Chapter 2 - The Choice He Made in Broad Daylight
The executive hallway was so silent you could hear the hum of the climate control system sixty-eight floors above the city streets.
Jang Chin Tong, entirely oblivious to the catastrophic shift in the room's atmospheric pressure, mistook my husband’s pale, frozen shock for explosive anger. She immediately stepped closer to him, wrapping her fingers possessively around his forearm, pressing her shoulder against his tailored jacket.
“Look at her, President Shiao,” Jang sneered, pointing at me again. “She’s still standing there with that smug attitude. She didn’t even greet you with proper deference. Security should escort her out of the building in handcuffs for corporate misconduct!”
Shiaoza didn't move. He couldn't. Beads of cold sweat were rapidly forming along his hairline, threatening to ruin his meticulously groomed appearance. His eyes were wide, dilated with primal panic.
He knew better than anyone what my presence in this building meant.
He knew that while his name was on the public relations letterhead as President, sixty-two percent of the parent company's voting shares were registered under my maiden family trust. He knew that the sovereign credit lines funding our overseas logistics were held in my name alone. And above all, he knew that the global Board of Directors had convened an emergency closed-door session seventy-two hours ago to vote on his operational leadership.
“Tong Tong... let go of my arm,” Shiaoza stammered, his voice strangled, barely audible above a whisper.
Jang frowned, pouting her painted lips. “President Shiao? What’s wrong? Are you feeling unwell? Don’t let this uneducated temp ruin your morning. I’ll call building security right now and—”
“I said let go of my arm!” Shiaoza suddenly snapped, violently wrenching his arm out of her grasp.
The force of his movement sent Jang stumbling back half a step. Her designer heels clicked awkwardly against the marble floor. She stared at him, stunned, her eyes wide with bewilderment. In the two years she had worked as his personal assistant, Shiaoza had never once raised his voice at her. He had showered her with luxury penthouses, sports cars, and five-figure shopping allowances charged to executive corporate accounts.
The gathered department heads, senior vice presidents, and administrative staff exchanged uneasy, bewildered glances.
“President Shiao?” the Senior Vice President of Operations, Marcus Vance, stepped forward cautiously. “Is there an issue? The quarterly review presentation is set up in Boardroom 1. The European delegation and the Board representatives are scheduled to arrive within the hour.”
Shiaoza didn't hear a single word Vance said. His entire universe had narrowed down to the woman standing five feet in front of him.
I took two slow, deliberate steps forward. The sharp, rhythmic tap of my leather loafers echoed like thunderclaps across the silent marble floor.
“You seem surprised to see me, Shiaoza,” I said smoothly, tilting my head slightly. “Didn't you receive the executive memo sent out by the board at midnight?”
Shiaoza swallowed hard, his throat clicking audibly. “Elena... you... your flight from Zurich wasn't supposed to land until Friday evening. You didn't tell me you were returning early.”
“Clearly,” I said, casting a casual, fleeting glance at Jang Chin Tong. “If I had announced my arrival, I wouldn't have had the privilege of experiencing the executive elevator policy firsthand. Nor would I have had the opportunity to admire the exquisite taste of your staff.”
Jang’s confusion quickly curdled into defensive anger. She looked between Shiaoza and me, unable to process why the all-powerful President of the company was trembling before a woman dressed in plain cashmere and slacks.
“Who do you think you are?” Jang demanded, stepping forward again, her arrogance overpowering her common sense. “How dare you address President Shiao by his first name? Do you have any idea who he is? He is the head of this conglomerate! You’re just a low-level nobody who managed to sneak past security!”
“Tong Tong, shut your mouth!” Shiaoza roared, his voice cracking with sheer hysteria.
The entire sixty-eighth floor flinched. Several junior secretaries gasped, taking a collective step backward.
“President Shiao?” Jang’s voice trembled, genuine fear finally piercing through her vanity. “Why are you yelling at me? I’m only protecting your authority! She insulted your office downstairs!”
I let out a soft, amused chuckle that sent a shiver straight down Shiaoza’s spine.
“Protecting his authority?” I asked, looking directly at Jang. “Tell me, Secretary Jang, does protecting President Shiao’s authority also include wearing half a million dollars of his family’s private assets on your wrist?”
Jang instinctively pulled her left hand behind her back, her face suddenly losing a fraction of its color. “This... this is my personal watch. It was a gift!”
“A gift,” I repeated, turning my gaze back to Shiaoza. “Is that what you told her, Shiaoza? That it was a gift for her exceptional dedication to your administrative needs?”
Shiaoza’s breath came in shallow, panicked gasps. “Elena... please. Not here. Let’s go into my private office. We can talk about this behind closed doors. There’s a reasonable explanation for everything. It’s a complete misunderstanding.”
“A misunderstanding?” I asked, my voice remaining as smooth as glass. “Did the auction house mistakenly ship the Patek Philippe Grand Complications to your mistress instead of your mother’s estate in Aspen? Did your mother try it on, find it too tight, and lend it to your secretary to break in the platinum strap?”
The word mistress dropped like an explosive shell into the middle of the executive corridor.
A collective, audible gasp rippled through the gathered executives. Marcus Vance’s eyes bulged. The administrative assistants clapped their hands over their mouths in horror.
For months, the entire corporate headquarters had whispered rumors about the inappropriate relationship between President Shiao and his young secretary. They had watched him promote her three times in eighteen months, approve absurd expense reports for overseas 'business trips' to Paris and the Maldives, and permit her to treat senior executives like dirt. But nobody had ever dared to utter the word out loud.
And now, a woman who had walked into the building unannounced was declaring it openly in front of the entire corporate leadership.
Jang’s face turned an ugly, mottled white. “Mistress? How dare you call me that! Who the hell are you to make such slanderous accusations? I will have corporate legal sue you into absolute poverty!”
I didn't even look at her. I kept my eyes locked on my husband.
“Shiaoza,” I said softly. “Introduce me to your staff. Before I introduce myself.”
Shiaoza looked like a man standing before a firing squad. He looked at Jang, whose eyes were filled with panicked confusion and indignation, then looked at the dozens of senior vice presidents and directors who were watching him with wide, judging eyes.
If he revealed who I was, his illusion of absolute power would vanish instantly. If he lied, the legal consequences would destroy him before the sun went down.
He chose the coward’s middle ground.
“Everyone... back to your desks,” Shiaoza ordered weakly, waving his trembling hands at the crowd. “Clear the hallway. Marcus, take the vice presidents into Boardroom 2 immediately.”
Nobody moved. The drama was too magnetic, the tension too suffocating.
“I asked you a question, Shiaoza,” I said, my tone dropping several degrees colder. “Introduce me.”
Jang stamped her foot, completely losing control of her temper. “President Shiao, why are you letting this crazy woman intimidate you? Call security! Have her thrown out into the street!”
Shiaoza closed his eyes, took a ragged breath, and when he opened them, the last shred of his corporate pride crumbled into dust.
“This is Elena Vane,” Shiaoza whispered, his voice trembling so violently that the words barely carried across the marble floor. “She is... she is my wife.”
Silence. Absolute, deafening silence.
Jang Chin Tong froze. Her jaw slacked, her arms went limp at her sides, and all the blood drained from her face until she looked like a ghost.
Elena Vane.
The name wasn't unknown to the company. It was the name printed on the corporate registration documents. It was the name stamped on every major international patent, every foreign subsidiary, and every sovereign credit agreement that kept the conglomerate solvent.
She was the phantom co-founder whom everyone assumed was merely a silent domestic partner living quietly in Europe while President Shiao ran the empire.
“W-Wife...?” Jang squeaked, her voice barely a high-pitched whimper. “You... you’re married?”
I took a slow step toward Jang Chin Tong.
The young woman who had puffed out her chest, sneered at junior employees, and ordered me to take the freight stairs suddenly stumbled backward until her spine hit the mahogany reception desk.
“Yes, Secretary Jang,” I said, leaning in close enough that she could smell the subtle scent of my French perfume. “I am his wife of ten years. The woman who built the foundation of the chair you’ve been sitting on. And as of 8:00 AM this morning...”
I reached into my handbag, pulled out the heavy gold executive seal and the official Board of Directors resolution signed by every majority stakeholder, and tossed it onto the reception desk with a sharp, echoing thud.
“...I am the newly appointed Chief Executive Officer and Chairwoman of the Board of Vane-Shiao Global Holdings.”
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I looked at her trembling left wrist, then up into her terrified, tear-filled eyes.
“And you, Secretary Jang, have exactly ten minutes to take off that watch, pack your personal belongings into a cardboard box, and vacate my building before I have you arrested for grand larceny and corporate embezzlement.”
