic NPC outfit deceptive? Post a picture.] To slap the netizens' faces, the OP immediately dropped a photo of my back. It was me, white shirt tucked into the skirt, the lines so flat there wasn't a single wrinkle. The OP typed frantically below: [You guys don't understand this aesthetic of alignment! Today, to see me, she even calibrated the seams of her shirt to the millimeter! And the curve of her updo perfectly matches the dome curve from my award-winning project last year. It's explosively sexy!] This time, it was basically confirmed. That comment about the curve of the back of the neck was indeed the copy from Arthur's award-winning project last year. Thinking about Arthur's usual aloof and ascetic demeanor in the office, and then looking at these overly-imaginative essays on my phone, gave me goosebumps. I sat at my workstation, looking at Arthur's all-glass office not far away. He was wearing gold-rimmed glasses, staring intently at his computer, looking incredibly rigorous. I thought to myself, Boss Arthur, since you think I'm baiting you, if I don't actually do something real, I'd be doing a disservice to all these posts you've made. I took a deep breath, grabbed an inconsequential draft, and prepared to go to his office for a final confirmation. If he really was the OP, the moment I walked in, the post would definitely update instantly. Netizens were still causing a ruckus in the comment section. [OP, you're being a bit too full of yourself.] [Get back to work, stop staring at your female subordinate all day.] The OP seemed anxious, posting several replies in a row. [Forget it, I can't explain it to you guys. You don't understand the attraction of mechanics.] [I reiterate, I have no interest in her. My sole focus is architecture.] Netizens mocked him even harder: [Lmao, OP could be cremated and only his mouth would be left unburned because it's so hard.] I looked at the screen. Even though the evidence lined up, it was still hard to connect the aloof ice block in front of me with the over-imaginative weirdo online. Arthur was a partner in our company. Single, undeniably handsome, but with a personality as cold as ice. He rarely even cracked a smile in the office—the standard, emotionless capitalist. Rumor had it he only loved architecture and money, keeping women at arm's length. This guy's contrast with the "over-imaginative" blogger in my mind was simply too jarring. To find definitive evidence, I decided to take the initiative. Hiding in the company's transparent pantry, I sent a private message to "Structural Mechanics Fanatic." [Boss, are you at that top-tier architecture firm?] He replied at lightning speed: [How do you know?] My palms got a little sweaty, and I continued typing: [Can the center of mass distribution on your limited-edition German fountain pen really create mechanical resonance?] This time, he went silent. I looked inside through the bright floor-to-ceiling windows. Arthur was sitting in that all-glass office, and surprisingly, the big boss, Julian Sinclair, was there too. The two were discussing something in low voices. The setting sun poured through the blinds, gilding their sharp silhouettes. Arthur, wearing his gold-rimmed glasses, was focused on his computer screen. That rigorous, ascetic look was indeed quite intimidating. My gaze shifted to the desk. Next to the neat stack of documents, the custom German fountain pen rested steadily on its holder. But what made my heart skip a beat was that between Julian's long, elegant fingers, he was also twirling an identical pen. My heart pounded. Could there really be more than one of these in the entire company? For the final experiment, I grabbed an inconsequential draft, steeled my resolve, and knocked on the office door. The room was covered in thick gray carpet; stepping on it made no sound. A faint, cold cedar scent floated in the air, creating a strong sense of pressure. When I entered, Arthur looked up at me, while Julian beside him coldly turned sideways, his eyes as deep and temperatureless as a dark pool. "What is it?" Arthur's voice was deep and weighty. Forcing a smile, I walked over, spread the draft out in front of Arthur, and deliberately leaned in a little closer to them. "Mr. Vance, I'm a bit unsure about the load-bearing structure on this draft." My fingertips lightly brushed the edge of the matte blueprint, making a faint scratching sound. Immediately after, I deliberately lowered my head. A lock of long hair slid down my shoulder, but due to a miscalculated angle, it accidentally swept across the back of Julian's hand, which was resting on the desk. I felt Julian stiffen completely, his hand visibly tensing. But he maintained his expression flawlessly, his eyes still icy cold, unmoving. "Leave it here. I'll look at it later." Arthur's tone was stiff, clearly rushing me out. I quickly gathered the blueprints, turned, and left the office. As soon as I was out the door, my legs felt a bit weak. Arthur looked so aloof, and Mr. Sinclair was even more intimidating. Neither of them looked like the type to post narcissistic rants online. But the moment I sat back down in the pantry and refreshed my phone... the post had updated three seconds ago. [She's back! Tapping her fingertips all over the blueprints, her hair even flirting with the back of my hand. Bringing inconsequential drafts just to report to me... this woman has too many tricks. I'm having a hard time holding back from exposing her.] I stared at the phone screen, my brain crashing for three seconds. This description, this timing... wasn't this exactly what just happened? But just now... the hair brushed against Mr. Sinclair's hand! I was losing it. Could it be that the big boss Julian Sinclair, who was so sharp-tongued in meetings he could make people doubt their existence, was actually such an over-imaginative weirdo in private? During the day, he pretends to be an ascetic god in the office, but behind our backs, he frantically records how I'm "strategizing" to win him over? This world is truly insane. I used to think the over-imaginative weirdo online had to be Arthur. After all, that custom pen had indeed appeared on his desk. Just to be completely safe, I decided to give Arthur one final test to thoroughly eliminate him as a suspect. Early the next morning, I bought him a sandwich and brewed a cup of black coffee on my way in. "Morning, Mr. Vance. You look busy lately, brought you some food for a quick energy boost." I tried to smile appropriately, like a diligent subordinate. Arthur looked up, pushed up his gold-rimmed glasses, and took it with a look of mild surprise: "Thanks, Chloe. Just leave it there." His tone remained cold as he turned his attention back to the construction detail drawings on his computer, frowning, too busy to even look up. His phone lay at the corner of the desk, the screen never lighting up. I observed him from the doorway of his office for the entire morning. He was either in video conferences with top-level clients or rapidly typing on his keyboard reviewing bidding contracts. Both of his hands were in my line of sight the entire time; he had absolutely no opportunity to touch his phone and post. I took the chance to check the post. "Structural Mechanics Fanatic" had updated again. Sure enough, Arthur was ruled out. I finally confirmed that although Arthur was also a founder, the big boss next door—Julian, who appeared less often and was more unfathomable—was the real mastermind. The two shared an assistant team, and many office supplies were even custom-made in pairs, which caused my previous misjudgment. So, the over-imaginative weirdo who spent every day online fantasizing that I was secretly in love with him and trying to seduce him was actually the most aloof, quiet, top-level core of the company—Julian. The moment this thought crystallized, a chill ran down my spine. Mr. Sinclair was the true paranoiac obsessed with structural aesthetics. The core logic of Arthur's usual proposals actually mostly came from Julian's hand. But then, an uncontrollable excitement bubbled up within me. Who would have thought that Mr. Sinclair, usually as cold as a block of ice, could have such an active imagination in private? Since he thought I was scheming to bait him, wouldn't it be a disservice to all the posts he'd made if I didn't actually do something real? I made up my mind. I was going to be the hunter for once and force him out of hiding. I began implementing my "Reverse Baiting" plan. Step one: Cater to the symptom. Since he liked precision lines and minimalist aesthetics, I changed up my outfits every day to match. I used to dress more casually, but now I had to iron my clothes until there wasn't a single wrinkle before leaving the house. Especially that black pencil skirt; the tailoring was very stiff, and the curve of the neckline perfectly hit his architectural aesthetic sweet spot. Sure enough, the post updated more frequently. [She wore that outfit again. The line of the neckline is exactly the same as the dome I designed.] [This woman is definitely doing it on purpose. She knows this texture distracts me the most, so she deliberately struts around in front of me.] [Today, she even adjusted the curl of her hair to match my aesthetic. This is a precision strike.] The netizens below were dying of laughter. [Boss, you're in too deep. She might just be a neat freak.] [This guy is hopeless. Dating purely through imagination? She hasn't even spoken and you've already surrendered?] [Daily check-in: Has the boss been conquered by the female subordinate today?] I held back my laughter at my desk so hard my stomach hurt, my hands shaking as I typed. Step two: Create coincidences. I figured out Julian had an unshakeable habit. Every day at 3 PM sharp, he would go to the convenience store downstairs and buy a bottle of iced black coffee from the very back row of the fridge. So, timing it perfectly, I followed him down two minutes after he left. The fluorescent lights in the convenience store were a bit glaring. I strode over to the chilly glass doors of the fridge. Just in time, Julian also arrived there. His incredibly handsome hand was just about to touch the last bottle of iced Americano. I moved faster, snatching the bottle away right before his fingers touched it. I turned my head, raised an eyebrow at him, and deliberately let a few strands of hair brush against the back of his hand. "Mr. Sinclair, I'm so sorry, but this last bottle is mine." I gave him a sweet smile. Julian froze completely, his hand suspended in mid-air, unsure whether to retract it or grab something else. He stared at me for a few seconds, his Adam's apple bobbed, and he forced out two words: "You drink." With that, he turned and left, walking so fast he almost bumped into a shelf. Carrying the iced coffee, I went back to my desk and started frantically refreshing the webpage. Less than five minutes later, the post exploded. [Help! She just fought me for coffee at the convenience store! It was the last bottle!] [She not only stole my coffee but also copied me by drinking the most bitter black coffee. Is this a display of dominance, or does she want me to remember her taste?] [And the look she gave me just now... the hook in that smile was pulled to the max! I'm about to lose it!] The comments below flooded in: [Boss, it's a shame you aren't writing novels with that imagination.] [She clearly just wanted coffee, and you're insisting she wants to spend her life with you? You really dare to dream.] I looked at my phone, laughing so hard in my seat that my hands shook. Netizen: [Oh boy, the boss got his coffee stolen and his soul hooked. So weak!] The next day, I lined up in front of him and ordered the exact same iced Americano he always got. Julian stood right behind me, staring at the dark liquid with complex eyes. I turned around and gave him a sweet smile: "Mr. Sinclair, what a coincidence. You also like it without milk?" He didn't speak, just nodded with a cold face, but I saw the tips of his ears, hidden in his hair, quietly turn red. The post updated again. [She's copying me by drinking iced Americanos! She wants to have the same sensory perception of taste as me! She wants to seep into my life through the same frequency of bitterness! Her love is too aggressive!] Netizens: [Help, I'm dying of secondhand embarrassment from the boss's imagination. What kind of new workplace literature is this?] [Say no more, lock it down! I'm bringing the civil affairs bureau over right now!] My plan was proceeding very smoothly. Julian's posts literally became my daily source of joy. But when you play with fire too much, you're bound to get burned eventually.
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