Chapter Text
Gao Tu was twenty-eight years old, had a six-year-old child, a mortgage whose monthly payment was a personal affront to his dignity, and a carefully developed five-year plan that included, among other things, a promotion, a larger apartment, and convincing his son that broccoli had not been invented by some shadowy criminal organization for the purpose of poisoning innocent children. He was a sensible, organized man, experienced enough to know that life rarely went according to plan, and so he did not ask much of it. A little stability, a decent salary, health insurance that covered pediatric appointments, and the ability to pick up his child before the school closed seemed modest enough demands that even the universe ought to have little difficulty meeting them. He was hardly asking for a miracle. He did not expect to win the lottery, discover a wealthy relative, or wake up one morning in a reality where raising a child alone did not require time-management skills worthy of a military logistics operation. All he wanted was a good job, the opportunity to do it conscientiously, and to come home in the evenings to a small person with eyes far too intelligent for his own good and absolutely no respect for established bedtimes.
That was why, when three stages of recruitment, two interviews, and a competency test apparently designed to establish whether a candidate could manage a CEO's calendar while simultaneously putting out a fire and negotiating an international peace treaty finally resulted in an offer for the position of executive secretary at one of the city's most prestigious companies, he took it as the first sign in a very long time that fate might have stopped treating him like the protagonist of a particularly badly written domestic drama.
The salary was excellent. The benefits package was even better. The working hours, at least in theory, made it possible to reconcile professional obligations with parenthood, and the HR representative assured him that the company prided itself on its modern approach to work-life balance. Gao Tu, who had enough experience to know such declarations should be treated with the same caution as a six-year-old's insistence that he really had brushed his teeth this time, nevertheless decided to give his new employer a chance. Even if reality turned out to be less perfect than the recruitment presentation, the salary would still mean that he could finally stop wondering whether buying his son new shoes would require postponing his dentist appointment until the following month.
And so, on Monday morning, Gao Tu got up at five thirty, prepared breakfast, packed a lunch into a dinosaur-decorated box, conducted fifteen minutes of negotiations over the necessity of wearing socks, listened to an elaborate theory about why tyrannosaurs probably disliked carrots, and ultimately delivered his son into the care of the appropriate educational institution a mere seven minutes behind schedule. He considered that a success. Then he returned to the apartment, straightened the collar of his snow-white shirt, checked that the pheromone-suppressing patches were properly attached to the back of his neck, and spent a long moment studying his reflection in the mirror, trying to find the person he had been seven years earlier.
He did not find him.
Instead, he saw a grown man whose face still looked younger than his years but whose eyes had learned a caution no twenty-year-old convinced that love could conquer every obstacle ever possessed. Back then, Gao Tu had still believed in a great many things. In promises made on rainy evenings, in a future two people could plan together, and in the notion that if you loved someone strongly enough, you would always find a way to stay together. Life had subsequently cured him of those beliefs with remarkable efficiency, leaving him with far more practical skills instead, such as recognizing a fever from a single touch to a child's forehead and preparing dinner with one hand while using the other to prevent a disaster involving an overturned glass of juice.
He adjusted his tie, took a deep breath, and smiled at his reflection.
"Good job, Gao Tu. A fresh start."
If he had known what awaited him less than two hours later, he probably would have gone back to bed.
+++
The company's headquarters looked exactly as a place employing people whose annual bonuses exceeded the value of his car ought to look. Its glass facade reflected the morning sunlight, the marble floor of the lobby gleamed with immaculate cleanliness, and the receptionist greeted him with a smile so professional that Gao Tu briefly wondered whether the employees received specialized training in the correct arrangement of their facial muscles. Everything appeared elegant, modern, and perfectly organized, and when he was given an employee badge bearing his name, he felt something he had not experienced in a long time: cautious, almost childlike excitement at the thought of the future.
An amiable Beta from HR named Ms. Liu showed him around the most important rooms, explained how to use the internal systems, and introduced him to several people he would be working with. Gao Tu memorized names quickly, listened carefully to instructions, and asked questions only when necessary, with the result that after barely an hour Ms. Liu was already looking at him with unmistakable approval. Apparently, it was not often that she encountered a new employee who did not need the procedure for booking conference rooms explained three times.
"I must admit, Mr. Gao, I'm very pleased you accepted our offer. The CEO's previous secretary retired, and finding someone with the right qualifications proved considerably more difficult than we anticipated."
"I'll do my best not to disappoint your expectations."
"I'm sure you won't. Especially since the CEO personally approved your application."
Gao Tu stopped for a fraction of a second.
"Personally?"
"Of course. He doesn't usually take a direct part in recruitment for administrative positions, but when it came to his own secretary, he wanted to make sure we chose the right person. As soon as he saw your documents, he more or less made his decision."
The information was a little surprising, but not alarming. Gao Tu was well qualified, spoke three languages, had experience in administration, and could remain calm in situations that drove other people to despair. He saw no reason why the CEO should not consider him a suitable candidate. Besides, knowing that his future superior had personally approved his appointment might be a good sign, particularly if he intended to stay with the company for a long time.
"Could you tell me a little more about the CEO himself?" he asked as they reached the private elevator leading to the top floor. "The interview focused mainly on the scope of my duties. I'd like to know what he expects of the people working with him."
Ms. Liu thought for a moment.
"The CEO is demanding but fair. Very intelligent, exceptionally hardworking, occasionally a little stubborn. He dislikes incompetence and lateness, but he knows how to appreciate a job well done. Oh, and one more thing."
"Yes?"
"Please don't take it personally if he seems a little cold at first. He isn't particularly talkative with people he doesn't know well."
Gao Tu nodded.
That sounded reasonable.
He knew people like that. He was one of them himself.
The elevator stopped on the thirty-second floor.
"Here we are. Your desk is directly outside the CEO's office. Make yourself comfortable, and I'll let him know you've arrived."
Gao Tu walked into the spacious executive reception area and immediately fell in love with his new workplace. The large windows overlooked the city skyline, the desk had enough room for a computer, paperwork, and a cup of tea, and the ergonomic chair looked so comfortable he could almost feel the relief in his spine before even sitting down. Beside it stood a small cabinet for personal belongings, an elegant coffee machine, and a potted plant that, to his surprise, appeared to be alive. It was decidedly more than his previous workplace had offered, where the coffee machine regularly refused to cooperate and the only plant had been replaced with a plastic one after three unsuccessful attempts to keep it alive.
He set his bag on the desk and took out a notebook, a fountain pen, and a small framed photograph of his son. For a moment, he turned the frame over in his fingers, wondering whether he ought to put it beside the monitor on his very first day. In the end, he decided there was no reason to conceal the fact that he had a child. After all, he was a grown man, not a teenager afraid of his parents' reaction, and being a single father was nothing to be ashamed of. So he placed the photograph beside his organizer, smiling involuntarily at the sight of a little face smeared with chocolate and two fingers raised in a victory sign.
In the photograph, his son looked remarkably like him.
At least, that was what Gao Tu claimed.
His sister had a different opinion on the matter.
Before he could remind himself why he preferred not to examine the resemblance between his own child and a certain man from his past, the office door opened and Ms. Liu poked her head out.
"Assistant Gao? The CEO is ready to see you."
Gao Tu straightened his shirt cuffs, picked up his notebook, and headed toward the office.
He was calm.
He was prepared.
He was a professional.
And then he stepped inside.
And saw Shen Wenlang.
There are moments in life when the human brain, confronted with a reality that exceeds its cognitive capabilities, makes the only sensible decision available and temporarily ceases operations. Gao Tu had experienced this phenomenon exactly twice. The first time was years ago, when he had seen a positive pregnancy test while sitting on the bathroom floor of a rented apartment, phone in hand, staring at the number of a man he could no longer bring himself to call. The second was right now, when the man responsible for that first experience was sitting behind a mahogany desk in a perfectly tailored suit, watching him with an expression Gao Tu would have recognized even after twenty years.
Shen Wenlang.
His first love.
His greatest mistake.
The father of his child.
And, apparently, his new employer.
You've got to be kidding me.
Gao Tu blinked.
Shen Wenlang did not disappear.
No. No, no, no. This has to be a joke.
The man behind the desk rose slowly, and a smile appeared on his lips, so subtle that someone who did not know him might not even have noticed it. Gao Tu, however, knew that smile. He remembered it far too well, just as he remembered the way Shen Wenlang tilted his head when something particularly pleased him, and that characteristic look that had always made Gao Tu want to kiss him and hit him with something heavy at the same time.
"It's been a while, Mr. Gao."
Gao Tu felt his entire life fall apart into neatly sorted pieces.
For several seconds he simply stared at his former boyfriend, trying to determine whether there was any possibility that he had fallen asleep on the subway and was now experiencing an exceptionally realistic nightmare. Unfortunately, everything suggested that this was genuine reality. The office smelled of expensive wood, freshly brewed coffee, and something else, something familiar that instantly summoned memories Gao Tu had spent years trying not to touch, despite the pheromone-suppressing patches. The Alpha's scent had not changed all that much. Perhaps it had become heavier, more mature, more assertive, but it remained distinctive enough for Gao Tu's body to recognize it before common sense had time to protest.
Which was absolutely unacceptable.
He was twenty-eight.
Not seventeen.
He was not going to blush over an ex-boyfriend.
Especially not an ex-boyfriend who now apparently ran a company worth more than Gao Tu could imagine and looked as though he had spent the intervening years perfecting the art of reducing Omegas to emotional ruin.
"President Shen."
He delivered those two words with such flawless professional courtesy that Ms. Liu, still standing by the door, gave him an approving look.
Shen Wenlang, on the other hand, raised an eyebrow.
For a moment, something that might have been amusement flickered in his eyes, but Gao Tu had no intention of analyzing it. He had no time. He was conducting a rapid threat assessment in his head, and the results were not encouraging.
"Assistant Gao, am I to understand that you two know each other?" Ms. Liu asked, evidently noticing the tension that had filled the room.
"We went to school together," Shen Wenlang answered before Gao Tu could open his mouth.
That was technically true.
Much as it was technically true that the Titanic had encountered a minor problem with ice.
"Oh, really? What a coincidence!"
Gao Tu forced a smile.
"Indeed. An extraordinary one."
Shen Wenlang was still watching him.
That was the worst part. Not the fact that they had met again, not the luxurious office, not even the knowledge that for the past several weeks he had been sending job applications to a company run by a man whose name he had avoided for six years. The worst part was Shen Wenlang's gaze, in which Gao Tu recognized something so familiar that for a moment he could not breathe. The other man did not look surprised. He looked happy. Not ostentatiously, not like someone who had just won the lottery, but with that particular, almost dangerous intensity Gao Tu remembered from the days when Shen Wenlang could sit beside him for an entire afternoon, pretending to be interested in a textbook while spending most of the time watching nothing but his face.
"Gao Tu has excellent qualifications," Shen Wenlang told Ms. Liu. "I'm certain he'll do wonderfully in his new position."
Gao Tu felt something inside him die.
Probably hope.
"Thank you for your confidence, President Shen."
"You don't have to be so formal."
"Of course, President Shen."
Shen Wenlang's smile deepened slightly.
Ms. Liu, who had apparently decided she was witnessing a charming reunion between old acquaintances, politely excused herself and left the office.
The door closed quietly.
Gao Tu immediately wanted to run after her.
For several long seconds, neither of them spoke. Shen Wenlang stood on the far side of his desk, studying the man he had not seen in years, while Gao Tu, with all the desperation of someone defusing a bomb, tried to find a suitable way to end the conversation before the situation got out of hand. The problem was that no etiquette manual offered guidance on how to behave during an unexpected reunion with a former lover whom one had never told about their shared child, especially when said lover turned out to be one's new boss. Gao Tu suspected that even the most comprehensive crisis-management training did not cover such a scenario.
"It's been a long time," Shen Wenlang finally said.
"Almost seven years."
"I knew you'd remember."
Gao Tu tightened his grip on the notebook.
Of course he remembered. He remembered far too much, from their first kiss in an empty classroom to the night Shen Wenlang promised they would always be together, all the way to their final conversation, the memory of which could still cause an unpleasant tightness in his chest. He remembered all the months after their breakup when he had tried to convince himself he had made the right choice, too, and all the years that followed, during which one look at his sleeping child was enough to remind him that the past could not simply be shut behind a door.
"Indeed."
"How have you been?"
"Well, thank you."
"You look good."
"Thank you."
"You've lost weight."
"I try to eat healthily."
Shen Wenlang frowned slightly.
"That's not what I meant."
Gao Tu smiled politely.
"I understand, President Shen. Could we discuss my responsibilities?"
Shen Wenlang studied him for another moment, then sighed softly, as though he recognized a strategy Gao Tu had employed since their school days. Whenever a conversation became too personal, Gao Tu had an extraordinary talent for transforming it into a discussion of practical matters, and if the other party refused to cooperate, there was always the option of hiding behind duties, schedules, or pressing deadlines. Shen Wenlang used to find it adorable. Judging by his expression, he still did.
"Of course. But first I'd like to say that I'm genuinely happy to see you again."
Gao Tu felt his heart perform an unnecessary, exceptionally irritating little leap.
"That's very kind of you."
"I spent years wondering what happened to you."
I was raising your child, Gao Tu thought, but what he said instead was, "Life went on rather ordinarily."
"I tried to find you."
Thank every god you failed, Gao Tu thought again.
"I changed my phone number."
"I noticed."
Shen Wenlang took a step toward him.
Gao Tu immediately took a step back.
The Alpha stopped.
For a brief moment, something crossed his face, something Gao Tu knew too well not to recognize as disappointment, but before he could feel guilty about it, Shen Wenlang smiled again. More gently this time, without his earlier teasing edge, as though trying to show that he had no intention of crossing boundaries Gao Tu was not ready to move.
"We don't have to talk about the past today," he said calmly. "We have time."
Gao Tu looked at him.
We have time?
No.
Absolutely not.
That was the worst possible thing Shen Wenlang could have said.
Because Shen Wenlang apparently assumed their reunion marked the beginning of something Gao Tu had not prepared for even in his most catastrophic projections of his own future.
"I understand."
"Perhaps we could have lunch together? There's a restaurant nearby I think you'd like..."
Lunch.
Of course.
It started with lunch.
Then Shen Wenlang would suggest going home together, accidentally discover that Gao Tu lived alone with a child, notice the resemblance that could not possibly be explained away as coincidence, and before Gao Tu could say, "This really isn't a good time," he would be sitting across from his ex-boyfriend in a restaurant trying to answer the question of why he had hidden the existence of their son from him for six years.
No.
Thank you.
Not interested.
"I'm afraid I already have lunch plans."
"Tomorrow?"
"Then, too."
"The day after?"
"My entire week is rather busy."
Shen Wenlang looked amused.
"Then we can arrange something for next week."
Gao Tu looked at him with something very close to despair.
The man had never understood subtle refusals.
It was one of the things Gao Tu had once loved about him.
Now he considered it a serious character flaw.
At nine forty-seven, Gao Tu returned to his desk, sat down in his ergonomic chair, and spent a full three minutes staring at the blank computer screen, wondering whether it was possible to have a heart attack solely as a result of life's irony. Medically speaking, probably not, but he suspected his case might make interesting research material.
After years of avoiding anything remotely connected to Shen Wenlang, he had just accepted a position requiring him to organize the man's calendar every day, answer his calls, remind him of appointments, and probably order his lunch. Under normal circumstances, those duties would have suited his skills perfectly. Under the present circumstances, they resembled a meticulously designed program of psychological torture.
Gao Tu opened his company email.
At the top of his inbox was a message from President Shen.
From: Shen Wenlang Subject: Lunch
If you change your mind, let me know. I still remember you don't like cilantro.
Gao Tu closed the message.
He opened it again.
Read it once more.
Then, very slowly, he lowered his forehead into his hands.
This was unacceptable.
Seven years.
Years spent building a new life, seven years learning to be independent, seven years convincing himself that memories could be tamed if you gave them enough time, and all it took was one sentence about cilantro to make him feel twenty again, sitting opposite Shen Wenlang in a little restaurant near the university and watching him silently transfer the unwanted herbs from Gao Tu's plate onto his own.
Gao Tu closed his eyes.
No.
He had a child.
He had responsibilities.
He had a mortgage.
He had no time for romantic catastrophes.
And above all, he had no time for a second child.
That last thought appeared so unexpectedly that Gao Tu sat bolt upright, as though someone had poured ice water down his collar. Not because he was planning anything of the sort. Absolutely not. He was a grown, responsible man, perfectly aware of the biological consequences of intimate contact between an Alpha and an Omega, and the last six years were convincing enough evidence that those consequences could be remarkably long-term. The problem, however, was that his body, apparently devoid of any instinct for self-preservation, had already identified Shen Wenlang's scent as something familiar and safe during their brief conversation in his office.
Gao Tu knew how that mechanism worked.
He hated that mechanism.
And he hated the fact that Shen Wenlang looked better now than he had seven years ago even more.
It was unfair.
Indecent.
Downright offensive.
A man who had not endured a single sleepless night caused by colic, teething, fevers, or the sudden need to explain at three in the morning whether dinosaurs could learn to drive a car had no right to look that well rested.
Gao Tu glanced at his son's photograph.
The little boy smiled back at him with the insolent confidence he had inherited from the man sitting on the other side of the wall.
"This is all your fault," Gao Tu muttered.
The photograph did not answer.
Nor would his son have, had he just been accused of eating the last cookie.
At ten fifteen, Gao Tu prepared his first report.
At ten thirty, he organized the meeting schedule.
At ten forty-five, he discovered that Shen Wenlang habitually skipped lunch breaks, which he considered irresponsible but absolutely did not intend to comment on because he was no longer the man's boyfriend, and looking after the CEO's health beyond the limits stipulated by his employment contract was not part of his responsibilities.
At eleven, another message arrived.
From: Shen Wenlang Subject: Coffee
I remember you like jasmine tea. I ordered some for the reception area.
Gao Tu stared at the elegantly packaged box of tea beside the coffee machine.
For a moment, he considered throwing it out the window.
Unfortunately, the windows were permanently sealed.
At eleven ten, Shen Wenlang emerged from his office under the pretext of checking the afternoon meeting schedule, although all the information was available in the system he could access from his own computer. Gao Tu answered every question with impeccable politeness without looking up from his documents, and when Shen Wenlang lingered at his desk a little longer than the conversation required, he felt familiar warmth spreading across the back of his neck.
"You don't have to work so hard on your first day."
"I'd like to familiarize myself with my duties as quickly as possible."
"You were always hardworking."
"Thank you, President Shen."
"Remember how I used to have to take your books away before exams just to make you go to sleep?"
Gao Tu raised his head.
"President Shen, would you like me to make any changes to your schedule?"
Shen Wenlang laughed softly.
And that was the problem.
Because Gao Tu remembered that laugh. He remembered what it sounded like late at night when they lay beside each other talking about things that had seemed terribly important back then, and how Shen Wenlang had been able to make him laugh even when he was exhausted or upset. He also remembered hearing that same laughter echoing in his head during those first lonely months, when any familiar sound could suddenly turn painful.
He had no intention of going through that again.
And certainly not during office hours.
"No, Gao Tu. The schedule is fine."
"Excellent."
Shen Wenlang hesitated.
"It really is good to see you."
Gao Tu felt an uncomfortable tightness in his throat.
For a moment he wanted to answer honestly. To say that he was happy to see him, too; that for years he had wondered what their lives might have been like if things had turned out differently; that sometimes he still woke with a longing so familiar he had almost stopped noticing it. He could have said many things, but none of them would change the fact that behind that door, behind the elegant suit and composed smile, stood a man who had no idea that somewhere in the city lived a little boy with his eyes.
So Gao Tu did what he always did when his emotions threatened the balance he worked so hard to maintain.
He smiled.
"Thank you, President Shen."
At eleven twenty-three, Gao Tu opened a new document.
For a long while, he stared at the blank page, feeling something between regret and relief. He knew he was making a hasty decision. He also knew it would be difficult to find another offer quite so financially attractive, and that when his sister learned he had resigned from his dream job before his first lunch break, she would probably give him that particular look all mothers seemed to master without any formal training. Gao Qing might never have been a mother herself, but she had played that role for Lele often enough to develop the skill. Yet he knew something else as well: if he stayed here even a week, Shen Wenlang would start asking questions Gao Tu could not answer without lying. If he stayed a month, he would probably forget why he had tried so hard to keep his distance. And if he stayed a year...
No.
He refused even to finish that thought.
It was enough that he could picture Shen Wenlang standing at his apartment door with a bouquet of flowers, while a six-year-old boy peered out from behind Gao Tu's back and asked with the merciless honesty peculiar to children:
"Daddy, why does that man look like me?"
Gao Tu shuddered.
He had absolutely no desire to host a secret-child-reveal party.
Nor did he intend to attend the subsequent family gatherings at which everyone involved would try to establish who should have informed Shen Wenlang of his offspring's existence, and when, and why.
And he absolutely was not going to risk a repeat of the entire situation.
One child was enough.
One child was perfect.
One child was already more than capable of exhausting his financial, emotional, and physical resources.
A second child, especially one who inherited Shen Wenlang's personality, could bring about the collapse of civilization itself.
Gao Tu began to type.
Dear Sir or Madam,
I hereby tender my resignation from the position of secretary...
He stopped.
Read the first sentence.
Sighed.
Then he added several more paragraphs, carefully composing his thanks for the trust placed in him, apologies for the administrative inconvenience, and an explanation that unforeseen personal circumstances prevented him from continuing his employment. The document looked professional, factual, and sufficiently courteous that no one could accuse him of disrespecting his employer. Naturally, it did not mention that those unforeseen personal circumstances stood a little over six feet tall, wore impeccably tailored suits, and had contributed genetically to the creation of a six-year-old boy who had asked the previous evening whether it was possible to adopt a crocodile.
He printed the document.
Signed it.
Scanned it.
Sent it to HR.
Then he prepared a brief message to Shen Wenlang.
From: Gao Tu Subject: Resignation
Dear President Shen,
Due to unforeseen personal circumstances, I am compelled to resign from my current position. I respectfully request your approval to terminate my employment contract by mutual agreement with immediate effect. I apologize for any inconvenience caused by this decision.
Sincerely,
Gao Tu
He studied the message for a moment.
Then he pressed "Send."
And felt as though he had just cut the final wire attached to an exceptionally dangerous explosive device.
At eleven thirty-seven, Gao Tu put his notebook into his bag.
At eleven forty-one, he logged out of his computer.
At eleven forty-five, he received a message from HR asking him to confirm his decision and explaining that immediate termination required his supervisor's approval. He replied that he was confirming his resignation and remained available to complete any necessary formalities, then picked up his son's photograph and carefully slipped it into his bag between his notebook and wallet. He did not want to risk scratching the glass. The photograph was one of his favorites, taken at a birthday party when the little boy had eaten more cake than good sense permitted and spent the rest of the evening behaving as if he had discovered the secret of unlimited energy.
Gao Tu took one last look at his desk.
What a shame.
Such a shame.
It was beautiful.
The chair was comfortable.
The salary excellent.
And the jasmine tea smelled exactly the way he liked it.
But life had taught him that sometimes the best way to avoid a catastrophe was to leave the building before anyone noticed the smoke.
He had just reached for his bag when the office door flew open.
"Gao Tu?"
Shen Wenlang stood in the doorway, phone in hand, wearing an expression Gao Tu had not seen in a very long time.
He looked genuinely surprised.
Gao Tu found that interesting.
Apparently even Shen Wenlang, a man capable of predicting almost every move his business rivals might make, had not expected his new secretary to attempt an escape before the end of his first working day.
"President Shen."
"What is this message?"
"My resignation."
"I can see it's a resignation."
"Then I'm pleased the document arrived intact."
Shen Wenlang stared at him in disbelief.
"Gao Tu."
"Yes?"
"You've been working here for three hours."
"Three hours and forty-two minutes, President Shen."
"That isn't an answer."
"My apologies. Do you have any questions regarding the document?"
For a moment, Shen Wenlang looked as though he were trying to decide whether to laugh or grab Gao Tu by the shoulders and shake him. In the end, he did neither, but his gaze moved to the bag beside the desk, then to the empty desktop, and finally back to the Omega's face.
"Did I do something wrong?"
The question was so unexpected that Gao Tu felt a stab of guilt.
Shen Wenlang did not sound offended. He was not trying to exploit his position or force Gao Tu to stay. He was simply standing there, visibly confused, and beneath that confusion lay something else, something much harder to bear, because Gao Tu remembered that expression. He had seen it before, the last time he had turned away from Shen Wenlang and left behind questions that neither of them had ever had answered.
"No," he said more gently. "You haven't done anything wrong."
"Then why?"
Gao Tu looked away.
Because he still remembered the taste of Shen Wenlang's kisses.
Because his son had exactly the same shape of eyes.
Because three hours had been enough for long-buried feelings to begin breaking through the surface with the persistence of weeds pushing through concrete.
Because he did not want to fall in love again with the man he had never quite stopped loving.
And because he absolutely refused to risk having to buy another baby stroller nine months from now.
"Personal reasons."
Shen Wenlang was silent for a long moment.
"Can we talk about it?"
"I'm afraid my decision is final."
"At least let me offer you different working conditions. If the problem is the salary..."
"The salary is excellent."
"The hours?"
"Very reasonable."
"The responsibilities?"
"Exactly what I expected."
Shen Wenlang frowned.
"Then I don't understand."
Gao Tu looked at him with something that might have resembled sympathy.
Oh, Wenlang. You have no idea how much you don't understand.
"I'm sorry."
The Alpha watched him for another moment, and then sudden understanding dawned on his face.
"It's me."
Gao Tu said nothing.
That was answer enough.
Shen Wenlang slowly exhaled.
"You don't have to leave just because I work here."
You don't work here. You are the entire problem here.
"It's not that simple."
"Then at least let me try to understand."
Gao Tu tightened his fingers around the strap of his bag.
For a moment, he genuinely wanted to stay. He wanted to believe that they were old enough now to deal with the past, that they could talk like sensible adults, and that Shen Wenlang's presence would pose no threat to the life he had worked so hard to build. The problem was that sensible adults did not react to their former lover's scent with racing hearts and thoughts circling memories decidedly unsuitable for an office environment.
Gao Tu did not trust himself.
He trusted Shen Wenlang even less.
And he trusted biology least of all.
"I'm sorry, Wenlang."
For the first time since the conversation began, he used his name.
Shen Wenlang went still.
Gao Tu immediately regretted that moment of weakness.
"I really have to go now."
"Where?"
"Home."
"It's not even noon yet."
"I'm aware of that."
"At least let me drive you..."
"No!"
The answer came out a little too sharply.
Both of them fell silent.
Gao Tu cleared his throat.
"I mean, thank you for the offer, but that won't be necessary. I'll manage."
Shen Wenlang looked like a man who had just discovered that reconnecting with an old love might be more complicated than negotiating a multimillion-dollar contract.
"I didn't mean to frighten you."
"I know."
"You don't have to run away from me."
Gao Tu smiled faintly.
"I'm not running away."
It was such an obvious lie that even Shen Wenlang did not attempt to comment on it.
At eleven fifty-eight, Gao Tu left the thirty-second floor behind, along with a perfect desk, an ergonomic chair, an excellent salary, and a man who had appeared in his thoughts far more often over the past several years than he was willing to admit. In the elevator, he took a deep breath, adjusted the strap of his bag, and studied his reflection in the mirrored wall, trying to decide whether he looked like someone who had just made a sensible decision or someone who had set his own career on fire in a fit of panic.
Probably both.
His phone vibrated.
A message from his sister.
Gao Qing: How's the first day going? Everything okay?
Gao Tu closed his eyes.
Of course.
The universe could not even grant him five minutes of peace.
Gao Tu: Everything's fine. I'll be back early.
The reply came almost immediately.
Gao Qing: Why?
Gao Tu considered his answer for a moment.
Gao Tu: Change of plans.
Gao Qing: Gao Tu.
He knew that tone.
Even rendered as a text message, it remained disturbingly effective.
Gao Qing: What did you do?
Gao Tu sighed.
Gao Tu: I quit my job.
For several seconds, there was no reply.
Then his phone started ringing.
Gao Tu looked at the screen.
He declined the call.
The phone rang again.
He declined it a second time.
Finally, a message arrived.
Gao Qing: HAVE YOU LOST YOUR MIND?
Gao Tu stared at the elevator ceiling.
Possibly.
He did not get the chance to answer, however, because another message appeared on his screen, this time from an unknown number.
Unknown Number: Gao Tu, I didn't want our reunion to end like that.
His heart leaped into his throat.
He read the message.
Then read it again.
And again, as if repeating the action enough times might somehow change what it said.
Then he locked his phone.
Put it in his pocket.
And stepped out of the elevator with the determination of a man who had just decided to avoid every company employing more than fifty people for the next several years.
Shen Wenlang stood by his office window, looking down at the street thirty-two floors below, trying to understand how the best day he had had in years had turned into a catastrophe before lunch. When he had seen Gao Tu's name on the list of candidates a few weeks earlier, he had been unable to believe his eyes for a long while. He checked the documents twice, then a third time, and finally asked HR to confirm the details, even though he knew perfectly well there was no reasonable explanation for them having confused one applicant with another. The photograph was recent. The name was correct. The educational background matched. Even the way the cover letter was worded reminded him of the man he had once known better than anyone else.
Gao Tu.
After seven years.
For a moment, Shen Wenlang felt like a teenager who had just received a message from his first love. Then he reminded himself that he was an adult, the president of a major company, and an Alpha expected to remain composed under all circumstances. Consequently, he limited his reaction to approving the application and instructing the recruitment team to follow standard procedures.
He had no intention of abusing his position.
Nor did he want to make Gao Tu feel cornered.
He was simply glad fate had given them another chance.
Apparently, fate had other plans.
Shen Wenlang glanced at the printed resignation letter on his desk.
Three hours and forty-two minutes.
That was all it had taken Gao Tu to decide he preferred unemployment to working in Shen Wenlang's company.
An impressive achievement.
Even for Gao Tu.
His phone vibrated.
A message from HR.
President Shen, we have received Mr. Gao's resignation. Should we begin the procedure to terminate his contract by mutual agreement?
Shen Wenlang studied the screen for a moment.
He could refuse to approve the immediate termination. He could invoke company procedures, request another meeting, propose a transfer, or offer a salary increase. He had enough options available to at least try to keep Gao Tu at the company.
But he also remembered the look the Omega had given him before leaving.
It had not been fear alone.
There was something else there.
Something Shen Wenlang could not name, but which suddenly made the idea of forcing Gao Tu to stay seem profoundly wrong.
So he sent a brief reply.
Please approve the termination of the contract as Mr. Gao requested. Make sure he receives all wages owed for the time he worked.
Then he set down his phone and looked out over the city again.
He did not know what had happened to Gao Tu after they finished school. By the time Shen Wenlang returned from Country P, Gao Tu had collected his diploma and disappeared.
He did not know why Gao Tu had vanished.
Nor did he know why their reunion had provoked such a powerful urge to flee.
There was, however, one thing he did know.
Gao Tu was still the man he loved.
And if he needed time, Shen Wenlang could give him that.
But he had no intention of pretending their reunion meant nothing to him.
He smiled faintly.
"Three hours and forty-two minutes, Gao Tu?"
He shook his head.
"Do you really dislike me that much?"
At one fifteen in the afternoon, Gao Tu sat at the kitchen table in his sister's apartment, clutching a mug of tea and trying to survive an interrogation whose intensity would have put professional investigators to shame. His sister stood opposite him with her arms folded across her chest, while a six-year-old boy sat on the living-room floor building a structure out of blocks that, according to his explanation, was supposed to be a castle for dinosaurs, although Gao Tu suspected it more closely resembled a particularly unstable multistory parking garage.
"Let me make sure I've got this straight, because I'm not sure I understand," she said with the dangerous calm peculiar to people who are already too furious to raise their voices. "You got the job you'd been dreaming about for months."
"Yes."
"With a salary almost fifty percent higher than your previous one."
"Yes."
"With additional benefits and opportunities for promotion."
"Yes."
"And you quit before lunch."
Gao Tu took a sip of tea.
"Technically speaking, before the lunch break."
Gao Qing closed her eyes.
"Gao Tu."
"Yes, Gao Qing?"
"Are you trying to send me to an early grave?"
"Absolutely not."
"Then explain what happened."
Gao Tu glanced toward the living room.
The little boy was currently trying to persuade a plastic tyrannosaurus to take up residence on the highest tower.
Gao Tu sighed.
"The company's president is Shen Wenlang."
Silence fell.
His sister slowly lowered her arms. For several seconds, she stared at Gao Tu as though trying to establish whether she had heard him correctly. Then she turned her head toward the living room. Then she looked back at Gao Tu.
"Oh."
"Exactly."
"Oh."
"Gao Qing."
"That Shen Wenlang?"
Gao Tu raised an eyebrow.
"Do you know another one?"
The woman slowly sat down.
For a moment, she looked every bit as stunned as he had been several hours earlier, but then an expression appeared on her face that Gao Tu immediately recognized as the beginning of an exceptionally dangerous thought process.
"Does he know?"
"No."
"Did he recognize you?"
"Of course."
"Did you talk?"
"Yes."
"And what did he say?"
Gao Tu put down his mug.
"That he was happy to see me."
His sister was silent for a moment.
"And you?"
"I thanked him."
She stared at him in disbelief.
"Gao Tu."
"What?"
"You actually told the man you once loved 'thank you' when he said he was happy to see you?"
"I was at work."
"For three hours!"
"Three hours and forty-two minutes."
Gao Qing made a sound that was neither a sigh nor a groan but contained enough despair for Gao Tu to conclude that he should stop correcting the details.
At that moment, a child's voice came from the living room.
"Daddy?"
Gao Tu immediately turned his head.
"Yes, sweetheart?"
"Can I have a little brother?"
The silence that descended on the kitchen was absolute.
Gao Tu felt the blood drain from his face.
His sister slowly covered her mouth with one hand.
She did not look concerned.
She looked like someone desperately trying not to burst out laughing.
"What?" Gao Tu asked weakly.
"A little brother," the boy repeated, apparently convinced that the only problem was that he had not spoken clearly enough. "Because Xiao Ming at kindergarten has a little brother, and he said they can play dinosaurs together when he gets bigger. I want one too."
Gao Tu stared at his son for a long moment.
Then, very slowly, he set his mug on the table.
"No."
The boy frowned.
"Why?"
"Because..."
Gao Tu trailed off.
How exactly was one supposed to explain to a six-year-old that acquiring a younger sibling required a whole series of circumstances, at least one of which had just been eliminated by submitting a resignation letter before noon?
"Because little brothers are very demanding."
"Am I demanding too?"
"Yes."
"But you love me."
Gao Tu closed his eyes.
That was unfair.
His own child had just used an argument against him for which there was no reasonable answer.
"Of course I love you."
"Then you'll love a little brother too."
Gao Qing burst out laughing.
Gao Tu shot her a reproachful look.
"A-Qing."
"I'm sorry," she said, wiping the corners of her eyes. "I'm really sorry."
She did not look particularly remorseful.
The boy, meanwhile, apparently deciding that the discussion required further arguments, approached the table and climbed into Gao Tu's lap.
"Daddy?"
"Yes?"
"Where do little brothers come from?"
Gao Tu froze.
Gao Qing began laughing even harder.
And somewhere on the other side of the city, Shen Wenlang, entirely unaware of the existence of a little boy with his own eyes and smile, was wondering whether sending flowers to his former lover would be too forward a gesture.
Gao Tu, meanwhile, looked at his son and reached one absolutely unshakable conclusion.
Resigning from his job had been the best decision he had made in the last seven years.
Because if there was anything in the world more dangerous than Shen Wenlang trying to win back his affections, it was Shen Wenlang trying to win back his affections with a six-year-old accomplice who apparently was already planning to expand the family.
No.
Thank you.
Gao Tu intended to find another job.
Preferably at a company run by a Beta.
Preferably a married one.
Preferably one living in another country.
And if that was not enough, he could always consider alpaca farming.
At least alpacas did not send messages about jasmine tea.
Meanwhile, at two thirty in the afternoon, Shen Wenlang decided he would not pressure Gao Tu and would allow him to sort out his affairs in peace.
At two thirty-five, he ordered a bouquet of flowers.
At two forty, he canceled the order, deciding it was still too soon.
At three o'clock, he sent a message asking whether Gao Tu had arrived home safely.
He received no reply.
At three ten, he resolved to be patient.
Gao Tu, who was currently explaining to his son why they could not keep a crocodile in the bathtub, had no idea that his former boyfriend still considered patience one of his greatest virtues.
If he had known, he probably would have started looking for a job on an alpaca farm that very evening.