Chapter Text
Author’s pov :
The first day without Gao Tu, Shen Wenlang didn’t notice.
He told himself he didn’t need his secretary — any beta could take his notes, arrange his meetings, and keep his schedule on track.
He had a company to run — meetings stacked back-to-back, acquisitions to close, a room full of directors to intimidate into compliance. His temporary stand-in secretary, a nervous beta named Lin, tripped over his own words every time Wenlang looked at him, but Wenlang told himself it didn’t matter.
By day two, By the second day, it did matter.
The office felt different. The new temp stumbled when Wenlang barked an order, coffee was served lukewarm, and his calls weren’t pre-screened properly. By the third day, his temper was razor-sharp, snapping at employees for mistakes they didn’t dare make before.
He told himself it was because Gao Tu was competent, not because he’d grown used to the man’s calm voice cutting through his bad moods, or the quiet presence that anchored him when the world was loud.
Gao Tu had been with him for four years — long enough to memorize the rhythms of his days, anticipate his thoughts, and slide solutions across the desk before Wenlang could even voice the problem. Lin was… not Gao Tu. The man wrote reminders in messy shorthand, failed to notice when Wenlang’s calls were running long, and had a habit of shuffling nervously in place.
By the fourth day, Wenlang wasn’t just irritated. He was restless.
He found himself glancing toward the empty space behind his desk between meetings. He told himself it was because he hated disorganization — not because he was used to seeing Gao Tu there, calm and steady.
But when he overheard someone in the break room saying, “Secretary Gao’s out because his omega’s in heat.”
“Really? He’s so… proper. Didn’t expect him to have one.”
“Apparently he’s devoted. Took the whole week off to be with them.” Wenlang’s jaw clenched so hard it ached.
An omega, huh?
The thought stuck in his head like a thorn. The image of Gao Tu — always neat, unshakable, professional — tangled up with some omega during heat, was… irritating.
No, more than irritating. It was infuriating.
By the seventh day, the irritation was a permanent thrum in his veins. He had chewed through staff with his temper, rejected proposals outright, and sent three department heads scrambling to redo entire reports. He told himself it was because standards had slipped. He didn’t think too hard about why it felt like the entire building ran worse without one man.
---
The reality was nothing like the picture Wenlang had in his mind. Gao Tu spent the week alone in his apartment, blinds drawn, skin flushed with fever, trembling as the suppressants failed to hold back the tide of his biology.
The heat had come hard this time — the price for keeping himself locked away from his own nature for too long. He didn’t have a partner. No alpha to ease the burn. Just cold showers, clenched fists, and the scent of his own need filling the air until it made him sick.
By the time the worst of it passed, he was left exhausted, his body aching as if every muscle had been wrung dry. But Wenlang’s schedule wouldn’t manage itself, and Gao Tu wasn’t the kind of man to let his absence cause chaos for long.
---
The morning Gao Tu stepped back into the glass-and-steel empire of Shen Wenlang’s office, the air was thick with tension. Employees glanced at him like they’d just seen a storm break. Some whispered — the “omega in heat” rumor had apparently spread.
Gao Tu kept his stride steady, ignoring the glances, adjusting the thin-frame glasses on his nose as he stepped into the lion’s den: Wenlang’s office.
The alpha was at his desk, pen in hand, gaze already locked on him.“You’re alive,” Wenlang said, voice deceptively smooth.
“Yes, sir,” Gao Tu replied, setting his briefcase down, ignoring the lingering ache in his legs. “I apologize for the inconvenience. I’ve already—”
But Wenlang cut him off. “Did your omega enjoy the week?”
The words were sharp, deliberate. A taunt.
Gao Tu’s pen stilled in his hand.
“My…?”
“Don’t play dumb,” Wenlang leaned back in his chair, lips curving faintly, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “You told the office you had an omega at home. Heat week, wasn’t it? Must’ve been… busy.”
Gao Tu forced a neutral tone, though his heart was pounding. “Yes, sir. It was… busy.”
It wasn’t a lie exactly. Just not the truth.
“Mm.” Wenlang’s gaze lingered on him a second too long. “Next time, give me advance notice before you disappear. I don’t like my schedule falling apart because my secretary can’t keep his omega’s legs closed.”
The words cut like a knife, but Gao Tu didn’t flinch. “Understood, sir.”
---
Wenlang’s temper was merciless. Every document Gao Tu handed over was scrutinized. Every coffee cup was criticized. The man’s barbs came sharper than usual, each one delivered with that same tight look in his eyes — not anger alone, but something else Gao Tu couldn’t name.
By noon, Gao Tu’s body was screaming for rest, but he kept going, every movement precise, every expression controlled.
Because the one thing worse than enduring Shen Wenlang’s anger… would be giving him a reason to look closer.
---
Next day, the first hour back had been a test.
The second hour was a siege.
Gao Tu didn’t need to be told — Shen Wenlang was watching him. Not in the casual, passing way an employer watched his employee, but with the kind of focus that stripped away the air between them. Every time Gao Tu moved, Wenlang’s gaze tracked him like a shadow.
At 9:15 sharp, Wenlang held out a document without looking up from his laptop.
“Three copies. Boardroom.”
Gao Tu took the file, noting the deadline — the meeting started in two minutes.
“Understood.”
He moved quickly, heels clicking softly against the polished floor, the faint ache in his legs from his heat making every step heavier than it should have been. Still, he returned on time, placing the neatly stapled packets in front of the waiting directors.
When he came back to the office, Wenlang’s expression didn’t change, but his fingers drummed once against the desk.
“You didn’t bring me coffee.”
“I was delivering your documents,” Gao Tu said evenly.
“Then you’re behind on coffee,” Wenlang replied, without lifting his eyes from the screen.
Gao Tu bit back the sigh building in his chest. “I’ll get it now.”
At 10:30, Wenlang called for him while he was on a call arranging a supplier’s visit.
“I need the quarterly forecast projections,” Wenlang said.
“They’re on your desk, left folder—”
“I said bring them.”
Gao Tu placed the client on hold, retrieved the folder, and handed it over. Wenlang flipped it open without a word.
“Go finish your call,” he said after a long pause, almost as if dismissing a servant.
By lunch, Gao Tu had been sent up and down between floors three times, retrieved three “urgent” items Wenlang could have emailed for, and reorganized a stack of reports that had apparently been “out of order” by a single page.
The truth was obvious — Wenlang was testing him.
Not just his competence. His endurance.
At 2:00, Wenlang summoned him to stand beside his chair while they reviewed a presentation draft.
“You missed a typo,” Wenlang said, pointing to a slide.
Gao Tu adjusted his glasses and leaned forward to check. “Noted. I’ll correct it.”
“Do it now.”
He felt the heat of Wenlang’s presence at his side, the alpha’s scent faint but inescapable this close. Gao Tu typed quickly, acutely aware of how his own body was still recovering — his glands tender, his skin too sensitive. He made no move to step back.
When the correction was done, Wenlang leaned back, watching him.
“You seem slower today.”
“I’m working at my usual pace.”
“Mm.” Wenlang’s tone was noncommittal, but his eyes were sharp. “We’ll see.”
By 5:00, Gao Tu’s back ached, his throat felt dry, and his head buzzed faintly from the lingering effects of the heat suppression. But every file had been delivered on time, every task completed without error.
As he placed the final report of the day on Wenlang’s desk, the alpha didn’t look up.
“Go home,” Wenlang said. “Try not to take another… personal week.”
There was no softness in the words, but Gao Tu caught the faintest thread beneath them — not kindness, but a note that wasn’t pure annoyance either. Something closer to don’t vanish again.
“Understood, sir,” Gao Tu said quietly, and left without another word.
Behind him, Wenlang sat in the dimming office light, eyes still on the door long after it closed.