The next morning, Gu Heng arrived at the forty-second floor at exactly eight ten.

Yesterday, he had still been General Manager Gu.

Today, the board had formally appointed him CEO of Gu Real Estate Group.

The entire executive floor stood when the elevator doors opened.

Department heads.

Vice presidents.

Senior managers.

Everyone had prepared congratulations.

Gu Heng barely looked at them.

He walked straight toward his office and placed a folder on the desk.

“Have Lin Zhao bring me the Singapore acquisition file.”

Silence.

His secretary glanced toward my empty workstation.

Gu Heng noticed.

He frowned.

“Where is she?”

No one answered immediately.

Then Manager Liu from Human Resources stepped forward.

“Mr. Gu…”

“What?”

“Assistant Lin completed her resignation procedures yesterday.”

Gu Heng looked at him as if he had spoken another language.

“Resignation?”

“Yes.”

“That’s impossible.”

Manager Liu swallowed.

“The system shows the process as completed.”

“Who approved it?”

The Human Resources manager hesitated.

Then he turned the tablet around.

At the bottom of the workflow appeared the final authorization.

APPROVED BY: GU HENG.

Time: 18:26 yesterday.

Gu Heng’s expression froze.

He remembered that time.

He had been in the car on the way to the airport.

Dozens of electronic approvals had appeared on his phone.

Travel expenses.

Contract amendments.

Personnel transfers.

Administrative requests.

He had approved them one after another without reading carefully.

Apparently, my resignation had been among them.

Manager Liu said quietly:

“Because Assistant Lin’s employment contract allowed immediate departure after executive approval, Finance already completed final settlement.”

Gu Heng stared at my empty desk.

“Cancel it.”

“Sir?”

“Cancel the resignation.”

Manager Liu looked uncomfortable.

“It can’t be canceled.”

Gu Heng slowly raised his eyes.

“I am the CEO.”

“Yes, but Ms. Lin is no longer an employee.”

The entire floor seemed to stop breathing.

“Then call her.”

“We tried.”

“And?”

“Her company number has been returned.”

“Personal phone.”

No one moved.

Gu Heng’s voice became colder.

“I said call her.”

The secretary finally whispered:

“Mr. Gu… Ms. Lin blocked your number last night.”

For the first time that morning, something cracked in his expression.

He walked to my desk.

Everything was gone.

The ceramic mug he always complained was ugly.

The calendar where I marked his meetings.

The spare glasses he sometimes borrowed because he always forgot his.

Even the snake plant.

Only two things remained.

My access card.

And a thick handover folder.

Gu Heng opened it.

Every unfinished project was organized perfectly.

Singapore negotiations.

West Harbor redevelopment.

Bank meetings.

Board schedules.

Client preferences.

Contract deadlines.

Six years of work reduced to one hundred and twelve pages.

At the end was a single sentence.

“All responsibilities transferred. No pending matters.”

Nothing personal.

No goodbye.

No accusation.

No mention of the divorce.

That seemed to disturb him more than anger would have.

He called me again.

Blocked.

Again.

Blocked.

At nine twenty, the Singapore partner called.

Gu Heng answered personally.

“Mr. Tan, good morning.”

The voice on the other side was polite.

But distant.

“We have received notice that Ms. Lin Zhao is no longer with your company.”

Gu Heng’s fingers tightened around the phone.

“It’s an internal personnel adjustment.”

There was a brief silence.

“Then we will postpone next week’s signing.”

His expression changed.

“Why?”

“Ms. Lin has been our primary coordinator for three years.”

“I am the CEO.”

“Yes.”

The response was calm.

“But Ms. Lin is the person who understands the transaction.”

The call ended ten minutes later.

The signing was suspended.

By noon, two other clients had requested delays.

One landowner refused to meet without me.

A bank relationship manager asked who would replace “Director Lin.”

Director.

Not assistant.

Gu Heng stared at that title.

Then he summoned the strategy department.

“Why are clients calling her Director Lin?”

Nobody wanted to answer.

Finally, Vice President Chen spoke.

“Because outside the company… most partners assumed she had director-level authority.”

Gu Heng’s face darkened.

“She was my assistant.”

Chen looked down.

“Yes.”

“But many of the projects were effectively run by her.”

The sentence landed badly.

Gu Heng opened one of the old acquisition files.

My name appeared everywhere.

Negotiation notes.

Risk assessments.

Financial projections.

Land valuations.

Even the restructuring plan that had saved the company during the market downturn three years earlier.

He had presented that plan to the board.

He had received the praise.

My name had never appeared on the final presentation.

For six years, Gu Heng had assumed I stayed beside him because I was his wife.

He had never seriously considered the possibility that the company needed me more than I needed it.

At one thirty, his father entered the office without knocking.

Chairman Gu threw a document onto the desk.

“What have you done?”

Gu Heng frowned.

“If this is about Lin Zhao—”

“It is exactly about Lin Zhao.”

His father pointed at the paper.

“Three senior managers submitted retention objections after learning she resigned.”

Gu Heng looked up.

“Why?”

“Because she handled the most sensitive negotiations in the company.”

“She can be replaced.”

Chairman Gu stared at him.

“Can she?”

Silence.

Then he added:

“The board wants to know why a six-year employee with no disciplinary history resigned on the exact same day she divorced the new CEO.”

Gu Heng’s expression hardened.

“That is private.”

“Not when it threatens the company.”

Meanwhile, I was sitting in a quiet café on the opposite side of the city.

No company badge.

No schedule.

No messages reminding me to book Gu Heng’s flights.

For the first time in six years, I ordered lunch without checking whether he had eaten.

My phone rang.

Unknown number.

I almost ignored it.

Then I answered.

“Ms. Lin Zhao?”

“Yes.”

“This is David Song from Meridian Development.”

I sat straighter.

Meridian was Gu Group’s largest competitor.

“I hope I’m not calling at a bad time.”

“No.”

He laughed lightly.

“Good. Because I’ve been waiting nearly four years to make this call.”

I frowned.

“What call?”

“The one where I ask whether you’re finally willing to work for yourself instead of making Gu Heng look brilliant.”

I went silent.

He continued:

“We’re creating a new strategic investment division.”

My fingers tightened around the coffee cup.

“We want you to lead it.”

“What position?”

“Vice President.”

I almost thought I had heard wrong.

Then he told me the salary.

Three times what I had earned at Gu Group.

Full project authority.

Equity participation.

And one additional condition.

“If you accept, the Singapore consortium has agreed to meet with us next week.”

My heartbeat slowed.

“So they already know?”

“They contacted us this morning.”

I looked through the café window at the rain.

Six years ago, I had followed Gu Heng into his company because I believed we were building a future together.

Now, one day after our divorce, someone else was offering me the future I had postponed for him.

“I need until tonight.”

David chuckled.

“Of course.”

Then he added:

“Although I should warn you—your former company has already called us.”

My hand stopped.

“Who?”

“Gu Heng.”

I looked at the phone.

“What did he want?”

David paused.

“He asked whether we had contacted you.”

“And what did you say?”

“I told him that was between you and us.”

Another pause.

“Then he said something interesting.”

I felt a strange chill.

“What?”

“He said you would never leave Gu Group for a competitor.”

I smiled.

Typical Gu Heng.

Even divorced, he still believed he knew what I would choose.

That evening, at 7:03, I opened the Meridian offer.

I signed my name.

Lin Zhao.

Then I pressed Send.

Across the city, Gu Heng’s assistant rushed into his office ten minutes later.

“Mr. Gu, we just received notice from Singapore.”

He looked up.

“What notice?”

“They’ve canceled the meeting with us.”

His face changed.

“Why?”

The assistant swallowed.

“Because they signed a preliminary negotiation agreement with Meridian Development.”

Gu Heng stood.

“Who is handling it?”

The assistant looked down at the email.

Then slowly answered:

“Vice President Lin Zhao.”

For several seconds, Gu Heng didn’t move.

Then his eyes fell on my old access card still lying on his desk.

Yesterday, he had believed I was only leaving his marriage.

That night, he finally understood.

I had left his company too.

And this time, I hadn’t gone somewhere he could simply order me back from.