Chapter Text
The sixty-fifth floor of the HS Group headquarters was a realm of chilled, sterile air and the silent, humming power of immense wealth. Gao Tu moved with a precision that was both innate and meticulously cultivated. He wasn’t just an assistant, he was the structural foundation of Shen Wenlang’s executive function—the unseen strategist who ensured every decision was executed perfectly.
He placed a freshly brewed cup of coffee on the vast, obsidian desk. His movements were the very definition of efficiency—precise, purposeful, and devoid of any wasted motion. He had spent years refining his presence into an instrument of pure professionalism, sanding away any trace of hesitation or excess until only cool, flawless execution remained.
“The contracts for the Beijing merger are finalized and on your tablet, President Shen,” Gao Tu’s voice was even, a calm, professional baritone. “Your lunch with the investors from Shanghai has been moved to one o’clock at La Mer.”
Shen Wenlang didn’t look up. He was all sharp lines and suppressed energy, an alpha whose very presence felt like a threat. His scent—dark iris, expensive cologne, and pure dominance—hung heavy in the air. It was a scent Gao Tu had built his life around. For ten years, since they were teenagers—a fierce, brilliant alpha and the quiet, determined “beta” who followed him like a shadow—this scent had been his sun and his ruin.
Gao Tu had genuinely admired him, since Wenlang had first stormed into his life, and the passage of time had done nothing to dim the intensity of his regard. It was a deep, aching current that ran silently beneath the still waters of his professional facade.
“The quarterly reports from the European division are late.” Alpha stated, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through the floor and up into Gao Tu’s bones.
“I’ve already emailed their director twice. I will call him personally in fifteen minutes, once his office opens.” Gao Tu replied smoothly, his fingers deftly arranging a stack of documents.
It was then that Wenlang’s head snapped up.
“Did you arrange the meeting with Zhi Fen for this evening?”
Gao Tu gave a single, concise nod. “It’s confirmed for seven PM. I was just about to—” he began, ready to detail the prepared talking points.
“Cancel it,” Wenlang interrupted.
There was not a flicker of surprise or hesitation. Gao Tu’s fingers were already moving across his tablet, pulling up the calendar. “Shall I propose an alternative time?”
“No, cancel it completely.” Wenlang’s expression distant as he weighed a thought.
Gao Tu nodded. But for a second—just one unguarded second—his mask slipped. Exhaustion. Something deeper, something aching and tender, flashed in his eyes before he shut it down.
What could possibly occupy his thoughts?
But the question was intimate, a breach of the unemotional protocol that defined their relationship. He would not ask.
The moment shattered. Gao Tu’s eyes refocused, the shutters coming down behind his gaze. He gave a light, professional nod. “Understood, President Shen.”
His fingers, careful to avoid any accidental contact, retrieved the files from the alpha’s hand. The papers were still warm from his touch. Without another word, Gao Tu turned and left, the soft click of the door closing behind him a definitive full stop.
Alone, Shen Wenlang let out a breath. The office felt suddenly emptier. He moved to his laptop, intent on calling a business associate to address a nagging issue, but the image of Gao Tu’s unguarded expression lingered like a afterimage against his eyelids.
Gao Tu moved with a beta’s unassuming grace, a quality he had painstakingly cultivated over a lifetime. His fingers, slender and precise, flew across the keyboard, arranging the intricate puzzle of Wenlang’s day.
An hour later, a hushed gossip cluster formed by the espresso machine, a trio of his colleagues speaking in the low, animated tones that signaled gossip too juicy to be ignored.
Their glances kept darting towards the imposing door of the CEO’s corner office—Shen Wenlang’s sanctum—and then, curiously, towards Gao Tu himself.
Liang Wei caught his eyes and gestured him over. Gao Tu smoothed down his already impeccable tie and rose, his posture perfectly neutral, a beta without a care in the world beyond his next task.
“Gao Tu, you’re always in the know. You must have heard, right?” Liang Wei began, his voice a conspiratorial whisper.
Gao Tu’s heart gave a traitorous thump.
Heard what?
Had someone discovered something?
He forced his expression into one of polite, professional curiosity. “Heard what? I’m afraid I’m out of the loop.”
Chen Yize leaned in, her eyes wide. “It’s huge! The rumor is all over the executive floor.”
“It’s still just a rumor,” Jia Feng interjected, ever the pragmatist, though his tone lacked its usual conviction.
“What rumor?” Gao Tu asked, his curiosity now genuine and piqued by their clearly confused expressions.
Liang Wei lowered his voice another octave. “The word is that Mr. Hua is meeting with a potential new strategic partner. A massive one.”
Gao Tu relaxed slightly. Business. This was his domain. “The company is always pursuing new partnerships. This is news worthy of such… drama?”
“It’s who the partner is,” Chen Yize breathed, barely containing her excitement. “Or rather, what he is. The company is the Sheng Group. One of the biggest in Asia. And one of their CEO… is an Omega.”
The words landed in the quiet space between them with the weight of a stone.
“I see,” Gao Tu said, his voice carefully measured, betraying none of the sudden chill that had settled in his bones. “And what is so shocking about that? The Sheng Group’s portfolio is impeccable. A partnership would be beneficial.”
Liang Wei barked a short, humorless laugh. “Come on, Gao Tu! You, of all people, know our esteemed President’s feelings… regarding Omegas. Can you imagine? Mr. Shen, who despises everything they represent, being forced to sit across a table and negotiate with one? And not just any Omega, but one more powerful and successful than most Alphas he knows?”
Gao Tu couldn’t speak. He saw it: the cold disdain in Wenlang’s eyes, the silent fury. He felt a fierce, protective pang for this stranger. “President Shen is a professional above all else,” Gao Tu stated. “He would never jeopardize a deal beneficial to HS.”
But his soul trembled. He pitied the Omega walking into the lion’s den. And his heart broke for the lion, trapped by its own hate.
“Of course, of course,” Liang Wei agreed, though his smirk said otherwise. “But the tension in the room would be worth the price of admission, don’t you think? The mighty Alpha and the Omega magnate. It’s like something out of a movie.”
“It’s not certain yet,” Jia Feng reminded them again, his gaze shifting towards Wenlang’s door as if the man himself might erupt from it. “No one is sure of anything. You never know what goes on in Mr. Hua's meetings—they're so secretive. But I have to admit, it's intriguing.”
The word hung in the air. Intriguing. For them, it was a spectacle. For Gao Tu, it was a portent.
The little group seemed to realize their break was over. The unspoken thoughts—the thrill of potential conflict, the silent bets on how Wenlang would react—evaporated back into the sterile, air-conditioned atmosphere.
The rest of the day unfolded with the precise, clockwork rhythm Gao Tu imposed upon it.
The unsettling rumor about the Omega CEO was filed away in a mental drawer marked ‘Potential Crises,’ to be examined later when his mind was less crowded. For now, there was only work. Each completed task, each finalized report, each meticulously organized meeting was not just a professional duty, it was a brick in the fortress protecting his sister.
The numbers on Gao Qing’s latest medical invoice seemed to burn a hole in his memory. The HS company salary was generous, a testament to Shen Wenlang’s ruthless efficiency—he paid well for excellence, and Gao Tu was nothing if not excellent.
Yet, it was a tide that only just kept them from drowning. The relentless costs of experimental treatments, specialized medications, and around-the-clock care devoured the lion’s share, forcing Gao Tu to live a life of stark frugality, his own existence pared down to the essentials in a cheap, distant apartment so that Gao Qing could have every fighting chance.
And so, he worked. He buried himself in data analysis long after the objectives for his position had been met and exceeded. He drafted proposals that weren't due for weeks. He cross-referenced financial documents until the numbers blurred before his eyes.
The sun dipped below the skyline, painting the glass in hues of orange and violet before surrendering to the deep indigo of night. One by one, the office lights winked out, and the low hum of computers and conversation faded into a profound silence. Gao Tu remained, a solitary figure under the cool glow of his desk lamp. The world outside his pool of light was dark and still.
Fatigue won. His head dipped, his breath evened out. He fell into a deep, desperate sleep at his desk, his face peaceful for the first time all day.
He didn’t hear the door open.
Wenlang stood there, coat in hand, ready to leave. His gaze found Gao Tu’s desk. And stayed.
A frown etched itself between Wenlang’s brows.
Why was he still here?
The man’s dedication was unquestionable, but this was excessive. There was nothing in Gao Tu’s portfolio that demanded such a sacrifice of rest. A flicker of irrational irritation sparked within him—irritation at Gao Tu for overworking, or perhaps at himself for creating an environment where his secretary felt such pressure was necessary.
He moved on silent feet, not yet intending to approach, but drawn nonetheless. He stopped a dozen paces away, partially shrouded in shadow, and simply watched.
The flawless assistant was gone. In his place was a young man, pale and exhausted, lashes dark against his skin.
Wenlang’s breath caught. He’d never seen him like this. Unarmed. The constant professional polish was gone, and what was left was… captivating. He works too hard, Wenlang thought, a strange ache in his chest. I should tell him to go home. I should…
He was so absorbed he didn’t hear the elevator ping. He didn’t see the beta from design amble over.
“Hey, Gao Tu. You’ll ruin your back like that. Time to go home.” The man shook Gao Tu’s shoulder.
Gao Tu startled awake, blinking rapidly as the world rushed back in. He looked around, disoriented, taking in the dark office, the few remaining stragglers gathering their things. “Ah… yes. Thank you. I must have dozed off.”
Wenlang jerked back into the shadows, a strange sense of guilt seizing him. He watched as Gao Tu gathered his things, shivered into his coat, and disappeared into the night.
Wenlang stood alone in the dark office, watching the spot where Gao Tu had vanished. A restless, possessive need coiled in his gut. He needed to do something. To do something for him.
What are you hiding?
The thought was quiet, but it was there.
Because for the first time, Shen Wenlang was determined to find out.