PART 1 - THE EXECUTIVE ELEVATOR INSULT THAT EXPOSED A MUCH BIGGER SECRET

On my first morning as the company’s new CEO, a woman I had never met stepped in front of the executive elevator and ordered me to leave.

What made it worse?

She was my husband’s secretary.

What made me stay silent?

The limited-edition white watch gleaming on her wrist—the exact watch I had asked my husband to buy for his mother’s birthday.

Only ten existed in the entire world.

And somehow, his secretary was wearing one.

I didn’t confront her.

I didn’t call my husband.

I simply waited for him to walk out of his meeting.

Because suddenly, finding out who was allowed to use the executive elevator was the least important question on my mind.

“This is the executive elevator,” the woman said, blocking my path. “Custodians use the service elevator.”

Her tone was slow and condescending, like she was explaining a simple rule to a child who couldn’t understand basic English.

I looked at her.

Then at the elevator behind her.

“I’m not a custodian.”

Her eyes swept over my plain clothes from head to

toe.

“Then you’re an intern.”

She folded her arms.

“Interns use the service elevator, too. That’s company policy. If you can’t understand something that basic, maybe you shouldn’t be working here.”

That was how my first day back at headquarters began.

No welcome.

No introduction.

Just my husband’s secretary deciding, based entirely on how I looked, that I wasn’t important enough to stand inside an elevator.

Her name was Jang Chin Tong.

And judging by the nervous expressions around us, she was accustomed to getting whatever she wanted.

Several employees had already stopped to watch.

Not one challenged her.

A woman standing nearby quietly approached me.

“Just take the service elevator,” she whispered. “It won’t kill you. Don’t argue with Secretary Jang.”

I frowned.

“How do employees working above the sixty-third floor get upstairs if the service elevator stops at sixty-three?”

The woman hesitated.

Then she gave me an answer

so ridiculous that, for a second, I thought she was joking.

“We take the stairs.”

“The stairs?”

She nodded.

“It’s only five floors.”

Only five floors.

Every morning.

Every afternoon.

Every time an employee needed to travel between departments.

All because someone had apparently decided lower-ranking workers were not worthy of sharing an elevator with executives.

“That sounds like workplace discrimination,” I said.

Secretary Jang laughed.

Actually laughed.

“You’ve worked here for years and still haven’t been promoted to executive?” she said to the employee. “Then that’s your own incompetence.”

The woman immediately lowered her eyes.

And strangely, that bothered me more than anything Jang had said to me.

Humiliating me was one thing.

I knew who I was.

But watching an employee accept public degradation because she believed she had no power to fight back told me something was deeply wrong inside this company.

I had spent years buried

in work.

Projects.

Business trips.

Negotiations.

Meetings that stretched late into the night.

I had been married to Shiaoza for ten years.

While I focused on my work, I trusted my husband to handle his.

Whenever he came home late, there was always an explanation.

A meeting had run over.

A client wanted dinner.

There was an important social engagement.

Another executive needed him.

I believed him.

Marriage was supposed to come with trust.

And now, after years of working elsewhere, I had returned to headquarters because the board had appointed me to take responsibility for the company’s operations.

The formal companywide announcement was scheduled for ten that morning.

Until then, only the board and a small group of senior officers knew.

Jang Chin Tong clearly was not one of them.

To her, I was just another plainly dressed woman who had wandered somewhere above her station.

She stepped closer.

“This elevator is for executives only,” she said coldly. “Don’t dirty it.”

The hallway became painfully quiet.

People were watching.

Nobody asked my name.

Nobody asked which department I belonged to.

Nobody wondered why I was headed upstairs.

They simply assumed Jang had the authority to humiliate me.

So when the elevator doors opened, I stepped inside.

Her face changed instantly.

She followed me.

“You really don’t understand what you’ve done, do you?” she snapped as the doors closed. “You think you can still work here after this?”

I glanced at her.

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“I’ll have your internship canceled.”

I almost smiled.

Instead, I asked calmly, “Since when does an intern’s future depend on whether she obeys the general manager’s secretary?”

Her expression hardened.

“Everyone working under President Shiao has to pass my inspection.”

That sentence caught my attention.

Not because it frightened me.

Because of how naturally she said it.

She didn’t sound like a secretary.

She sounded like an owner.

The elevator doors opened upstairs, and several employees joined us in the hallway.

Apparently eager to protect Jang, they began warning me.

“Secretary Jang is President Shiao’s right hand.”

“He trusts her more than anyone.”

“He spoils her.”

“Offending Secretary Jang is the same as offending President Shiao.”

“You should apologize before President Shiao finishes his meeting. If he hears you upset her, he could make sure no company in this industry ever hires you again.”

I said nothing.

Then something flashed under the overhead lights.

A watch.

White.

Elegant.

Limited edition.

My eyes stopped on Jang Chin Tong’s wrist.

My stomach tightened.

I knew that watch.

I knew the design.

The model.

The color.

I knew how difficult it had been to find.

Only ten had been released worldwide.

Last month, I had personally chosen it as a birthday gift for my mother-in-law.

I had been too busy to purchase it myself, so I asked my husband to handle the final order and pickup.

He told me he would.

And now his secretary was wearing it.

For the first time that morning, I completely forgot about the elevator.

Forgot the insults.

Forgot the employees whispering around us.

My gaze remained fixed on Jang’s wrist.

She noticed.

Her hand shifted slightly toward her body, almost as if she had suddenly remembered exactly what she was wearing.

Then, instead of looking nervous, she smiled.

A smug, knowing smile.

“Oh,” she said. “Now I understand.”

I raised my eyes to hers.

“Understand what?”

“You’re after President Shiao.”

For a moment, I genuinely thought I had misheard her.

She continued before I could respond.

“First you act like you’re special. Then you openly call President Shiao by his name. What’s next? You think behaving like this will get his attention?”

Someone nearby laughed.

Jang stepped closer until only a few feet separated us.

“You think you can seduce President Shiao?”

She looked me over again, slower this time.

Then she smirked.

“Look in the mirror. Do you even deserve him?”

Nobody told her to stop.

Nobody said she had gone too far.

Instead, the whispers continued.

“President Shiao only allows Secretary Jang to get close to him.”

“He treats her differently.”

“He really spoils her.”

Then Jang Chin Tong lifted her chin and said something that silenced nearly everyone.

“I’ve been with President Shiao for a long time.”

My eyes returned to the watch.

Ten years of marriage.

Ten years of believing him.

Ten years of late meetings.

Client dinners.

Business trips.

Social obligations.

Every time I had wondered why he was coming home so late.

Every time he had told me not to overthink things.

And now the birthday present meant for his mother was sitting comfortably on another woman’s wrist.

His secretary’s wrist.

I was still staring at it when the conference-room doors suddenly opened behind us.

The hallway changed instantly.

Employees straightened.

Voices disappeared.

Footsteps approached.

My husband walked out.

Shiaoza.

The second Jang saw him, the arrogant woman who had spent the last several minutes insulting me completely transformed.

Her face softened.

Her voice turned sweet.

She hurried toward him.

Shiaoza looked at her with immediate concern.

“Tong Tong, what’s wrong?” he asked warmly. “Who would dare mess with you?”

Tong Tong.

I stood perfectly still.

Jang pointed directly at me.

“President Shiao, it’s nothing important,” she said with an innocent expression. “Just a newbie.”

She paused.

“An intern.”

My husband followed her finger.

His eyes landed on me.

For the first time that morning, he saw exactly who his secretary had been insulting.

I looked straight back at him.

I didn’t shout.

I didn’t reveal my new position.

I didn’t tell anyone that I was his wife.

I didn’t ask why his secretary was wearing the limited-edition watch I had purchased for his mother.

Instead, I slowly lowered my gaze to Jang Chin Tong’s wrist one final time.

Then I looked back at my husband.

And waited.

Because after ten years of marriage, I suddenly needed to hear his next words more than anything else.

Jang moved closer to his side, confident that the man standing beside her would destroy the insignificant “intern” who had dared challenge her.

Around us, everyone waited for President Shiao to defend his favorite secretary.

And I waited to discover something far more important.

Which one of us would my husband choose?