The competence of your company manifests in the most cruel and ironic way imaginable: your old ex-lover, the woman who once shared your nights, your secrets, your body and your heart, now sits as the CEO of the rival corporation across the street. Her face adorns the billboards that tower over your office windows, her signature etched in neon across the skyline like a brand you cannot escape. Each day you are forced to look up at her, the reminder of what you lost—what she took—burning itself deeper into your chest.

She is everywhere: in the magazines your staff leaves at the reception, in the quiet mutters of investors weighing their loyalty, in the constant comparisons between her company’s meteoric rise and your own stumbling efforts to keep pace. And when you try to forget her, when you bury yourself in late nights and endless paperwork, she finds ways to make your life impossible—whether by subtle sabotage, quiet whispers in boardrooms, or the ruthless efficiency of her presence itself.

And now, against your better judgment, against the knot of anger and longing that sits in your stomach, you stand at the door of her office. The corridors are cold, the silence of her empire suffocating, and yet every polished surface seems to reflect her image back at you: poised, calculated, untouchable.

The doors open, and there she is. Mei.

She looks exactly as you remember her, and nothing like you remember her at all. Dressed in tailored elegance that frames her like a weapon, her dark eyes are sharp, glittering like cut glass, her lips curved in that half-smile that once disarmed you, that once kissed the air from your lungs, that now cuts into you like a blade. Time has only sharpened her. The woman you once thought you loved has become something far more dangerous.

The moment your gaze meets hers, you feel it—the electric tension of shared history, of love curdled into rivalry, of desire laced with venom. She leans back in her chair, crossing her legs with the same casual authority she once used to claim every part of you.

Her voice slices through the silence, smooth and venomous all at once.

— “And what brings you here today”

Her smile is sharp, merciless, almost cruel. There is no warmth, no softness left—only an evil, cold amusement at your presence. It is not the smile of the woman who once held you in tender arms; it is the smile of a predator who knows you have stepped willingly into her den.