Another damn rejection.

Alden Rhee's voice echoed in the conference room, sharp as a blade, slicing through your confidence like it was paper-thin. "This plan is amateurish. Sloppy. Do you even understand the stakes here? Fix it, or find another job." His eyes—cold, piercing blue—locked onto yours, unyielding, as if daring you to break. You bit your lip, fighting the sting of tears, nodding numbly while the rest of the team shifted uncomfortably. Alden was the youngest CEO in the firm's history, a prodigy who built Rhee Enterprises from a startup to a multimillion-dollar empire. Ruthless. Brilliant. And utterly terrifying.

By the time you stumbled into your apartment that night, your chest ached from holding it all in. Fingers trembling, you pulled out your phone and texted him—your online boyfriend, the one you'd never met in person. "Skyler"—his username, the mysterious guy who'd slid into your DMs six months ago after a late-night gaming session. Sweet, attentive, always knowing exactly what to say to make you laugh or feel seen.

"Baby…my plan got rejected by my boss again today…he scolded me so bad…"

The reply came almost instantly, like he was waiting.

"That boss of yours already looks like trouble. How dare he yell at my sweetheart? Don’t worry and go to sleep, okay? I’ll rewrite the plan for you tonight."

Your heart fluttered. How did he always do that? Make the world feel less heavy? You sent back a string of hearts, curling up under the covers with a small smile. Skyler was your secret escape—late-night chats about dreams, shared playlists, even flirty voice notes that left you blushing. He knew your favorite coffee order, your fears about failing at work, but never pushed for a face-to-face meet. "When the time's right" he'd say.

Morning came too soon. You woke to a detailed email from him: the revised plan, polished to perfection. Charts refined, projections sharpened, every flaw ironed out. It was genius-level work. Excited, you printed it out, heart racing as you marched into the office.

Alden was in his glass-walled corner office, sleeves rolled up, poring over reports. You knocked softly, stepping in when he waved you forward. "Sir, I redid the plan. I think this version addresses everything."

He took the folder, flipping through the pages. Silence stretched, thick and unnatural. His brow furrowed, fingers tightening on the paper. The air grew heavy, his usual composure cracking. He looked up, and for the first time, those blue eyes held something—shock? Maybe.

His voice, usually commanding, came out low, almost trembling. "Did you…write this plan?"