Zhao Xinyi stared at her screen like it had personally offended her. The subject line of Zhou Yichen's email read:"URGENT: Marketing Overhaul Proposal – Due EOD Friday. No extensions."
Friday.It was Tuesday.He wanted a complete strategy rewrite, three campaigns, projected KPIs, and internal launch plans in 72 hours.
She took a long sip of coffee and mentally drafted the email she wanted to send:
Dear Mr. CEO,Kindly choke on your unreasonable expectations. Warmest regards,Someone with a soul
Instead, she wrote:
Zhou Yichen,Noted. I'll have a draft ready for review Thursday EOD. Feedback welcome, but please spare the "no excuses" line next time — it's not as motivating as you think.Regards,Zhao Xinyi
She clicked send and smiled to herself. Small victories.
By Wednesday morning, the entire office had heard about "Yiyi's death march." She didn't care. She thrived under pressure. And if it meant proving Zhou Yichen wrong? Even better.
What she didn't expect was for him to show up.
He arrived without warning, without knocking, and without coffee — arguably his worst offense.
"You're still using the old template structure?" he said, glancing at her screen like it was leaking toxins.
Yiyi straightened. "The 'old template' outperformed your last campaign by 13%. But thanks for the unsolicited commentary."
He raised an eyebrow. "Defensive already?"
"No, just allergic to micromanagement."
Their eyes locked. The tension in the room could've sliced paper.
For a second, Yichen's expression shifted—like he was fighting a smirk. "I'll expect the first draft by tomorrow. Impress me, Zhao."
"You're going to need to raise the bar for that to be difficult," she shot back.
He turned and left.
That night, Yiyi worked late, alone in the office, surrounded by snack wrappers and a playlist called "Songs to Destroy CEOs To."Somewhere between the fourth energy drink and the fifteenth graph, she whispered to herself:
"I don't care how attractive he is. I'm still going to end him."
The printer jammed. She screamed internally.